#like she is the most sweetest kindest gentlest most patient

[finlaure13]

The undignified manner to which they treat me, whose kind once sat in leisure upon the emperors of the East. I suffer to deplore of you, what have I done to deserve such an ignominy?

(It’s biting. Biting is what it is)

[partywithponies]

I love that despite having died LONG before the show began, Jonathan Harker is firmly established to have been the sweetest, kindest, gentlest, most patient of men, and after he died Mina spent like 100 years being like "Jonathan was the perfect man. I could never love again. Never again will I find another man who could match up", and then when she FINALLY gets a new love interest it's Angry Violent Stubborn Rude Man With Way Too Many Guns And An Alcohol Problem.

[roses-red-and-pink]

Ok my sisters and I are literally Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. It’s kind of funny.

Me: (Meg) the eldest. Always wanted to get married, have kids, live in a little house. Motherly, but kind of bossy eldest sister. Best friends with “Jo” sister. Gets on great with, and likes to spend time with “Amy” sister. Got married young. Will probably have kids soon. Pride is my weakness (like megs vanity) and often wishes I weren’t so poor, but makes the best of what I’ve got and tries to carry on cheerfully.

A: (Jo) 2nd oldest. The loud, big dreams, change the world type of person. Wants to do something important. Left home as soon as she could to a more distant city, not because she doesn’t deeply love us, but because she needs her freedom and adventure. Has a temper. But also very caring and nurturing. Gets on the worst with “Amy” sister- often fighting, but they love each other. Best friends with me (Meg) and was very angry and mad at my fiancé for stealing me away from her. (Now I think she’s good, but she also hasn’t met him much)

O: (Beth) 3rd oldest. I have to admit, a lot of my regrets are that I didn’t include her more when we were little. And as such we don’t have as close of a relationship. But she is so sweet. Literally the sweetest, most unselfish girl you will ever meet. She’s quiet. Her hobbies are quiet. The hobbies she does have she is very passionate about. She doesn’t have many friends. But she is the kindest, gentlest, most patient person I have ever met. Truly, if I could be half as good as her I would be good.

M:(Amy) 5th child (bc we have a brother in there). Kinda spoiled. Younger child. Very very concerned with appearances and social standing. Has to be in fashion, has to have friends, has to always make a good impression. She’s still a teen so no knowing exactly what she will be like as an adult but she is very like Amy and always has been from the time she was little. Butts heads with “Jo” sister. Probably because they are so similar. I have always had a particular relationship with her. We’ve never fought. Probably in part because of the age difference, probably in part because of our own personalities. She loves art like me, and baking like me, and she loves to show me her work and I love to teach her.

I’ve just always found this so interesting. We don’t match up perfectly to the characters of course, but the similarities are striking, especially the birth order being the same.

[neurotexture]

I got a diagnosis a while ago now, and it was BPD, though I also have ADHD.  My life has always been like a shifting pile of blocks and rubble that I tried to shape into a castle.  Lately, I’ve been trying something new.  I’ve been letting some things fall, trying to reduce my life to its basic building blocks so that I can finally find something stable to build with.

But it’s really scary.  What if I break things down and realize that there is nothing solid?  What if I’m one of the 20% of people who don’t experience remission, because my life has been a long string of thinking that I’m interacting better with the world only to realize that I am still struggling, that it is always a struggle.  

Can I accept that?  Can I learn to love a person who is intensely kind, but also immensely cruel? Can anyone else?

My husband is the sweetest, kindest, gentlest, and most patient of men and he always calmly assures me that nothing will stand in his way of loving me...but do I want that?  What if I’m hurting him?  What if the happiness I bring stops outweighing the sadness?  I couldn’t stand watching him suffer.

It drives me mad right now.  Any time I feel intense, I want to run away.  I want to save him from the pain I radiate.  And too, I just feel overwhelmed, like I can’t handle his feelings about my feelings while I’m feeling them.  It makes me want to die, to stop existing.  More than anything I wish to disappear with no damage to the ones I love, to just let them go in peace without me.

But I know that they would miss me, that any kind of leaving would hurt them.  I feel a responsibility to that, in the same way I feel a responsibility to anyone’s expectations.  I just get so tired of trying to fit in to the world’s expectations.  

