#5 people my family are close to died within the span of a week and i had to just lay down and give up for a bit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tiifalockhart · 3 years

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First Love

Pairing: Tseng x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, fighting, stalking, alludes to depression and moral consequences

Word Count: 2k

A/N: hi friends, I’m posting two things this fine morning in preparation for my disappearance this weekend. I figured I would write something about Tseng since he’s become my comfort character lately. I hope you enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated

Ao3 || Masterlist

From the moment the two of you first met, you couldn't really help but find how insanely attractive Tseng is. His eyes, his nose, his lips, his structure, his hair, the way he carries himself? You felt you could pass out on the spot from the way he looked at you.

The first time you two met, it was mostly a simple mistake. He didn't mean to become distracted by you in the Sector 5 slums. Tseng accidentally bumped into you while following Aerith. He had been quite a distance away from her, so she hadn't noticed and managed to disappear from his sight. Giving up on it, he turned towards you, readying himself to apologize before realizing you had disappeared. He looked around in confusion, before looking down, seeing you kneeled down in front of him and picking up bread that had fallen out of your basket.

He raised his brows in surprise, kneeling down next to you to help. "I apologize, I'm afraid didn't see you." Tseng murmured, placing the bread back in the basket.

You smiled weakly. "Oh... No worries, I'll just go home and bake some more bread..." You reassured, not looking at him. Once you fixed the basket and placed all the spoiled bread back in it, you stood and finally looked up at him.

Your eyes widened slightly once your gazes met. He looked so smooth, so professional and neat... He was very attractive. Embarrassment flooded your features as you looked down, staring at the basket in your hand. "I apologize for getting in your way." You stated awkwardly.

Tseng furrowed his brows in confusion, tilting his hand to the side. "I should be the one apologizing." He corrected with a soft chuckle. His voice was so nice to listen to. "You are the one who ended up dropping your things. What was the basket for?" He questioned curiously.

"Oh... It was for the senior center. I figured I would do something nice for them since things have been rough around the slums lately." You explained, glancing up at him. There was a very slight glint of guilt in his eyes. "But don't worry! I have plenty of materials left over to make more, it's quite alright-"

Tseng shook his head, holding up a hand to stop you from continuing on with your excuses and apologies. You were rendered speechless at this, not only was it effective, but it was also very hot. "I'll take you home and bring you back so no one else can knock your bread out of your hand." He decided with a firm nod. You found it very kind from someone who seemed stoic.

"I suppose that will work, then." You answered with a smile, beginning to guide him back to your small home. "If I may ask... What are you doing around the slums? You seem like you belong up top." You remarked, snickering softly.

"I was... Visiting someone. It isn't often I come around the slums, unfortunately, I don't know my way." He lied easily, following you closely. "You said earlier that things are rough lately... How come?" Tseng questioned, mentally hitting himself for sounding like an interrogator.

You didn't seem to notice, simply shrugging. "One of the older men died recently, he was murdered. Someone claims he was assassinated by some guys from Shinra... She mentioned the Turks, but crime has been at an all-time high, so I doubt it." You explained simply, shrugging. Tseng let out a breath of relief when you finished speaking. He remembered the older male. Unfortunately, he got too close to Aerith, and that was an issue.

"That's unfortunate... I'm sorry to hear that." He responded smoothly, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked. "It's very kind of you to do something like this for them. I'm sure their loss is hard."

"I'm sure... I wanted to ease the pain in whatever way I could." You sighed, unlocking your door and letting him inside. "It isn't much, feel free to make yourself comfortable." You said as he entered, smiling and heading into the kitchen.

You couldn't take your mind off of him, even when he was physically there with you. Often times while he was speaking, your eyes would fall to his lips for half a second before returning back to his gaze. You hoped he didn't notice this, it was quite... Embarrassing to fall for someone so easily.

But of course, he noticed. He noticed everything about you within the span of only a couple of minutes. The way Tseng analyzed you and took note of every habit he could find somewhat amused him. You were shy, clearly infatuated with him, and also very trusting. He could ask anything from you, and you'd tell him the truth without missing a beat. This would be useful in the future, but for now, he would simply humor your infatuation.

At least, that was the plan. He hadn't realized it until you two were about to part, but he had also grown a liking for you. When you were saying your goodbyes, he felt a bit... Sad? Or maybe he was looking forward to the next time he was going to see you. The feeling was unfamiliar... But he did enjoy your presence, so he took it as a good thing.

You, however, dreaded your separation. You had grown to like him a lot. He listened very well, and he was very attractive and caring. It was probably a small crush you developed over the hour or two you had spent together, but you weren't really ready for him to go yet. Once he dropped you off at the senior center, you turned to him and smiled sadly. "It was nice meeting you. I don't think I ever caught your name." You pointed out awkwardly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

He raised his brows in surprise and confusion, before offering an easy smile. "My name is... Tseng." He introduced himself, furrowing his brows. "I don't tell anyone usually, so you're one of the few who know it." Tseng explained, a small smirk on his lips.

You nodded happily, returning the smile. "Your secret is safe with me." You responded in a joking tone.

After that, Tseng made it a goal to visit you once every two weeks. Mostly to keep tabs on what's been happening in Sector 5, but also to simply enjoy your presence and existence. He wouldn't admit it just yet, but he found your presence comforting. Something about excusing himself from work to come visit you was relaxing. Yes, he was using you for an informant without you knowing, but he also making sure you were okay. It was... Kinda romantic.

You never expected to see him again after your first meeting, it was unexpected when he showed up on your doorstep with some of Aerith's flowers. He was kind, romantic, and sweet, all while holding it under a stoic impression. You quickly fell in love with him, unable to control it as it felt inevitable. You often found yourself staring back at his lips whenever he was speaking, basically holding yourself back from kissing him right there. You could never tell anyone else that you were in love with a mystery man, they would never believe you, especially since his visits were so far apart. But every single visit, you would fall head over heels all over again, the two of you growing closer and closer.

Unfortunately, there was a point in time where he was missing for a while. After the bombing of Reactor One, he hadn't shown his face in the slums for a long time after that. It wasn't until about a full month later when he appeared again, this time he looked more exhausted and troubled.

You assumed this was because of the Sector 7 Plate falling. You wanted to ask, but were afraid that he might have lost friends or family in the tragedy, so you simply provided support. You were in the middle of cooking a meal for him when you noticed his distracted state. He seemed to just... Stare off with a troubled expression. Knowing that you wouldn't be able to get him to talk about it, you simply paused on your cooking and walked over, wrapping your arms around him from behind.

He flinched at first, surprised by the sudden touch, but he allowed it, relaxing from it and melting into it. A soft sigh left his lips, that single sound holding a lot of weight to it. You figured you should say something to ease the pain. "It might not be okay now... But one day, it will be." You whispered comfortingly, pressing your lips to his shoulder and looking up at him.

Tseng glanced back at you, noticing how hope gleamed in your eyes. The emotional burden of the plate falling was hard to deal with, but he couldn't imagine how it affected you. Yet, here you were, supporting him of all people. Slowly, he turned in your arms, cupping your cheeks and allowing a weak smile to form on his lips. "You're a blessing." He whispered as he wrapped his arms around you. The two of you embraced each other for a moment, your eyes closed as you enjoyed each other's warmth.

Finally, you pulled away to continue cooking, before feeling Tseng grab onto your hand and stop you. When you turned back to look at him, he seemed unsure as to why he did it as well. You opened your mouth to question him but instead, you felt his lips stop you. Once you processed what was happening, you felt your entire face turn red.

Tseng was... Kissing you?

You quickly pushed the confusion away and melted into the kiss, returning it happily as you reached up to cup his cheek. His skin was so soft, his touches gentle and barely there. He treated you like delicate porcelain glass, afraid that he might break you with the wrong touch.

Once the two of you pulled away, you kind of felt yourself lost in a trance. Feeling his gloved hand cup your cheek brought you back to reality to see his gentle gaze locked with yours. Both of you seemed to be rendered speechless, unsure of what to say, but in the end, it didn't matter. It was a comfortable silence as you returned back to cooking and Tseng waited patiently. Even when you two ate, you hardly spoke. Your hands brushed over each other slightly, before Tseng gently took yours into his, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles.

Finally, he had to leave. It was unfortunate. You truly wanted him to stay for longer, maybe even the night. You longed for more of his time and touches, you were tempted to ask him to stay, but you didn't. He would be back soon, wouldn't he?

