“One night I was talking with my wife about how perfect our life was. It was twenty-five years ago. We had four children. We’d just saved enough money to buy a new house. We felt so lucky. I remember she said: ‘What if God takes something from us?’ The next day I came home from work and found my wife screaming. She was holding our oldest son. He’d stuck his hand in the washing machine andelectrocuted himself. We couldn’t revive him. We rushed to the hospital but the doctors said there was nothing they could do. I begged them to try. My friends from the church came and we all started to pray. And the doctors were able to bring him back to life. He became a case study. Today he’s 29. He has learning problems. He can’t read or write. But he has a job as a security guard. He enjoys his life. And to this day, I believe in miracles.”
-Hipster Sasquatch has returned after hibernation, lumbering along just as hairy and indie as ever.
-As a four year-old girl reached into the cooler, her mother told her that the beverage she was reaching for was coffee, not milk, and that she had better not grab it. This warning did not stop her, and I could see on her face that she knew what she was doing.
-A white man clad entirely in black, down to a beanie emblazoned with a large skull, came through my lane to purchase the complete boxed set of Dexter. All signs point to this being for research purposes.
-I asked a man how he was. He replied, “Hewsabudje.” I then asked if he found everything alright, to which he said, “Öbudjah.”
-A mother turned to her squabbling twin toddler sons and told the instigator of the pair, “Be nice to yourself.” I am certain treating the twins this way will lead to fascinating developments, but I am fine with not seeing them myself.
-A man responded to my pleasantries with a series of cheery and hollow bird-like whistles. I believe this to have been the best response possible.
-In the midst of a discussion about her addiction to caramel frappuccinos, an octogenarian woman told me that she had reached a point in life where she does not care about calories at all. I am not sure what it says about me that I have been at this stage for all twenty years of my life.
It goes a long way back, some twenty years. All my life I had been looking for something, and everywhere I turned someone tried to tell me what it was. I accepted their answers too, though they were often in contradiction and even self-contradictory. I was naive. I was looking for myself and asking everyone except myself questions which I, and only I, could answer. It took me a long time and much painful boomeranging of my expectations to achieve a realization everyone else appears to have been born with: That I am nobody but myself.
This was the most marvelous game I ever played. Dorado Defense, one kid on my team had been going on about his “Noob team” (which was great btw) for a while now, spewing insults, you know acting like he came right from a call of duty session.
I suggested he chill. He suggested I drink bleach.
I could have muted him. I could have blocked him. I could have sent a report. But as the lone Mercy, there was only one thing that I would do.
Take him off heals of course.
I healed everyone else. Sometimes I’d stand next to him when he was at critical health and healed the person at full health by his side.
Halfway through the game he started begging.
I’ve gained twenty years to my life from the frantic “MERRCY PLZZZ” that I got.
I had half a mind to make him beg for my forgiveness, but I was busy keeping the rest of the team alive.
Alec straight up saying "I don't care how many people you've been with" to Magnus cleared my skin, improved my GPA, and gave me twenty years to my life.
I agree wholeheartedly and I’d also like to add to your thought:
Magnus responding with “I don’t care how many people you haven’t been with” watered my plants, paid my taxes, and gave me another twenty years.
Honestly, I’m never going to recover from the fact that they took the classic stereotype of ‘person is uncomfortable being with someone who has an extensive sexual/romantic history’ (and the even more harmful ‘person is uncomfortable with a bisexual person having an extensive romantic/sexual history with partners of multiple genders’) and turned it into an actual, two-way conversation about the dynamic of their relationship. I personally can’t think of any other time that I’ve seen someone express surprise that their date has an extensive history, and then the other person immediately also express surprise at their date having no history.
Instead of making Alec insecure about Magnus having a history, they made it so both Alec and Magnus are caught off-guard by how different their relationship experiences are. It’s not Alec being jealous or biphobic (fuck you, cc), it’s both of them being initially weirded out by the fact that they’re coming into this relationship from such different places. It’s a perfectly valid response for both of them. And they’re both honest about it.
And then they just… talk about it??? Right away??? They’re open about the fact that they think it’s somewhat strange for people with such different lives to start a relationship, and they talk about it, and they make a straightforward commitment to do what they need to do to make it work. They identified a potential problem in their relationship, they said ‘fuck it I still want this’, and they acknowledged that they’re going to put in the effort regardless of their different situations. Like… I’m stunned??? They had a problem and they immediately dealt with it in an honest and mature way.
Magnus and Alec are only one date into their relationship and every goddamn moment of it is already Iconic. Seriously, bless.
Twenty years ago today, a little show premiered on Showcase. It started out with an hour and a half pilot that received some well-deserved criticism for certain parts of it (ehm), but led the way to the creation of a massive, much loved universe.
Three television shows. 17 seasons. 354 episodes. Countless friendships created all around the globe.
Welcome to the Stargate universe.
I don’t remember my life without Stargate. I don’t want to imagine my life without Stargate.