I just get so tired.  So tired.  But I just keep going.  Sometimes it feels like a punishment I am giving myself.  Death would be a release for this hateful person, so she can’t have it until it happens naturally.  Her sentence, for being such a despicable person, is to keep living and try to get better, to fight the fight every day for the rest of her natural life.

I don’t want all this self hate.  It makes everything else harder.  How build anything without loving myself?  How can I love myself when I can’t control myself?  How can anyone else?  Should anyone else love me?  

And anyway, even when people do say they love me, how can I tell that that is real?  How do I know that they don’t love what I do for them or how I am around them?  How can they love a person that I am always trying to hide from them?

The dialogue everywhere for my disorder says that I have to change, that I am wrong and cruel and awful and I need to learn to live up to society’s standards.  Nobody would say that about me if I was missing an arm, so why does having a different kind of brain not fit in that category?

I know everybody has to work on themselves, everyone needs to grow, but I feel like other people are free to do it at their own pace.  Because I am bound by my disorder to process these things more slowly, I’m behind and I may never catch up.

I have a strategy right now, but I can’t seem to deploy it.  I need less stress in my life, but no matter how much I cut out, there’s always something that feels traumatic to me, at least once a month.  I’ve cut down on my social interactions, cut down on stresses from work, and been trying to focus on my strategies for coping on a day to day basis, but I still manage to drive people away during the short times I see them.

Hopefully I’ll look back on this some day and feel like I figured it out.

[chasholidays]

Prompt: Bellarke roommates AU where Bellamy’s babysitting his nephew and dresses himself as rudolf/dresses his nephew as Santa and Clarke dies of emotions. Hopefully a best friends to lovers situation?

Bellamy: I know you have some class stuff to do but what if you blew it off and came and took pictures of me and Carter for Christmas cards

Clarke blinks at her phone, trying to make sense of the words on the screen. She’s been trying to edit her photo project for long enough that her brain feels like it’s starting to melt, but once she figures out what he’s asking, she has to smile. Octavia and Lincoln are out doing Christmas shopping, so Bellamy is watching his nephew. Clarke was sad to be missing out, but this needed to get done.

And now it mostly is, so she can definitely go home, take pictures of Bellamy and Carter, and relax for the rest of the day. It’s not the most academically sensible decision she’s ever made, but it does sound like a huge improvement over what she’s actually doing.

And Bellamy clearly needs backup.

Me: If I’m home in like half an hour is that soon enough, or do you need me to leave now?

Bellamy: Half an hour should be fineI just want this documented

It’s a somewhat confusing statement, but Clarke doesn’t dwell on it as she finishes up and locks the lab behind her. She assumes that once she gets home and sees him, everything will become clear.

And it does, but not quite instantly, because she opens the door and there he is in the kitchen, wearing a lot of soft brown material with a red dot on his nose, and that’s just kind of a lot to take in. It’s hard to process what she’s seeing, let alone make sense of it.

When she spots the antler headband, though, it clicks.

He gives her a crooked smile. “Hi.”

“Hi. Did you have this outfit already, or did you guys go shopping? I’m just trying to figure out the timeline here.”

“It’s, uh–”

“Aunt Clarke!” says Carter, spying her from his spot on the living room floor and running over. “Hi! Don’t we look handsome?”

Clarke has to smile. At almost five, Carter is talkative and messy-haired, a bright bundle of energy and missing teeth. Clarke hasn’t seen him in a few weeks because she’s been busy with grad school, and she did miss him.

“You look very handsome. Did you come over in that costume?”

He twirls for her, showing off a bright red suit and bushy beard made of what looks like an old t-shirt and yarn. “Uncle Bell made it.”

“He did, huh?” Clarke asks, smiling at Bellamy over Carter’s head.

“They’re doing a holiday pageant at the preschool,” he explains. “Carter is playing Santa and O figured I could handle the costume.”

“I’m amazed a preschool can have Santa in a pageant,” she admits. “Aren’t they non-denominational?”

“It’s informational about all the holiday traditions. The kids are coming together in song. It’s going to be—“ He glances at Carter and coughs delicately. “Great. It’s going to be great.”

“And are you going to be in it?” she teases, giving one of his antlers a tug. They’re felt and kind of adorable.