As he left, your hands lingered on his, hesitantly pulling away as he left. You watched him walk off, an uneasy feeling on your chest. You didn't know when you would see him again, and that made you nervous. What if he never came back? Or... What if you were gone by the time he did? The future was uncertain, and you wished you could have answers now, but you'd simply rely on fate to bring you two back together.

For now, you knew that you were in love, and your motivation to continue on was the chance of seeing him again. You'd keep waiting on him, no matter how long it took.

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tact-and-impulse · 3 years

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Shinkane Week 2021 Day 5

For the “arranged marriage” prompt, I went for the Sengoku era.

In Place

Akane hoped that at the very least, he would be kind.

She set her mirror down, unable to look at her reflection any longer. The heavy embroidered robes, the cosmetics on her face, her hair hidden away under white silk. The guilt in her eyes.

Yuki had been the charming one, the one who was supposed to marry a general aligned with their closest neighbor. She had cheerfully shown her wedding garments to Akane during her last visit, that she had only met her betrothed once but liked him immensely and he had been pleased with her in turn. It seemed a fitting fate for Yuki, who wanted nothing more than to have a happy marriage.

Then, Sasayama Mitsuru had died on the battlefield.

The news had been delivered, along with the fact that the engagement would now be with a different general instead. Yuki had fainted and then grew feverish. It was believed that she had been weakened by the sudden upheaval of events, it was too much for her frail spirit to bear. But whatever the truth was, it would forever remain a mystery. Her dear cousin was gone too quickly, in the span of a night that left Akane numb and paralyzed.

At the funeral, she learned that the wedding would be occurring anyway. With her, in place of Yuki. She barely registered anything after that. The sewing alterations, the packing of her belongings, the trousseau moved to her room, that would only remain so for another two weeks.

Most of the ceremony passed in a blur. She kept her eyes downcast, sensing that her new husband was taller than she was and catching the aroma of kizami when he moved. He must have smoked the shredded tobacco, and she racked her mind for what else she knew about him. He was a little younger than Sasayama had been, but he had already cultivated a favorable reputation. Had he ever met with Yuki?

She glanced up at him, and though she didn’t recognize his handsome features, she couldn’t complain. His expression was stoic, serious. Then, his gaze slid to her, and she immediately turned back to the proceedings. She was much more aware of her surroundings, than she had been since Yuki’s death.

She actually tasted her food at the celebratory dinner, though her appetite hadn’t fully returned yet. Her husband wasn’t faring any better, and in her periphery, he was frowning. As the guests descended into merrymaking and she sipped her sake, he spoke for the first time.

“Do you want to leave?”

Oh. Well, there was that part to a wedding, and she hurriedly downed the rest of her drink. Swallowing the burn, she agreed. “Y-yes.”

His hand was larger than hers, callused and strong, but he touched her gently and she appreciated that. Her face flamed at the cheering and his grip tightened. The hallway was quieter, the party’s sounds muffled, and she felt like she could breathe.

“I hope everyone will behave.” She said aloud, as he presumably led the way to the chamber. Their chamber.

“They’re only pleased about the alliance. It would have been the same, whether it was us or your cousin and my friend. We’re a couple of shogi pieces, that’s all.” His voice was dark with resentment, but it wasn’t bad to listen to.

“I’m sorry about your friend. General Sasayama was kind enough, from what I remember. He and Yuki could have been happy together. Not that it matters now…” The grief opened up again, the cloudiness returning.

“No, it doesn’t. He was too reckless, he got himself killed because he wasn’t satisfied, and his death took your cousin with him.” Outwardly, he sounded angry, and he slammed the door a little too hard. Inside the room, a lantern illuminated the sparse interior. One futon, with two pillows. He pulled her inside, before taking hold of the sliding door again. She wasn’t sure where to look, what to do. Of course, the basic instructions had been provided, but she was too nervous to start anything. She flinched as his sleeve brushed hers, and he must have noticed.

He walked around her, taking one of the pillows and tucking it under his arm. “Are you tired?”

“A little. It’s been a long day.” She let out a shaky laugh.

“Then, get some rest.” He blew out the lantern, the room plunging into darkness. She clutched her embroidered outer kimono, trying to still her trembling fingers. But he never approached, his footsteps drifting away. “That’s your side. This is mine.” A pause. “Good night.”

“…Good night?”

The silence crept up, and when she realized nothing would happen tonight, she smiled.

***

They still hadn’t consummated the marriage, when she traveled with him. He explained that until winter, they would be residing with his lord’s family and she would be assisting the lady, while he was on campaign.

“Do you know how to use a naginata?”

“I have some training.”

“Rely on it. We get attacked on a regular basis.”

“Eh?” She hadn’t heard of that before. “What about the castle’s defenses?”

“They’re adequate, but you should be prepared, in case there’s a spy. Don’t trust anyone easily.”

“Not even you?”

“If I act dishonorably, you shouldn’t hesitate.”

“I don’t think you will.”

His gaze might have softened, but he never responded.

Within the castle town, she was introduced to a variety of people. The lord, who seemed rather easygoing, and his demure, proper wife accompanied by her ladies-in-waiting. The metsuke, Ginoza. The seasoned general, Masaoka, and the recently promoted Kagari. There was even a warrior woman, Kunizuka. They all seemed pleasant, addressing her as the wife of General Kougami. It was strange at first, but she did her best to be just as kind.

Meanwhile, she and her husband slept apart from each other, as much as they could with one bed. He hadn’t made a move yet. She considered that he had a mistress, but from what Kagari told her, he only trained in his spare time. And although it was commonplace, she didn’t like the idea that there was another woman. He always came back to her anyway.

He had seen the books she brought with her and skimmed through each one. He genuinely seemed interested in her tastes and didn’t belittle her opinions. His questions were direct, calculating, and purposeful. He shared his books too, marked with his notes. Her husband had neat handwriting, she thought. In the evenings, he smoked his pipe as he read his own papers, and she found the sight comforting.

Not long after her arrival, an enemy clan drew too close. The entire household mobilized, and she saw him off. Along with his armor, he had a mask to resemble a wolf’s open mouth, but she didn’t feel any terror. It was only her husband, who was resolute and intelligent. She had faith in him.

“Be careful. I hope you’ll win.”

“Ah.” His hand lifted and for a moment, she thought he was going to touch her face. Instead, he ruffled her hair. “I’ll return soon.”

She watched him leave, feeling oddly empty.

It was a harder fight than expected, and the news came that they had been breached. The lady was newly pregnant, and after ensuring her safety, Akane took up her naginata and headed for the battlements. She could barely see past the drizzling rain, and the clamor was deafening. An arrow whizzed past her hair, and she felt pain and a warm trickle past her temple. But she kept going, searching for any unfamiliar faces.

At one corner, there were two figures, one readying to finish off his prone opponent. It was hard to discern who they were, but the man who was down seemed to have a mask. In the dim torchlight, she spotted the painted fangs on porcelain. She lunged forward and drove her naginata into the stranger, who tumbled over the wall.

“Akane!” Her husband was surprised to see her, and he struggled to rise. With her aid, he was able to stand. He’d suffered a few minor wounds, but he was still speaking and breathing. “You’re here.”

“Yes, I couldn’t stand by and wait.”

He blinked, the rain in his eyes. “Where’s the lady?”

“She’s in hiding. I’m glad you’re alright.”

“So are you.” He gripped her shoulder, and he gave a strained smile. “Stay safe!” Before she could reply, he was running off. She sincerely prayed he wouldn’t die, and she lifted her spear with renewed determination.

By dawn, the enemy had been subjugated. She had returned to their room, examining her head wound. Thankfully, the bleeding had stopped and it wasn’t very deep. She had finished bandaging it again, when the door opened.

“Shinya-san!” She rushed to him. He looked tired, but the dried blood had been cleaned off, and strips of white cloth covered his chest. She pulled him to the futon, urging him to sit and rest. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“No.” He seemed distracted, not quite meeting her eyes.

“If you need to sleep, I’ll leave you alone.” She was about to leave, but he grabbed her wrist. He stared at his own grasp, his thumb slowly bending. She ignored the heat overcoming her, lowering her voice. “Please, tell me what you need. I’m your wife, I want to help you.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t regret saying that.” And he kissed her, with unrestrained ferocity. She was too stunned to react, and when he parted from her, his eyes were completely dark. “Did you not like it?”

“I don’t know. One more time?”

