you have the weight of the galaxy upon your shoulders and all i wish for is to share the burden so you do not have to carry it alone

slightlymorepeppermint asked:

Hey, so I've been reading your posts regarding Bioware's sexism with Mass Effect and I must say that I'd never really noticed it before now. (My reaction to the ME3 default female Shepard was 'that's new. A lot of makeup but whatever' because my custom face looked ... not at all like her ME2 face and I wanted to fix that instead.) I guess it says something about just how subversive sexism is in the industry. A game can be great in some places but not so great in others. But anyway, thank you.

Messages like these make me so happy ♥ I’m so so glad I was able to teach you something!

To be honest, I didn’t really notice it myself at first - when they had that Facebook voting thing, I happily voted for the redhead (because both the default and my customs were redheads) and asked others to do so as well, but after a few days the lack of replies as to why the original default wasn’t even an option started to really bother me, and I thought more about how all the Shepards presented to us were conventionally attractive in a way that original default isn’t - she’s not unappealing, but her edges are considerably rougher than those of the women we saw, than those of the woman who is on the game cover. And then I played the game with the original default Jane for the second time and really looked at her and I was filled with both sadness and anger and the rest is, as they say, history. I fell in love with this woman all over again and started being angry and now I have people coming to me and telling me that I’ve taught them something through my love and anger.

The Internet is a beautiful place sometimes.

Keep looking critically at the media you consume but don’t let the problematic things stop you from enjoying the good parts ♥♥

talking about shepard and the redesign in the merp chat and i’m so upset, so incredibly upset over this betrayal still that i’m crying and physically shaking and feeling kind of sick because i care too much about her

because i gained so much through knowing her - like alana and meredith and cass and shannon and strength and determination and an ability to grit my teeth and dig my heels into the ground and an ability to resist slashing at my skin with razor blades - and she is so endlessly important to me because I grew into myself through her and

and now my chest aches and my cheeks are wet and my fingers feel numb and are shaking because she is everything and her creators threw her away when they couldn’t use her

Shepard has not been afraid of the dark since she was sixteen becaue she knows that there are far worse things out there than invisible monsters clawing at her spine with talons made of imaginary shadows. She used to think the real monsters were the four-eyed vicious beasts who murdered her parents and left her for dead but now she has spoken to them, people who share origins with the slavers who stole her childhood, and knows that they are not. No, the only thing she should fear comes from beyond the edges of her galaxy, creatures of metal and warped logic.

She shuts them out during her waking hours, but as sleep comes they try to exist behind her eyelids, whispering of centuries she never knew had passed and of people who fought as hard as she does - harder - but failed and watched their worlds burn as bright as the stars they orbited.

It will not happen this time. She gasps for breath as she walks the forest of her dreamscape, choking on the ash that covers the ground as it’s stirred up by her boots while she chases a child she knows to be dead and listens to other whispers - friends she failed, friends whose remains she thinks her subconscious and the metal monsters are making her breathe. Angrily she catches up to the child, watches him burn and opens her eyes to a room barely illuminated by a giant fishtank and the holographic inteface of an alarm clock.

Perhaps the monsters do hide in her mind, their synthetic thoughts intertwining with her own when she cannot push them away, and perhaps they will try to trickle into her cybernetic implants one day but she knows that there will always be spaces behind her ribcage, in her bone marrow, in the red drops of her blood that are organic and human and hers. Spaces they will never occupy, spaces they will never understand despite the millennia they’ve existed and she almost smiles as she considers her own mortality, deciding that the only Reaper that will have her will not be made of metal.