“I figured if he was dressed as Santa anyway we might as well make a day of it, right?”

His smile is a little sheepish, and the whole effect is just—

Honestly? It’s adorable. Bellamy is about the cutest thing she’s ever seen, even without Carter. Put in the kid and yeah. It’s absurd.

“So did Uncle Bell make his own costume?” Clarke asks Carter. “Or did he already have that?”

“He had it!”

“Traitor,” Bellamy mutters. “It’s from a costume party.”

“You went to a party in a reindeer onesie?”

“Like you didn’t do weirder things in college.”

“Why did you keep the reindeer onesie?”

“For moments like this, obviously. Are you going to take pictures for us or not?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me to document it. I’m not even getting secret blackmail material. It’s your idea.”

“You can’t blackmail me if I’m not embarrassed. We look handsome,“ he adds, smirking, and it’s not actually accurate in his case, but–he is cute. Incredibly cute.

It gets cuter when he scoops Carter up onto his shoulders, making him whoop with laughter. He tugs on the antlers on Bellamy’s head like they’re a steering device, and Bellamy goes with it, letting Carter navigate him into the living room.

The living room is actually worse, because it’s full of the ruins of the costume-making, scraps of loose fabric they seem to have arranged into decorations. Clarke wouldn’t say she’s into guys who are good with kids, as a general thing, but if she hadn’t been in love with Bellamy before she saw how he doted on Carter, that probably would have done it. He’s just so sweet.

So, yeah. This was a bad idea. She shouldn’t have agreed to take pictures of the cutest babysitting session ever. But she did, so there’s nothing to do but ask, "So, what did you have in mind?”

“Mom wants pictures of me,” says Carter. “Without Uncle Bell.”

“She specifically said that,” Bellamy adds. “Bellamy, you can’t be in all the pictures, I need some of just him for Lincoln’s parents.”

“Poor Lincoln’s parents, missing out on your reindeer onesie. Okay, kiddo, what do you want to do for your grandparents?”

“We need a background,” he says, patient. “I told Uncle Bell, but he said we should wait for you.”

“You’re the artist. I figured you might have ideas. I’ve got some construction paper and markers, so–”

“So, we’ve got Santa and a reindeer, right?” she says, clapping her hands together. Projects are good. Projects aren’t thinking about how cute Bellamy looks. “I think we should get a sleigh and some presents. You two can handle presents, I’ve got the sleigh.”

As plans go, it’s good for their project and still bad for her sanity, because Bellamy is still wearing his stupid costume, and Carter is sitting in his lap, telling him what colors of construction paper to use for the presents he’s cutting out. He’s patient as he adds polka dots and stripes, does everything, and Clarke keeps getting distracted from her own project watching the two of them.

Bellamy catches her the third time or so, flashes her a grin. “Don’t judge. We can’t all be professionals.”

She shakes her head, her own smile warm. “No, you guys are doing great. Just trying to get the size on the sleigh right. Proportions.”

“Uh huh.”

“I take my duties seriously.”

His expressions softens. “I know you do. Thanks.”

Even with her occasional distractions, Clarke finishes her sleigh and a Christmas tree before Carter feels that Bellamy’s made a sufficient number of presents. Which says less about Clarke’s own skills and a lot more about what Carter considers a sufficient number of presents, honestly.

They cut out a few ornaments for the tree and then tape the whole display up on the wall, which is enough work that they have to go have a snack before they’re ready for the actual pictures, so there’s no way Clarke’s getting anything else done before dinner. Even if Carter leaves, they’ll have the living room to clean, and Bellamy will definitely feel obliged to buy her a pizza for all her help.

So it’s the ideal day, basically. Even with the morning spent in the computer lab and the slight stress of childcare.

The pictures of Carter are easy, because he’s half Blake, which makes him a natural ham. He lives his whole life like it’s a photoshoot already, and Clarke’s camera, whenever she turns it on him, just confirms what he already suspected about his own coolness.

And then he says, “Come on, Uncle Bell! Your turn!”

“Any notes?” he asks Clarke.

“Have fun, be yourself. Try not to hog the spotlight. It’s the kid’s moment.”

“But this is my breakout role.” He leaves her side and goes to pick up Carter. “Okay, buddy, what do you want me to do?”