My parents watched the Stargate film in the movie theatre. They loved it. So when Stargate SG-1 started, of course they sat down to watch it. And being a young girl who needed to be watched over all the time, they sat me down near the telly as they watched.
I grew up with SG-1. Some of my earliest memories are of SG-1. Sam has been my first hero. Daniel has been my first telly crush. Stargate kept me going through more than I can explain; kept me alive longer than I can remember.
I wouldn’t have been here without Stargate. And just as importantly, I wouldn’t have known so many amazing people without it. Some of my most treasured memories are those of meeting the actors I’ve admired my whole life in conventions. I’ve spent thousands on it, and I’d have kept spending thousands more.
Stargate is home.
Stargate and I grew up together. We’ve always been linked. I learned to fight from Jack and Teal'c, from John and Ronon. I learned compassion and caring for others from Daniel and Carson. I was inspired by Sam and Elizabeth, still my greatest heroes. After all this time? Always.
Because that’s the thing. Even when my life is crazy, even when I fall back down to the familiar arms of depression, even when I feel I know nothing about myself, there’s always one constant. Stargate. It doesn’t change. It stays there, and it welcomes me back in, anytime. Whether it’s a casual rewatch (occasionally with friends, like with @monkeywandsgutter!) or just a need to see something that will make me feel better, it’s always there. It’s home, in every way there is.
Happy birthday, Stargate SG-1. Happy birthday, my dearest franchise. ❤️
Currently sitting in the living room of my girlfriends’ dorm suite like any other nights, as I convince myself: this is also like any other birthdays. But it isn’t. In half an hour, when the date turns to December 5, not only will it mark my 20th birthday, but also my first full year as the person I envied growing up, never imagining it could realistically happen.
I’m looking at the picture above– the longest I have ever my had my hair– in a french braid, with a striking batik kimono, a gold tank top, and black suede bootie heels. To think: my own self progress brought my ideal picture perfect girl to life, and for once, this actually inspires me. To think this transition was as easy as putting these clothes on, but also to think it was way more than that.
I’m too scared to grow up.
Seventeen out of soon-to-be-twenty years of my life was out of my own hands before I could tell them my pronouns, before I could pick out my own wardrobe. My own voice. My own words. My own labels. My own.
But I was never mad. I just existed.
I was happy, though. I enjoyed going to school. At thirteen I wore my polo converse shoes everyday– ones that my mom and I bought together, knowing dad would disprove.
I saw the systems of conformity as a righteous way to navigate. At fourteen I expressed my femininity by doing masculinity wrong. I expressed my womanhood by slowly detaching myself from maleness, although I had no idea there were words to describe how I felt, other than sleepless nights and not speaking during family dinners.
I smiled through the systems, said I’m better than that. At fifteen I held on to singing as one of the only ways I could use my voice, through ambiguous lyrics, expressing myself in a way only I could understand.
Eventually I started to pick up the hints, although they were vague and only dizzied me further. It was challenging for people to get me down, but that was because I did not know what I should be down for. I was emotionally incapable to unbox and dissect all of my internalized trauma of femininity, and I used the unknown as a way to shield myself from pain.
College liberated me from pressure, and through patience, disarrangement, and agony, I stumbled upon the picture perfect girl that I thought I saw in other women. In truth, I had to use the most of my resources to make this picture perfect girl on my own.
And I did it.
(Oh shit!! I’m twenty now!!!)
Smiling became easier. So many burdens are placed on teenagers, and sometimes smiling was the most defying yet healing thing to do.
Beauty became easier, too. At eighteen I started medically transitioning– and although my beauty is victimized by cisnormative beauty ideals, I felt pretty. I felt pretty under the expectations of what girlhood meant, and embracing my prettiness and transness in the same hands was my way of rebelling. It still is.
Thrifting became my favorite way of shopping. Something about giving old things new purposes meant powerfully to me. The ways I had to redefine my truth as a person involved giving somebody’s old clothes new meaning as well, and I felt an adamant allyship within my own clothing.
Nineteen was by far one of the most strenuous yet lucrative years of my life. I took myself less seriously, but never neglecting myself when necessary.
I found the strongest solidarity in holding other trans women. Alive and surviving, too.
I was low on myself more times than I want to admit… mostly because I’m clumsy and I fall easily (example above).
Sometimes I’m reminded that being a woman was never always an available option for me– let alone a tangible possibility.
Sometimes I would forget to refill my hormones on time. Sometimes he didn’t text me unless he needed my body. Sometimes I’m unable to focus on school work or even show up to class.
But I remembered to smile.
And when I wasn’t smiling, I was fighting for a reason to smile, something as little as protesting and as big as getting heard.
To my teen years,
I treasure you. Not like the way I treasured away my girlhood way before I was a teenager. But a non-traumatic, and more euphoric way. I feel infinitely more colossal to have survived you, for in the midst of survival I forgot that time was inevitable and that soon enough you would end.
To my twenties,
My skin still bleeds. I still get tired. But the sun still shines, and the moon’s got its back, always replying.