He leaned towards her again, and she tried to meet him. Gentler than before, but his fingers twining through hers demonstrated that the passion hadn’t subsided. Breaking for air, he asked. “So? Should we stop?”

“No. Never.” And she initiated, claiming his mouth. He pulled her down and for a while, there was no need for words.

Neither of them were intended to be in this marriage at first, but they were now and the life that stretched ahead wasn’t terrible at all.

#shinkaneweek #shinkane #i just keep going back in time with the historical aus huh #psycho pass

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squishedwalkman · 5 years

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fanfic repost - a world in which miles morales isn’t a hero but still an artist

It took a long time for the news to hit the main outlets. After all, the death of Tony Stark seemed small in comparison to the chaos that followed the sudden reappearance of half the population. People tried to focus on one thing at a time: first the tearful greetings of those who returned, then the repair of the most major of the catastrophes, and then the first initial days of panic when people couldn’t bear to be apart from one another. But slowly, slowly, as the healing began, news began to trickle forward. Things began to come to light: people still missing after the snap, the damage left behind by unmanned power plants, the environmental effects that losing half the population had on a world crippled by loss.

Miles found the first couple days hard. And then the first couple weeks. He returned to school, but nothing was the same. There was a joy shining in the air at being reunited with the people he loved, but a darkness too, since he had lived a 5 year span that they had not. He left friends behind in middle school as he began his senior year. His mom was back, but he was taller than her now. The principal had died of cancer within those 5 years, and so his old school wasn’t the same. It hurt, and Miles didn’t know if he could ever heal.

But he found a way. And a month passed. And somehow, if he paid close enough attention, he could see the emotional wounds beginning to close. It would be a long time yet, but already the sun rose brighter than before.

32 days after the Dusted had returned, and 15 days after the rumors surrounding the Avenger’s place in restoring the world began to spread, the news broke. Pepper Potts, reddened and puffy eyes cleverly disguised by makeup, addressed the world in a video exactly 53 seconds long. It was live streamed directly into Miles’s classroom, and as the first words echoed out into the silent room, every student held their breath.

“Unfortunately, I have the… deepest sorrow in informing you all that Tony Edward Stark, head of Stark industries, and my beloved husband…. has passed away.” She took a shuddering breath before continuing. “Tony died a hero: he fought until the last moment of the battle. He was not only courageous in the final attack on Thanos, but throughout his entire life. Although many of you may have received a skewed image of who he was through media, rumors, or propaganda, I can assure you that Tony died a man of honor and valor. He had a heart for helping and mentoring others, and his death was not the only sacrifice that he had given in his life time. Tony loved this world very much, but it never loved him back. Our family is grateful for your anticipated support, and for the support of many of you throughout Tony’s lifetime. He would be grateful to see you all now. Live on, for him. Remember, we are Iron Man.”

The camera cut just after tears sprung to Pepper’s eyes, and she began to turn to hide her face from view. At the same time, it seemed something happened to every heart in the school. In the world.

Tony Stark was dead.

Miles’s heart dropped. His throat seized, and suddenly tears sprang to his tired eyes. Glancing down at the worn wooden desktop, he squeezed his hands together and shut his eyes even tighter. One brief moment to choke down the tears, and he raised his head again.

Tony Stark. Gone.

Miles’s mind flickered back to his bedroom: above his bed hung a poster of Iron Man himself, palms open to the sky, light emitting in powerful beams to the jet planes that soared above. For a long time Miles had admired the man behind the machine who defended the world. He admired all of heroes, but something about Tony always drew him in. Maybe it was the fact that he too had come from a place of immense pressure, of mistakes, but had found a way to rise above it. Or maybe it was simply because of the creativity associated with creating a suit so incredibly complicated and powerful.

Now that he thought of it, though, Miles hadn’t considered Tony Stark since the snap. A hero in the sky seemed far less real than the tangible, heartbreaking hurt surrounding the broken world he knew now. But the love, the devotion, the admiration he felt for the iron soldier quickly flooded back to him. And then the loss.

It hurt.

My goodness, it hurt.

The rest of the school day went by in a haze. No one talked much in class. The classrooms seemed darker, the lessons petered out long before the period was over, and the walk home was silent, broken only by the occasional attempt at a joke by someone in the crowd.

Miles tried to do his homework. He really did. But he couldn’t seem to write about anything so simple as literature books and physics when one of his heroes had died. He thought he would cry, but he tears refused to come to his eyes. The pencil in his fingers twirled, and the light outside slowly faded from a golden light the color of Iron Man’s thrusters to the rusted red of his suit, to the eventual fading purple of the galaxy he had disappeared into.

He tried to listen to sad music. To let the emotion flow out of him into lyrics. He tried to write a letter to Stark, but it ended in crumbled paper. There was only one other option. Something he said he wouldn’t do anymore, that he had promised his parents he wouldn’t do anymore… but it just felt right.

Before Miles could stop himself, he was pulling on his jacket and closing the bedroom door quietly behind him. Tiptoeing down the stairs, leaping nimbly over the creaking step, he slipped through the front door and into the fading light outside.

The air outside was cool but not cold. Nonetheless, Miles pulled his hoodie over his head and walked with his head down. He knew where he was going: he had mapped the place out in his head a thousand times when he was bored in class, imagining what he would put there one day. He passed doorways, parked cars glinting in the last lingering rays of sun, and across streets devoid of pedestrians. Further and further into the city he traveled for a good half-an-hour, until finally his feet brought him to a stop in front of a building four stories tall.

Pausing, Miles looked up at the sun-faded walls, the wooden doors, and the fire escape climbing ever upward. He had been here once before with his paints. He had planned on painting that day, but his conscious got the better of him, and he decided not to. It was going to be a self portrait. But this was different.

Swiftly, as if he had done it a thousand times, Miles swung up onto the side of the building, into a fire escape, and clambered upward. The side of a building that stood flush to the one he stood on was blank, and the emotion pressing in Miles’s chest needed to be turned into art.

“I need this,” he whispered on the roof of the building, silhouetted against the quickly darkening sky. “We all need this.”

He set to work. Colors moved through his hands like magic, a spell being cast over the side of the building as best as he could. As the music played from his iphone, as the emotion pounded in his chest, the thoughts in his head were transformed into a portrait of the man he admired. The person who defended the Universe until his very last breath. Color began to come together and details came to shape.

As the light faded from the sky, the picture came alive. A tribute to a hero. Not only a picture for Miles, but a picture to be remembered for years to come. In the piece of art, Miles poured every memory he associated with his favorite hero, every moment he had seen him on the television, had known he was safe in a world with Iron Man, every time he had seen pictures of Stark when he was younger, had known he could do everything Tony could do, every time he had been inspired, and the one time he had seen the rocket of gold and red from the corner of his eye, disappearing behind a building nearby.

It took well into the night, but finally the portrait was finished. It shone beneath the roof lights pointed at it, like a beacon in the dark, proof that Tony Stark had touched the heart of a young boy he never met.

Then Miles cried.

He buried his head in his hands and retreated to a distance to see the picture illuminated as if suspended against the sky. As he looked at the picture, trying to soak up the moment of grief, trying to find a way to continue on in a time when even heroes died, a distant noise interrupted his shaking breath.

Crouched a rooftop away, Miles could see a distant shape approaching. Miles was hidden in the growing darkness, and his hoodie kept him in shadow. But swinging through the buildings came the new hero people had just begun to know: Spiderman.

His webs shone under the moonlight, spitting out and then retracting as he moved faster than the cars below towards the mural. Onward, onward, and then past. He kept swinging off into the night.

And then, a pause in sound. And then a continuation of the webs, but approaching again. Miles held his breath and tried to appear as small as he could. Spiderman came back again, swinging smoothly onto the rooftop, and pausing.

He crouched in front of the still-drying painting.

There was silence. Miles tried to control his breathing.

Spiderman was looking, and he didn’t move. Seconds stretched into minutes. Just as Miles wondered if he would ever leave, he could hear something muffled, through the darkness, coming from Spiderman.

The hero was crying. Crying.

Miles felt something break in his chest. He couldn’t explain it, but the sight of one hero grieving another crushed something within him. All of a sudden he longed to rush out and talk to the masked man in front of him. But as the sobs died down, Spiderman did something else.

He removed his mask.

Miles had to hold in a gasp as the face of a young teenager came into view. No older than Miles, Spiderman was still a kid. And, as Miles looked closer, the face seemed strangely familiar. No… it was impossible. There was no way Spiderman himself was Peter Parker, school nerd and newly appointed Captain of Academic League. There was no way. No possible way.