Carter, being Carter, has a lot of ideas about what he wants, and Bellamy, being Bellamy, goes along with him. He rides on his uncle’s back, in his lap, on his shoulders. He gets a bow and ties it on Bellamy’s head so he can pretend to unwrap him, makes Bellamy find sunglasses so they can both wear them and pose as cool guys.

And the whole time, Bellamy is just being Uncle Bell, the sweetest, kindest, gentlest version of himself. It’s not, honestly, how Clarke would want him to be all the time, because she likes the Bellamy who’s kind of prickly and sarcastic and irritable, the one who snaps at her when he loses his temper. Bellamy, when he’s with his nephew, is superhumanly patient and helpful, and while it’s beyond sweet, it’s not how Clarke wants him to be with her.

But it is very, very appealing. She blames biological imperatives.

“Okay,” says Bellamy, flopping onto his back with histrionic exhaustion. “That’s it, right? We got enough? You’re done? You’re happy?”

“We didn’t get one with Aunt Clarke!”

Clarke blinks. “Did we need one with me? I’m not even wearing a costume.”

Bellamy takes his antlers off and puts them on her instead, smiling. “There, instant costume. We should get one with the three of us, right?”

It doesn’t seem like a necessity to Clarke, but it’s not like she minds, really. They can put it up on the fridge or something. She can post it on Instagram and her relatives who follow her will ask if she adopted a child with that nice boy they’re all convinced she’s dating.

So, par for the course.

“Let me just grab the stand,” she says.

It takes a few minutes for Carter to get them arranged, and then she sets the camera to auto-take pictures every few seconds. They do a couple serious ones, and then some silly ones, and Carter settles into Clarke’s lap to review all the shots she took. He picks his favorites for her to send to Octavia, and then Bellamy comes to see too, slotting in right next to Clarke, warm and close. He’s still wearing the onesie, which should be ridiculous, but she’s pretty sure he’s not going to change before Carter does, and Carter sounds like he’s planning to wear his Santa costume until it is forcibly cut from his body.

So the whole thing is, again, overwhelmingly cute. Clarke is not prepared.

“Which ones of these do you want?” she asks him, trying not to think about how close he is and how nice he smells and how his hair is a little messy from his headband that she’s still wearing.

“All of them, obviously. They’re all great. Thanks,” he adds, to her surprise.

“You don’t actually think this was a hardship, right? I got to take cute pictures instead of doing work. And I got to see you guys all dressed up.”

“You can see me again at the pageant,” says Carter. “You’re coming, right?”

“Of course I’m coming,” she says. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Okay, buddy,” Bellamy says, once Clarke gets through all the photos. “We need to get you changed before your parents show up.”

“We do? Why can’t I wear it home?”

“Because the beard would be itchy,” he says. “And your mom said you guys were going out to dinner, so you need to wear your regular clothes. Otherwise all the other kids are going to ask you for presents.”

“I guess,” Carter says, heaving a heavy sigh. “Okay, I’ll get changed.”

Octavia shows up before they’re ready, so she and Clarke have their usual slightly awkward chat, which blessedly ends when Octavia says, “Oh my god, Bell, what are you wearing?”

“I’m Rudolph,” he says. “Hi, O, nice to see you too. No need to thank me for babysitting or making a costume or anything.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Carter, did you thank Uncle Bell and Aunt Clarke for letting you come over today?”

“Thanks Uncle Bell and Aunt Clarke!” he says, obedient. They both get one more hug, and then the kid is gone, and Clarke and Bellamy are alone in their antlers and onesie, respectively.

“Okay, seriously,” says Clarke. “What party was that appropriate for?”

“What party is it not appropriate for?”

“Look, I know you’re hot, but there’s no way this look was working for you back then.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she knows they’re the wrong words, and Bellamy clearly does too. He cocks his head at her, curious, and Clarke feels the heat rush up her neck.

“Back then,” he repeats, slow. “So, you’re saying I look better in a onesie now than I did in college?”

“You had a kid helping you out. I assume you didn’t bring small children to college parties to help you get laid, so–”

He grins. “So this is doing it for you. Doting uncle in a reindeer onesie is your type? You’re actually into this?”

The smartest option would be to tease him back, but–he doesn’t look upset at the prospect. And he is her best friend. They can survive an awkward moment if they have to.

“Honestly? I really am.”

She’d worry it wasn’t enough, but Bellamy sobers instantly, eyes darting up and down, like he’s checking her for strings. “This? Really?”

“The hotness helps a lot. And–” She shrugs. “I’m into you, Bellamy, so–”

His hand is on her jaw, tilting her chin up, and his mouth is on hers, warm and insistent, and when he pulls back, she tugs him back in, kissing him like she’s wanted to for years, making the most of it.

“Fuck, I would have told you I had a reindeer onesie years ago if I knew this was your kink,” he teases.

“It was really the whole experience. Honestly, do you have any idea how cute you are with your nephew? I’m amazed I lasted this long.”

“I had no idea and I wish you hadn’t,” he teases. He kisses her again. “Seriously, though, if this is a kink for you, you should tell me now, before–”

She gives him a gentle shove. “You’re a kink for me, asshole.”

“Cool, because I kind of wanted to take this thing off. If you wanted to help me with that too.”

It’s a line that wouldn’t work if he wasn’t Bellamy, but none of this would have worked if he wasn’t Bellamy. She adores him, and apparently the feeling is mutual.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ve got you covered.”

[mividaeslimones]

Day 01: start of the process...

I think this is one of the more unnerving days I’ve had in a while. I checked in at 1:30 pm and it’s now 3:00 pm and there’s still no sign of the provider... I split my time between Michelle Obama’s book, Spanish lessons, and some recipes I found on Pinterest. Driving to the appointment had been the usual level of Albuquerque fuckery, so I can’t complain too much there (I should be used to it), checking in had been a breeze, but this waiting... I almost want to get up and leave I’m so anxious. But I’ll stay positive and keep my ass parked in this chair as other patients are roomed and seen quickly.

I���m moved to another room at 3:05 and this does absolutely nothing for my nerves. But I smile and follow the nurse without complaint anyway. I remind myself I’m not leaving without progress at the very least. I’ve waited too long and have come too far. Just breathe in, breathe out, and repeat. Smile as more patients and clinical staff pass in the hall. There’s a damn good reason the appointment was so delayed which I’ll address later.

It’s now 3:05 pm, I’m ready to climb out of my skin. The provider moseys in and things are...odd? Both of us are actively trying to feel out the other, and I imagine the fly on the wall is tickled pink. When we finally start I’m in tears, in all my 32 years of being on this planet I can fit the number of people who have actively tried to make sure my pronouns were as they should be. It’s a weird and uncomfortably visceral feeling. I cried, she cried, and then she cracked a joke this will be easier, because crying will literally be harder after testosterone.

We chat for a bit and I lean into the conversation with my overly tired and rehearsed, “so I know it varies from state to state, and clinic to clinic, but will I need a diagnosis of dysphoria to make this happen?” Yes, yes I will; insurance companies will outright deny it. She dances around “the question”, I know she’s trying to be delicate with me so I cut in with a wild move.

“When did I know?” She looks relieved and says “yes.” I think for a minute, not because I’m inventing answer, but because I’ve literally never given it a second thought since I’ve pushed it down. It is one of a million neat and tidily wrapped boxes (in a mellowed robin egg blue) I’ve kept locked away inside. “I tell her I feel cliched for saying this, but I think it was kindergarten...” I go on about the rips in the perfect discount tights from Nordstrom and the filthy dresses. I also mention how hilarious I must have looked to the adults who watched the kindergartners. I was the most careful child, but in spite of my best efforts I came home a mess. Can you imagine some poor child comically stepping over puddles and trying to ascend a tree with the tenacity of a sloth? And I would later have the dreaded conversation with my mother on the subject... One day I just decided it wasn’t worth the effort anymore and I caved. I stopped the rough play, then resigned to quieter and less messy activities.

But I still tried on some level... I wanted the reprieve. So I’d slyly sneak over to the boy’s racks of some department store to try toss in a shirt or a pair of pants. And when I was inevitably caught I would be taken by the arm, before I was abrasively whispered something along the lines of, “it will look like no one loves you if you dress like a boy.” It was another weird little box to unwrap... Honestly, it didn’t feel like something that belonged to me anymore. Kind of like when you step into a house that was converted into a museum. You see the remnants of a life lived by someone eons ago, and it’s sad to some extent, but it’s not real, or tangible. After having context for some of this I think I sort of understand her reasoning... As awful as some of her behavior was, I think it came from a good place, which I’ll get into later.