Miles heart was pounding with his discovery. He couldn’t believe it. He had to tell Gwen. He had to get home, he had to tell his parents.

But even as these thoughts raced through his mind, another though arose: “there is no way I could ever betray Peter like this.” And this thought trampled the others, and Miles knew it was right. He could not spread such a secret as this. It was greater than a simple identity. He may not know Peter personally, but the idea of telling everyone something he had tried to hide for so long was despicable.

So, content with the fact that he had no great news to share, Miles was free to once more to consider the fact that Spiderman himself was beside him. And as Peter Parker himself let tears roll down his cheeks, shoulders shaking, Miles cried to, to be surrounded by two of the heroes that had protected him for so long. And separated by only a few feet, hidden from one another, two teenage boys cried silently for the biggest hero in their lives.

For the rest of Peter Parker’s life, he would never know that he had shared such a moment with a teenager who had needed Iron Man just as much as him.

#g rated #peter parker #miles morales #spiderman #iron man #rdj #spiderverse #art #fan art #fan fiction #tony stark #spider man #spider-man

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aftgficlibrary · 6 years

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Apocalypse

Updated December 31, 2018

hide your body (when the sunlight dies) by WaifsandStrays (E | Incomplete | 2/?)

The world's gone to hell and the dead are crawling out of their graves. The Foxes must find a way to stay alive and together if they're going to make it through this.

Part zombie AU, part Minyard twins character study, all pain!

This World Overrun By Monsters by Elfo98 (Not Rated | Incomplete | 1/?)

"The building kept shaking for hours on end, and soon the unbearable heat turned into freezing cold. Then, suddenly, everything stopped, even time. Or so it seemed to Nathaniel; there was no sound coming from the outside, nothing at all. Everything was covered in a deadly silence."

Or The Maze Runner AU no one needed.

Take a Racquet With You by cyclecrossing (T | Incomplete | 12/?)

Neil was free. For that short span of time, that precious golden almost-three years after Riko's death, Neil lead his life exactly how he wanted to. But Neil had never been lucky. He just didn't expect it all to end with a goddamn Zombie apocalypse.

In which Neil is done running, and he's going to let the whole world watch

/Major Character Death

The Fleet Foxes Detective Agency by transandrewminyard (nocturnalboys) (E | Incomplete | 6/?)

In a catastrophic post-1929 Boston, the stock market crash and violent, unpredictable weather have dissolved the young nation known as America. Replacing it, a new lawless world rises, the nation-state of Independence, run by elite families who have the cash and clout to keep their grip on the survivors of the Crash. Andrew Minyard and Renee Walker, private eyes and owners of the Fleet Foxes Detective Agency, are the law, solving crimes in exchange for making their livelihood. When Andrew meets Neil Josten, jazz singer and objectively handsome man, he feels himself falling- into the realm of a new mystery, one that he isn't entirely sure he's prepared to solve, and a case that could radically change Independence forever.

Open Hand or Closed Fist by lazarusthefirst (M | Incomplete | 3/5)

Technically it was all Neil’s fault. He was the organiser. But Jean blamed Kevin for getting him all riled up and enabling his crazy escape attempts. Not many ever managed to escape from the Moriyama Estate. But that didn’t stop them all from trying.

Raze by WhoopsOK (E | 1,301 | 1/1)

Question: What would it take for the Minyards to get together? Answer: The whole world goes to hell and leaves the Minyards behind in the rubble.

(In light of my blog probably getting shut down, I’m archiving my comment fic.)

/Rape/Non-Con /Major Character Death

Maybe it was the Zombies by ennui_ephemera (M | 45,441 | 17/17)

“Turn it off. I can’t watch this any longer,” Matt said. “We need to know what’s going on,” Andrew replied flatly. “Andrew, we know what’s going on – the fucking world is ending. I don’t want to see it anymore.” Matt grabbed the remote off the couch beside Neil and flicked the TV off. Andrew didn’t move to stop him.

Near the end of Neil’s last year at Palmetto, an outbreak of a disease, nicknamed the Brazilian Fever, throws the world into anarchy when the diseased bodies that started piling up acquired a hunger for flesh. With so much on the line, Neil and the rest of the Foxes decide Palmetto isn’t safe anymore. While decked out in orange and Exy sticks, there’s zombies, violence, enemies dead and alive, and the underlying need for survival.

/Graphic Depictions of Violence

The End of All Things by augustskies (G | 4,341 | 1/1)

" His world, the one he wouldn't have given up for anything, was a person. " In which the apocalpse is coming, but not in the way you might think.

/Major Character Death

give me shelter or show me heart by hondayota (Not Rated | 4,720 | 3/3)

Renee had always thought of hope as a feeling, something she scraped out of her insides when she had nothing else to hold onto, but over the past months, hope had ceased to be a feeling and had become synonymous with Allison Reynolds.

the renison zombie au no one asked for

renee and allison are hella gay even when there's zombies

We All Have Demons by girlskylark (T | Incomplete | 18/?)

Neil Josten, a novice witcher, is put to the test by investigating the disappearance of fellow witcher Allison Reynolds after her husband vanished several weeks ago. Rather than sending Neil off without protection, Matt gifts him a pair of arm bracers and sends him on his way. The last thing Neil expected was to wind up stuck with the demon whose soul is attached to Matt's gift.

The last thing Andrew wanted after his last shitshow of a "second chance" was to be stuck with an idiot witcher, but life was never that kind to him. After dabbling in black magic, unintentionally binding his soul to the bracers, and winding up in the hands of Drake Spear, he didn't expect anything better when Matt Boyd cut the bracers off Drake's cold dead hands and stashed Andrew away for a century. That century gave him plenty of time to contemplate life, and how little he cared to put up with anyone's bullshit. Especially Neil's.

/Graphic Depictions of Violence

do they smoke cigarettes in heaven by poetic_leopard (T | Incomplete | 3/?)

The outbreak of a mysterious virus has desecrated the world as we know it. Neil Josten is a fugitive on the run from a dark past. Until he somehow finds himself in the midst of a caustic group of survivors who call themselves the Foxes, and meets Andrew Minyard—their deadliest investment. Can Neil learn to trust and shake the bloody shadow of his past; with both The Butcher and Martial Law hot on his trail, not to mention a terrifyingly real zombie threat at large?

{TLDR: here's the obligatory zombie AU that i'm sure hasn't been done to death already. it's too late, y'all. i'm bringing this dead horse back to life. er, hopefully.}

blood is rare and sweet by aulesbian (M | 1,201 | 1/1)

Renee was quiet. She remembered when she arrived at Palmetto, body aching from exhaustion and fear. She remembered prowling the campus and surrounding area, searching for any of her team. Former team.

/Graphic Depictions Of Violence /Major Character Death

series: Zombie AU by IceBreeze (T | Complete | 3 Works)

A few oneshots based on my take on a foxhole court zombie apocalypse.

Sole Survivor by gladiatorgrl2703 (T | Incomplete | 15/?)

Andrew Minyard didn’t have a reason for surviving the wasteland until Kevin Day came looking for protection. And now Neil Josten is making appearances across the city. This mysterious newcomer, running from his past and towards the people who murdered his mother. He’s spent the last 200 years cryogenically frozen, and this new world—for all its ghouls, and monsters, and hardships—offers the first real freedom he’s ever known. As Neil searches for answers, he latches onto to both the possibility Kevin keeps dangling in front of him and the protection Andrew is offering. But neither of these is going to help him escape his past. And he’s running out of places to hide. --

Kevin was less cryptic. “Why do you have this?”

“None of your business,” Neil spat.

“Uh-uh-uh,” Andrew tutted, raising a knife to Neil’s throat. “Try again.”

“None of your fucking business,” Neil corrected, deciding that if he was going to die in the wasteland, a knife to the throat wasn’t a bad way to go.

Andrew smiled something manic, and blasted a fist into Neil’s injured side. “You’re a lot funnier when you’re writhing in pain,” he decided.

/Graphic Depictions Of Violence /Rape/Non-Con /Self-Harm

The Road to Nowhere by emmerrr (M | 118, 526 | 30/30)

The population has been decimated by an epidemic, society has fallen, and no one is safe. But Neil has never been safe to begin with.

When the death of his mother finally leaves him with nothing left to lose, Neil inadvertently stumbles across a miss-match group of people living and working together despite the odds.

Sometimes it takes the apocalypse to find out where you truly belong; the hard part is holding onto it. And when so much of him is held together by lies, Neil might have to learn that you can never outrun your past indefinitely.

/Graphic Depictions Of Violence

violent delights by manya (M | Incomplete | 1/?)

when faced with the decision to die by his father's knife or staring down a kaiju in the cockpit of a jaeger, Neil finds it's not much of a decision after all

/Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Lead me home by kenkatsuki (T | Incomplete | 2/?)

Overthrown cars. Old litter everywhere you looked. Abandonment clear in every rise and fall of the dead land. The dullness of brown and grey only interfered by green specks of nature.

Plants growing through fissures of broken cars.

Ivy raking over hollow and slumped buildings.

Weeds spreading through the cracks in the asphalt.

Nature that had begun reclaiming its ground after everything went to hell.

It would be beautiful, wouldn't it be so terribly cruel.

/Graphic Depictions Of Violence /Major Character Death

The Monsters Vs Zombies by sisteroftheagiel (G | 1,436 | 1/1)

Just a short story taking inspiration from the scene where Renee and Andrew discus their plans encase of Zombie apocalypse. And Neil wanting to fight and go back for Andrew. So here are the monsters, within an apocalypse. >.

Contingency Plans by defractum (nyargles) (T | 1,253 | 1/1)

The zombie apocalypse is starting. Good thing they've always had plans.

monster hospital by asukalangley (T | Incomplete | 3/?)

it's the end of the world; stupid decisions are definitely allowed.

it's a totally rushed zombie au what more do you want me to say

And Where The Journey May Lead You by Kali Cephirot (KaliCephirot) (T | 1,273 |1/1)

Zombie Apocalypse AU -- The one where the All For The Game books happen in a zombie-ridden area. Or, snippets of the longfic I Am Not Writing

#aftg #aftg fanfic #aftg fanfiction #all for the game #the foxhole court #masterlist #andreil #andriel fanfic #andriel fanfiction #andrewminyard #andreil fanfic #andreil fanfiction #neiljosten #apocalypse #theme:apocalypse #theme:andreil #theme:neiljosten #theme:andrewminyard #theme:au

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rilenerocks · 4 years

Text

Here I am at age seven, standing in the grassy park that borders Lake Michigan at Rainbow Beach on the south side of Chicago. Except for our brief sojourn in Iowa from my infancy through 1st grade, I was born into a family of non-swimmers, who managed to stay out of the water despite being virtually lifetime Chicagoans. I was always clearly a water person. Sometimes you wonder how you got to be the different one in the family. I remember my parents telling me they thought I was going to be an Olympic swimmer. That was naïveté talking. For them, my voluntary entry into the frigid lake was my first step toward athletic fame. I learned how to swim adequately in that cold water and then improved somewhat in high school, where we had a pool that I mostly disliked. I always preferred swimming outside. I know how to do all of the strokes but basically, I’ve got a decent, comfortable breaststroke in addition to being an excellent floater. I’d never win a race, even when I was young. But I have endurance and can last a long time in the water.

The laat time I did any real swimming was in the beginning of March when I was lucky enough to be visiting friends in Florida, whose subdivision has a pool. Lots of the residents down there like the air temperature and the pool temperature to be what feels like a bathtub to me. I was happy to have it to myself a few times on cool mornings. Covid was on my radar before I left for this trip but during my ten days away, the progression of infections was ramping up and I was terribly anxious when I returned home through two airports and as a bus passenger. I bought groceries and self-quarantined for days before having the courage to walk across the street to see my daughter and her family. Within a week, I cancelled a long-planned sisters’ trip to Alaska and hunkered down along with so many other older people who I darkly refer to as “the death group” because of our age and co-morbidities. For the first few months, the sameness of my daily life didn’t bother me much. I had my spring garden to think about and work in, I started babysitting for my grandsons and found ways to see a few people by parking next to each other and chatting through our car windows. I was really grateful I’d had both my knees replaced so I could take walks.

As the weather heated up, I started having some issues. Going for long walks and returning home drenched was not my idea of a good time. I started missing the water. Desperately. I knew the pools, both indoor and out, were closed in my area until the end of July. I set up a little kid’s splash pool and a beach umbrella in my back yard which really made a difference in how I felt for awhile. But I found myself spending lots of time on the internet, looking for bodies of water close to home, places where I could feel safe from the virus and yet at the very least, wade and feel a small sense of submersion. In addition to longing for that physical sensation, I started running low on the rocks and pebbles I’ve been using for years to decorate brick pavers which I use to surround trees and create borders for my different garden sections. I found myself going out in the yard to scrounge them out of a few containers I use as yard decorations.

I haven’t much liked this version of myself. Lots of people are struggling with this stressful time. And certainly there are those who are facing much more challenging issues than me. I’ve not been enjoying this rather petty and selfish piece of me that’s erupted at this point. I’ve been thinking that feeling trapped without the physical release of swimming is just one piece of a bigger picture. When Michael died, I realized how hard it was going to be to not have human contact on a regular basis. I lived my whole adult life right up until his death next to a warm body. I know, lucky me. But going cold turkey has been hard for me. Being a person who plans ahead, I decided to budget a standing massage and pedicure into my calendar. Those contacts plus haircuts went a long way to not getting in the weird place I could go with no physical intimacy. Add in swimming and hugs from friends and voila – ways to stay sane. But basically, all that planning has been negated by the threat of Covid. I honestly don’t know if there will be a return to my previous existence. So now, I’ve had two significant adjustments in three years, along with the limits of travel these days. Which brings me back to the lake. While perusing social media and chatting with friends, I saw that some people, admittedly younger than me and so perhaps less vulnerable to the virus, were on the road. And what caught my attention was the photos posted of one of my favorite places on the planet, Lakeside, Michigan.

The first place we stayed at in Lakeside was a bed and breakfast place at the time, sometime in the late ‘90’s. After basically going on an extended family vacation with a close group of friends further north in Michigan, our son, our youngest child wasn’t enjoying the trips much. When our friends decided to invest in a place as a group, we opted out to be able to address our kid’s needs. From then on, we took different trips as a family. But Michael and I always slipped away on our own for a weekend in Lakeside, right on the shore of Lake Michigan. That felt like home. The lake there has this magic illusory feeling to it. You know you’re at the shore of familiar waters but sometimes it feels like you’re on the edge of an ocean when the waves are up and the water is so, so clear. After a time, as the kids got into their teens, they wanted to join us for these few days and we needed bigger accommodations. We wound up a little way down the road at the Lakeside Inn, a rustic lodge listed on the National Register. No televisions, primitive decor and furniture, it’s a little island of detachment from the rapid pace of daily life. As Starved Rock became our winter destination, Lakeside was our summer one, with an occasional fall or spring getaway on the side.

I waffled up and back about going. Was it selfish and stupid to go in this uncertain time? Was I just acting like the type of spoiled person I find so irritating? And even more than that, was I ready to go back to a place that holds so many beautiful memories of my life with Michael? I haven’t been back there in four years, since the summer before he died. We just had a scant day and a half back then because we were taking what would be the last big trip of our lives, our Utah National Parks adventure shortly thereafter. The only photos I have from that time are of Michael standing in front of our two favorite restaurants in the next town east of Lakeside, him at the beach and one of our feet in the water.

But I have photos of our family enjoying Lakeside going all the way back to 2003. There were times when it was just the four of us. We lay on the beach, swam, collected rocks and read books. Over the years we tried lots of different restaurants in the small towns that line the Red Arrow Highway, some wonderful and others awful. I remember spasms of convulsive laughter, mostly in the expensive places, when we were sharing the most entertaining words from the book Depraved and Insulting English. We played Spades and Hearts at night or Scrabble and Monopoly. Some of us were more competitive than others. I took my son’s high school graduation picture there.

He convinced me that we should go back to Lakeside as he’s heading out west soon, and we’d have a chance for one more special time together. I made the reservations, worried that I’d get up there and cry the whole time. I wound up doing my crying in advance. I looked through all the old photos with a combination of joy and love, nostalgia and pain. I got worn out but in a good way.

As the years passed, our family group went from four to five and eventually six. Three generations on the beach along with a couple of dogs on occasion. What I know is we had so much privilege and fun that eludes so many people. I remind myself of that all the time.