Woo! Anyway! The provider went on to ask a few more things before we finished up the brief questionnaire. I honestly mean it was brief, like the Spanish Inquisition could have laughed at it. I was asked about the surgery portion and I said I wasn’t ready, not out of fear, but out of an understanding of how the procedure works. If a person wants a something like a subcutaneous mastectomy (boob removal) with chest contouring (shaping of your moobs), you need something to be there, if you’re particular about the outcome. If you’re not, you’re amazing and more power to you. But for the rest of us (who avoided the gym) we will need to work building up that area as much as we can. The question came up of if I wanted to keep my current primary provider and I said yes. My doctor is more enthusiastic about this whole thing than I am, like she sounded ready to jump on anyone who dared tell me no to any of this. I did mention it was weird that my current health system (outside of UNM) didn’t have a way to look up the endocrinologist who helps trans patients. I even called when I couldn’t find anything online. I said it was kind of my deciding factor to keep this part of my care with UNM, since that seemed very sketch to me. She also seemed to think it was a little odd, and quietly brought the rest of my concern up... Which was this endocrinologist may treat trans patients frequently, but he may not be the gentlest or versed, and we moved along...

It was weird, she was willing to give me a script that day, but she was hesitant to bring up the blood panel. Which I was completely fine with by the way! I would much rather be safe than sorry, your health is nothing to take for granted. Shoot I even requested to tack on another for peace of mind (STI check). I’m going to be checked to see where my glucose is at, along with my cholesterol, if my cells are clumping or if it looks like I might have something like macrocytosis (puffy/large cells), and I’m getting a pregnancy test. I’d be shocked if the last one turned up anything, I haven’t done the horizontal tango since the beginning of the year, I think, it’s been a long time okay.

I did kick myself when I realized I broke my own cardinal rule before the appointment. DON’T EAT. I always shoot for the earliest appointment available so I can eat immediately after, this wasn’t an option, so I ate on accident... You never know when your provider will want to order blood work. Which means this could completely screw up a blood panel. It’s the equivalent of crossing your legs when you’re getting your blood pressure taken. Now I have to get up at the ass crack of dawn and get a draw... Which would have meant waiting to take the testosterone, because yes you guessed it, that too would skew the results.

In all honesty, I’d have to wait on taking the script anyway, my insurance has to approve it and get something from my doctor. I had suspected this from the get go, because nothing in life if ever this easy for me. Haha. And it was confirmed when the pharmacy technician looked over the sheet of paper. I could see it in his eyes there was an issue, still he optimistically told me twenty minutes. He was super nice and apologetic about the whole thing, and he even urged me to call everyone and their mother if I hadn’t heard anything in a week, so this didn’t fall through the cracks. Like the man was so adamant about it, the whole thing threw me off.

So if you’re still wanting to know why the appointment was so late, there was a power outage yesterday. With everything being digital this can take some clinics or organizations days or weeks to catch up on (if there was extensive damage). And if you’re wondering about the mother thing, well, she had a cousin who died of HIV/aids. He was the sweetest and kindest man, with the most rotten luck in the world. Some would say he would have no luck at all if it weren’t for all the bad luck. He was also gay. I’m not going to name him, I didn’t know him, and it might upset my great aunt to know I posted this. I adore her, so I won’t do that. My point is, I genuinely think she still fears the maybes, the might bes, or the definites of living outside of what society has deemed as acceptable. Which is probably problematic, but I don’t think there is anything anyone could do or say to sway her at this point. Personally? I don’t care. Since I’ve lived in New Mexico I’ve had random men try to solicit me on a jog, I’ve been groped at my place of employment, I’ve had a gun pointed in my face, I’ve had people put me in headlocks, people have laid hands on my property with the intent to damage it, some have even succeeded in damaging it, and I’ve had my life threatened. I think I’m over the worst case scenario. I also think I need to dial things back a notch. After living here for over ten years I recognize that I’ve become harder and colder; I am absolutely ready to pop off on someone who’s clearly in the wrong. But today has taught me, that things are indeed easier than they used to be, and they’re continuing to improve.