So off we went on our brief excursion. By doing the emotional work in advance, I was pretty relaxed. My son and I travel well together and we enjoyed our couple of hours drive, listening to music and chatting. We stopped at a cafe which made good sandwiches and then headed to the Inn. I was relieved to see that good Covid practices were being observed which also took away stress. After quickly checking in, we headed to the private beach, a bonus when trying to avoid crowds. The weather was perfect as was the water. I scavenged for rocks for a long time and finally got my body into the lake. We stayed all afternoon and into early evening.

We headed upstairs and drove over to a favorite burger joint for a takeout dinner. After a day of beach and driving we were tired and decided to call it a night. We headed back to our rooms at the inn. When I looked out my window I realized a glorious sunset was taking place. We dashed back down the 115 steps to get back on the beach in time to see the flaming colors shimmering on the lake. I was so glad. Who knows when I’ll be there again, if ever? We went back upstairs and watched an episode of a series we’d been sharing on Netflix. Then my son turned in for the night. I wrote for awhile and pondered how just a few hours away from this 5 month slog soothed my tired brain.

The next morning we ate our boxed breakfasts on the long porch that spans the front of the Inn. We decided to go back down to the beach for a few hours to soak in the last moments of our perfect excursion. No one was there but us. I think many people think mornings are too cold to take the waters. They don’t know what they’re missing.

We reluctantly tore ourselves away for the ride home. I felt tired but restored. My body was so refreshed by the water and the vista from the shore. The same magic I always felt and had missed so badly. Although the time was brief, it’ll hold me for awhile. As we drove along, I was thinking of the face of a young native girl whose photo hung in my room at the Inn. I was haunted by the layered look in her eyes, which were complex, sad and moving. Life has always been challenging for everyone, long ago, currently and certainly, will be in the future. Perspective is everything.

Meanwhile, I’m back in the routine of these past five plus months. But I’ve replenished my soul a bit and additionally, my supply of rocks for the garden project of the winter months.

#reneerocks

Back to the Lake Here I am at age seven, standing in the grassy park that borders Lake Michigan at Rainbow Beach on the south side of Chicago.

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pathfindersemail · 7 years

Text

Goodbye “Andromeda”

The following is a letter I wrote shortly after the Montreal Comic Con 2017 Bioware Panel. I sat on it for a while, but with recent news regarding the fate of Mass Effect: Andromeda, I felt it was pertinent to share this letter.

To the global family who created Mass Effect Andromeda,

I still remember my first ever experience playing a video game. It was a hot December in 1997, and I was still living in Manila, Philippines. We had a small boxy TV with a (maybe) 10-inch screen. That screen gave a pixelated display of my haphazard attempts at killing monsters with the business end of my rocket launcher. Doom was released years prior on the SNES, but it was a completely new thing for me. Me, a (at the time) 5-year old girl, mercilessly conquering over demons, monsters, and other nightmarish things. Macabre as it was, it was the beginnings of my thirst for adventure and of my need to be the hero of my own story.

Since then, I have played many games. I have been an assassin, a brooding teenage rebel trying to save the world, a ninja, a samurai, a street fighter, a car thief, a weird dude with a bandana caught in a plot too complex for my childish mind (not naming names, Metal Gear), a widower trapped in his own psychological nightmare, a well-endowed archeologist, an extremely taciturn physicist, a sith lord, a keyblade master saving worlds... I have been all these lives, personas, and characters. Yet in those myriad experiences, I felt something (for the lack of a better term) missing.

I have since passed the years never really being able to point a finger at it. The sense of a void always came stumbling back after I had finished a game. I tasted power, fulfillment, and the close of a journey only to have it dissipate as a story that never really was mine.

Fast forward years later to the fortuitous year of 2016, when Bioware offered its newest Game of the Year title for a generous discount. It was��Dragon Age Inquisition. By then I was twenty-four years old, at the cusp of graduating with a Masters, and suffering from the nagging malaise of a rather bleak election year in the United States. I needed an escape, and seeing as how video games had so steadfastly provided that escape, I took the bait and played what would become the most important game in my life.

This letter is supposed to be about your 2017 title, Mass Effect: Andromeda, so I’ll keep this part brief.

Inquisition was the first game where I was able to make someone who looked like me. Me: a stocky, 5′3 Filipino Chinese Japanese girl with unruly black hair, dull brown eyes, and a face rounder than a baby. Though many other titles before have offered character creators, they either failed to look “realistic” or ended up looking garishly alien. Inquisition’s robust CC made it possible for me to create a protagonist who could not only reflect a woman who resembled me (and people who shared my identity) onto an HD screen. She could also reflect choices, agency, and strength that are rarely afforded to what scant representation Southeast Asians have. I watched my inquisitor grow from reluctant, cloistered heroine to a capable leader who acted with both compassion and courage.

By the time my Inquisitor disbanded the inquisition and joined what would be the lost annals of Thedosian heroes, I inevitably returned to the real word. I was expecting that same, familiar void I felt whenever I finished a game. Yet it didn’t happened. Instead, I fell. I fell so hard for the universe. I couldn’t stop thinking about my characters’ companions, the friendships she made, the relationships she forged, and the love she has earned. I wrote, for one of my Master’s seminars, several papers (which my professors read with glee, might I add) about the resonances of Dragon Age’s in-universe permutations of tragedy and systemic oppression. I wrote about the importance of being able to interact and decide the conclusion of a narrative; to be able to weave a different kind of tale through games where the player could very much inform the tone and setting of a story.

I raved about the game; I joined online communities to keep raving about it; and I produced what content I could to share with these fellow fans from all over the world. I didn’t just play a persona or a character; I played someone who represented what I felt was good about who I was; who acted with a conscientious awareness of what conquering and ruling meant for someone of a previously colonized peoples. It was liberating.

Shortly after my plunge into Inquisition’s fan community, a friend recommended that I try Mass Effect. Since I have already waxed poetic about DAI, I will also keep this very brief. I played all three games shortly after I graduated from my Masters in the winter of 2016. Within a span of a week, I cried, melted, died, reanimated, and cried again. Shepard’s story was complete and whole, and I felt that her accomplishments amplified what i felt about my Inquisition protagonist (especially since the demographic “Asian” had more meaning in this game than it did in a fantasy universe). As you might expect, I waited impatiently and obsessively for Mass Effect: Andromeda, during which time I wondered how on Earth could I have survived the wait had I been a fan all along.

There are many things I could say about my experience playing Andromeda, but I feel I should share with you the most important one.

Thank you.

Thank you for letting me create a beautiful, Filipina hero, who would pave the way for a new galaxy. Thank you for being the game developer who - after nearly 20 years of gaming experience - let me see myself reflected fully, accurately, and beautifully at the forefront of a compelling and epic story. Unlike the previous Bioware games I mentioned, my Ryder (her name is Sarianna :)) was allowed to be young, foolish, and happy. She didn’t constantly bear the yoke of border disputes and religious office as my Inquisitor did. Like Shepard, she was allowed moments of respite and impulsiveness - perhaps even more so than the older protagonist with whom the original trilogy graced us. As a woman who barely saw myself and my identity represented in media, I had a protagonist I could admire, respect, and contribute to the world (no matter how unnoticed she will be in future years).

One of my favorite moments in the game was the penultimate and high stakes scene of the Ryder twin (a Filipino version of Scott) fighting his way with just a pathetic pistol in hand to save his sister. Tears were brimming in my eyes when SAM offered a heartfelt apology at the sacrifice they were forced to make. “I’m sorry Scott,” he said.

And the loving brother could only say, “I am too, SAM” before hitting that button with resolve.

It was a profound and poignant moment about family; about heroes of color who would do anything for each other; and about the fear of losing someone important to you. The fact that characters who represented Filipinos were able to call the shots, exercise agency, and bear the responsibility of leadership gave me so much pride.

My other favorite moment was a romance scene: the drinks Ryder shared with Reyes Vidal on rooftop. It was an emotionally intense moment where two people were able to share in their vulnerability. Do you know how important it is for Latinx players to be able to see a bisexual Latino express the need for recognition, affection, and friendship? The scene broke my heart into a million pieces, because frailty can be a powerful thing and yet it is so often denied to Latino men, whom the media has wronged with constant portrayals of stereotypes of machismo and violence. Reyes was a phenomenal character, and I have to thank your writer Courtney Woods by name for making him possible.

I also cried when the game ended, because I soon returned to that familiar yet now alienating reality where movies, music, and (for the most part) video games didn’t represent anyone with whom I identified. I cried, because my friends and I realized that virtually no one else is letting you wear your race, gender, and sexuality with pride and joy. I cried, because I realized that video games weren’t only cathartic works of fiction wherein I can project my fantasies. They were also fulfillments of personhood. It was you, Bioware, family who made that possible.

Now it goes without saying that nobody and nothing is perfect, and yet the rather disproportionate amount of harsh criticism and backlash the game received was... upsetting to say the least. For one, I felt like society as a whole was rejecting not only the finished product of the game but the potentialities and possibilities latent in such a product. I can’t speak of the technological feats Andromeda was able to accomplish (JUMP JETS ARE LEGENDARY YOU SHOULD BE PROUD!), but I can speak for the fact that Bioware is one of the few developers who proudly held up its fans as the driving force and motivation of their success. Andromeda is a beautiful game, and its predecessors were all masterpieces not only for their technical and artistic achievements but for their social and cultural significance.

When my friend and I left the Bioware panel in the Montreal 2017 comic con, we immediately found our way to a bar in rue Sainte Catherine, where we reveled in the excitement of having seen the people responsible for our joy and passion. Over drinks, I lamented the wasted opportunity of not thanking you personally, so I do it now under the cover anonymity. I do it with words, because I like to think I am better at writing than I am speaking. I do it so I can express to you the indelible mark you left on my life. You gave me a hero who looked like me, and in turn I bonded with others from all over the world who felt that same happiness and gratitude. Yet we also spoke of our hopes: we hoped that people will take Bioware’s direction to further improve representation; to include people of color, people from the LGBT community, and other identities in the creative process. In the field of literary criticism, we often judge a work based on its ability to stage and engage with different audiences across geographic and temporal distances. The Mass Effect franchise was one such formidable work.

Suddenly those twenty years of gaming beforehand folded into a meaningless blur. None of them could ever fill the void of never seeing myself reflected in media. And, as sad it is to say with the recent news of Andromeda’s definitive end, I am not likely to encounter another.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart,

L------ (aka @pathfindersemail)

#Mass Effect: Andromeda #ME: A #Mass Effect #Bioware

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rdesai19 · 4 years

Text

life in the time of corona

Sunday

Corona makes the future seem like schrodinger’s cat. The cat will be in one of N states, when the box opens. Who knows when there will be an end to distancing. And, who knows what state will the cat be in - one of N.

The assumption we are all making is about when the cure will come. It may not come in a matter of months. It may not be possible to abandon social distancing till next year. But, that within a year - there will be a cure. But what if, there is no effective cure? Saturday musing is about that unlikely scenario.

Corona makes borders more useful. Existence of gates that can impose cross-border quarantines is good. They can go instantly into action - thus isolating pandemic spread. It could be coincident with national boundaries - like USA, etc. It could be best done cross-national - e.g. EU. It maybe better to have intra-country borders - like UK, China, India, etc. It need not be a country-thing, Ideally - it would be a UN thing. Basically - a human-level governance on earth.

Corona makes us live more with our personal identities. There is less obligatory living. Everyone needs to be left alone. Everyone feels cooped up. No one is putting up obligatory displays - no shows, sports, parties, bars, dates, restaurants, services, travel, ..

Corona makes light of our other identities. It is hard to distinguish between locked down countries. Every place is same. Every person is same. The only identity that seems relevant is our shared human fate - cannot live with them , cannot live without them. The personal and the human are the only two identities that seem timely. Everything else feels anachronistic.

Corona is the 11th avatar. It is the being intervening through a manifestation as a life-form. The intervention - like the 10 avatars before - is to correct an imbalance. The last 3 avatars were humans. The first few were a fish and a turtle. This current avatar is stopping humans in their tracks to ease the imbalance in nature at a global level. The previous ones were all dealing with local phenomenon.

Religion created identitty = i think. The history of religion states that at some point humans started developing beliefs about their local habitat that made it difficult to move places. Reducing social distance required the development of a social construct that would reduce their attachment to their local place and transfer the benefits of attachment to a different thing shareable by people from different places. This social invention can be traced back to 5 religions that constitiute ~80% of the human population. The hindu and jew religions started around this time, their offshoots buddhism on one side. and cjhristianity and islam on the other side - developed over the next N years. The Indian religions developed the concept of self-identity. The Ambrahamic religions have developed the concept of shared, virtual identity.

Corona makes us live in virtual worlds alone in a room or a house or a yard or a community - we just have to be alone. No summer travel. No graduation ceremonies. No weddings. We just stay at home. We have more time to think about ourselves. Yes, I am spending more than my usual time on myself.

Corona makes us realize that the ultimate shared identity of our common humanity is now so clear - it does not have to be virtual. We have amassed enough knowledge to know that corona knows the difference between a human and other species. It only affects humans. We are al; in this together.

Corona will make us look for reasons why some people have it and other do not. They will make covid-free a brand and a promise and a caste-boundary - marrying only other known covid-free people, coming into inter-pod communication only with covid-free people only, ... It is the caste system all over again.

Saturday - the first scenario - Life in the time after corona...

Human life-spans had reduced since the time of corona. Survivors passed their immunities to their children and in a few generations - there was an equilibrium. There still was no cure. There still was no vaccine. There were lots more beds. There was a lot of coronatech at home. But, people still died of corona. Average human life-span had fallen even though people’s life styles had changed for the better.

People lived like the families on the prairies - the Laura Ingalls Wilder place. Once a week - one of them would step out to buy groceries. Some of them continued working, but they did not talk to each other at work. They distanced themselves. There were a few essential stranger-pods. Most pods were families.

People still married. They got to know each other on the internet. They only met when they got married. And, instantaneously - they both had to leave their pods and make a new pod. Such was the power of relationships in the time after corona.

Children still made friends. They were kept within virtual classroom and dance rehersals and chess classes and gaming sessions. There were class-size limits. - the emails still had to be answered. But, the classes were where people hung out.

People hung around in their virtual world - listening to cyber sounds and cyber sights. People go into national forssts and oudoors for hikes - they have to reserve their time like we do for golf games and shows. They never met any stranger physically. All that was in cyber world only.

People met only their pod members. People had a few pods at most through their life. Each inter-pod crossing was risky. It was as rare as marriage. Very weirdly old-fashioned and current at the same time.

Vacations were booked far in advance - especially to popular places. They was less of it. And, shorter. Much more like life in the old times. People may not even known the next-door town if it was not on the highway.

Not every one could live in such splendid isolation. Some people still had to work in close quarters - like construction and heavy maintenance workers. Police during active shootings, and fire people during fire. Medical staff and food pickers. These essential jobs and unisolated people were venerated as heroes. They had a lower life-span. They married among themselves. They lived by themselves - isolated from the others - the white-collar who worked from home.

Some people were pod promiscuous. Such people also tended to congregate. Birds of a feather flock together. They tended to be rich - because it takes a lot of space to party and still maintain enough distance fir average life-span to be long enough. No one wants to create a society in which people die by 30. Only the rich could afford to have the multiple residences needed to go through quarantines every time you cross a pod.

People lived in a virtual world. Most only knew nature as seen in cyber world and car-trips. There was a resentment against nature for having created corona. But, there was a grudging respect for her powers. Nature had changed humans’ behavior in a quick 3 months. It had broght everything - including the most known and biggest and fastest cities - to a gentle walk, People were as slow as animals. The speed was in the virtual world.

We still lived as if this will end. We will go back to the time before corona. It’s only a matter of time. This is only a phase. We live in suspension between the past and the future. We remember when it started. And every day, it gets more alarming. Every day makes the past become increasingly out of reach. The future keeps slipping away.

We lived in suspension. We waited for the ventilators to be built. We waited for the hospitals. We invented the home ventilators. We had a hit-and-miss cure - like cancer - but not as effective. We figured out how to keep safe in shared spaces. We did many things - a little at a time - but always reminding ourselves - this too shall end.

At some point, we settled into a new normal. Physical distancing and virtual roaming became the new normal. We made peace with the constant presence of the corona. The sword of Damocles hung for all of us. We talked longingly about the past, but we realized it was meant to be.

We learnt the origins and drivers of corona. We traced the seeds to all the usual suspects. This was the scientific future - we just did not know it then. It was one of the cat’s states - not the final one. Now, we know. There are theoretical limits on biological permeability - just like Moore’s law and nanometers.

They mark the 20th century as the 100-years-before-the-solitude. The time when humans first gained the upper hand on nature. It was the first, it was short - but it is unlikely to be the last time that himans gain the upper hand. Oh! well.

For now, we live in the world before science, but with science. Or, maybe - we share a world with nature - letting it come into our cities. Or maybe, we live in the world of divisions - people sorted by pods - rich, poor, and everything in between. Pods segregated at home and work, in the name of science - in the name of corona.

Love is painful in the time of corona. It is often rewarded with premature death in the pod. It requires a leap of physical faith. It

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jacktheabsoluteass · 5 years

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[GB&U] No.1 The Wealthy

Summary of experiment:

Before conducting this survey, I had the impression that the wealthy were as bad as the media tells you they are. Five individuals within the span of three hours were questioned, ages varying between twenty four, twenty nine, thirty six and all appeared to be male. Two questionees were quickly discarded as the gentlemen had intentions far beyond what I had asked of them thus no further inquiries were made. What asked these men was: when they realized they were well off? These were their responses...

Subject A: Subject A stated that at the age of thirty six, they had hired their first stay-in nanny, who resided in the guest house. After this response, Subject A stopped replying during the three hour window and thus concluded their part of the survey. Much after the time frame had closed, Subject A did respond.

Subject B: Similar to Subject A, Subject B realized they were well off later in life, however Subject B had this moment when they had paid off a villa in five years. I had asked what kind of occupation they were affiliated with and the subject stated they had a "simple job not worth mentioning" and proceeded by saying though they had paid off a house, most of the money was given and/or paid by the subject parents.

Subject C: Subjecr C seemed to have had many experiences throughout his life that added great value to the research conducted. The subject had come to terms with the fact he was well off when his father took a year off work and nothing from what they were used to had changed. The subject also said it could have been at the purchase of the third house. I asked weather or not the subjects father had saved a lot of money, enough for a whole year. The subject appeared to be frusturated, as though I had just insulted them. Little did I know I did. The subject replied with, "It's not the saving alone that makes you wealthy. It's busting your ass. My dads worked 40 years of his life. Minus the one he took off. So 39. He wakes up at 3:30. And comes home at 5, 5 days a week, sometimes 6. For 39 years with no excuses." Continuing on to say "Most people arent willing to pay that price" and proceeded to state various activities everyone indulges in such as, watching Netflix or YouTube, working out, investing in hobbies and such. After this I expressed that, this was all wonderful and I too would one day want to live such a life but first I would have to finish my studies and then I'd give it a shot. Subject C then went on to say his father had not completed anything above a sixth grade level and that he stopped attending school when he couldn't afford school clothing. I wanted to know what his father worked in, since my whole life, I've been told; without an education, you won't amount to anything, so all of this seemed surreal. The subject said his father was a contractor and that his job wasn't an easy feat. The subjects father had worked along side his employees for forty years. After going off on a tangent, I asked the subject how they are now, regarding his financial situation. Asking if they rely on what their father had made. From which the subject replied with, "Yeah. Always will. It's an addition to my lifestyle. It's whatever I make + whatever he gives me every month that determines how I live. All rich parents do this. You don't want to live a lavish life and see your kids suffer regardless of why they're suffering... a parent with excess in their lifestyle will always do what's in their power to not let their kids drive shitty cars, or live in a less than nice area or in a shitty apartment. Everyone who I know who's parents have more than 7 figures do the same exact shit." This all came as a surprise to me, however it was at the same time, it was to be expected. Of cource parents with more on their plate would give some to their kids, especially if their kids didn't have much on theirs. The surprise was from the way everything felt so similar. Meaning that no matter how much your parents make, if you have less, I'd even go as far as to say: Even if you have more than your parents. They'd still do anything to at least give you a little bit of this and a little bit of that.

Not only did Subject C give me more than enough to work with, the subject directly gave me the bad that I can easily just quote without further explanation needed. It's currently two fifty one AM, demons hour is in nine minutes and I'm trying to be asleep by then so here it goes. "It has ups and downs just like anything. You can't make legit friends with broke people because you can't invite em anywhere. You can't date far below your lifestyle because you can't relate really, you plan to insult your futur qife with a prenup, successful parents are mostly never around because they're busy. Other family become leeches. You end up fighting siblings over land and inheritances and property and family jewlery. You hope your kids learn how to work hard and not be total bums by too much privilege. Just as high as the highs are, the lows are equally as low when you find out your family's backstabbed you over some money. I like my life... but it's my life... and if I had another life I would like it just the same. They all have ups and downs but people only want to see the ups. Like for example my dads probably not gunna make it to 59 because the doctor told him he's worked so much his hearts gonna give out before that. He's 53 rn and I would trade this life for a lesser one if I knew he was gunna make it to 80. To be at the top, the price has to be paid. People forget or don't want to see it. But success and wealth come at an expense. Imagine your father dying. Younger than he should have, just so when he died he could leave you with enough that your own kids wouldn't have to worry. It's hard for me to swallow that shit because if I had the choice I wouldn't have chosen all this money. We could have had less and been good. Idk man. No money can replace someone who loves you like that. When people are wealthy it means someone in their ancestral past made the decision to exchange their time and hours and body and life and made the decision that they were no longer gunna let their proceeding family suffer even if it means them not fully living their life. For me it was my dad. It would be different if it was his dad or his fathers dad. I know people who inherited a lot of money when one of their parents died. And believe me, the would give that money right back if it ment they could have them back. It's sad to see someone who's worked all their life to have shit, and see them dying fast not having even taken a real break from it to the point where you'd say it was worth it. A point where he knows how to reuely enjoy all he has because it's not even in the person. I'm not saying there isnt people I know without these problems. But you'd be surprised the things success can bring. Siblings who haven't spoken in 25 years, early deaths or Alzheimer's caused by over working. Disconnection from lack of time spent together. Deep drug habits fueled by easy money to cope with a lost loved one. Aimlessly shooting through life because parents are so busy to do anything but throw money at their kid hoping that's the solution. The thing is. It doesn't matter if its 1,000 or a 100,000, the true colors will show and that's what sucka. It's the act more than the amount. Some siblings won't mind splitting it 50/50. Others try to snake the whole 100 from you. You lose a lot of family having more money. It's just the way it goes. Uncles, aunts, cousins, brothers, tou name it. So if you know you're going to make it ar least until 30 still having your pops man, I suggest you value the small things in life. Because to someone else that might not be within their power. Not even with money."

#the good the bad and the ugly #GB&U #lifestyle #wealthy #research #results #anon replies

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pete-and-pete · 6 years

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James Patrick: 5 Fast Facts You Need to Know

James Patrick, of Winter Haven, was arrested after making threatening Facebook posts relating to the nomination of Brett Kavanaugh for a seat on the U.S. Supreme Court, according to the Polk County Sheriff’s Office.

“I am about to accept an offer on my house. Just to get more money to fund my plan to kill democrat office holders and their families involved in this sham to keep kav from being on the Supreme Court,” one post reads.

Patrick, 53, is being charged with writing a “threat to kill or injure” after authorities were alerted to Facebook posts that Patrick wrote, threatening to shoot members of Congress depending on the outcome of the confirmation hearing, as well as any law enforcement officer who showed up at his home.

Here’s what you need to know about Patrick:

1. Patrick Was Arrested After Writing Several Disturbing Facebook Posts Over The Span of Kavanaugh’s Hearing

Deputies arrested Patrick after he threatened to kill members of Congress and their families on Facebook if Brett Kavanaugh wasn’t confirmed to the Supreme Court.

One post reads: “I am about to accept an offer on my house. Just to get more money to fund my plan to kill democrat office holders and their families involved in this sham to keep kav from being on the Supreme Court.”

Several of the posts of since been removed by Facebook after the disturbing content was reported and news of Patrick’s arrest spread, but Heavy has screenshots of the content in the event that it is removed. Be warned, some of the content is and disturbing.

One post, that can be seen above, has a close-up picture of a bullet, accompanied by a long post of Patrick talking about “having all arrangements made” because he will “not be coming home if Kav(anaugh) is not confirmed.”

Another post talks about how he is willing to “sacrifice himself” for his country, while exclaiming that he “will know who needs to be killed” after the Kavanaugh hearing comes to an end.

“I can tell it seems I will be sacrificing my life for my country,” Patrick said in another post on Facebook on Sept. 27. “But I am ready and will know who needs to be killed after the vote to put Kavanaugh on the Supreme Court.”