#for me i got a therapist with the university and asked them to recommend me to one of the uni's doctors

[atissi]

if you are 1) currently in a university where your student healthcare covers hormone therapy, and 2) in a good financial, emotional, and social position to start hormone therapy, i would recommend pursuing it. because in my experience, it's a huge pain in the ass to get an endocrinologist once you're on your own

[makemeimmortalwithahug]

for @bookholichany for the prompt: "Monty meets Matthew the Raven" at last! I'm sorry that took so long, it's been weird to get back into writing after so long but I'm hopeful to post your other prompts in the next few days as well!

word count: 1167

“C’mon boss, one teensy-tiny favor for your incredibly faithful companion here,” Matthew called as he flew a few meters behind Dream and eventually perched on his shoulder. He ruffled his feathers, pressing his beak into Dream’s collar in the process. The weather in the Dreaming had been a little colder than usual for a while now, which probably had something to do with a minor fight between him and Hob. Matthew would argue that he tried not to be too involved in their relationship but who was he kidding? He was basically their therapist. One favor in exchange for unpaid and actually solid advice should not be asking for too much in Matthew's books.

“Matthew,” Dream acknowledged with the wary air only a being as old as the universe would be capable of. “Go on. Do not make me regret this.”

“Well, you see, before you say anything, I know we’re not supposed to snoop around in people’s dreams, but,” Matthew talked faster, speeding up even further when he saw how Dream’s eyebrows rose judgingly.

“But last time I was in Washington, I visited this small town, yeah? You remember? My ma was from there, I told you about the butcher shop there.”

Recognition lit up in Dream’s eyes, nodding once carefully without jostling Matthew.

“Indeed. You recommended the shop to Hob. You mentioned it could prove an adequate possibility for the next time Hob needs to assume a new identity.”

“You got it! Okay, so, I saw this crow while I was flying around. Little thing, name’s Monty. Playful, trying to keep up with me. That guy kinda grew on me, yeah? So I thought I could check out his dreams and see how he’s doin’.”

Dream stayed quiet for a long moment, silently contemplating as he was wont to do with any decision ranging from a date idea to the creation of a new nightmare.

“Very well,” he said at last.

“Hell yeah!”

----

The view around Matthew changed. The shallow lightning of the throne room vanished and was exchanged for a deep blue night sky with only the slightest hint of a moon keeping watch. Matthew was aware of Dream’s presence as a bird behind him, a protecting spectator that helped Matthew ground himself in the new environment. Residing in dreams was still new to him and he wasn’t sure it was something that he would ever do with the same naturalness Dream displayed. It wasn’t his purpose, Matthew reasoned. His purpose was to stay close to Dream and if that meant getting used to dream-hopping, then so be it.

Matthew’s gaze went toward the sky, expecting to see the little crow emerge any second now. Instead, two shadows moved in the corner of Matthew’s eye. The scene widened and a set of swings appeared, bathed in moonlight and mist.

Both shadows settled, one of them swinging higher and higher, giggling without a care in the world. It was so loud that Matthew could feel Dream softly jump behind him, surprised by the serene scene they were witnessing. The joyfulness of the person reminded him of the crow, always attempting to fly higher until they both would reach the trees that overlooked Port Townsend until he had to return to the weirdly hot lady (Matthew was still reeling from having that particular thought).

The two figures talked, too quietly to hear anything from their hiding spot. The longer the conversation continued, however, Matthew could see the shadows creeping in, closer and closer until they enveloped the couple, swallowing one of them in the process and leaving the smaller figure devastated on their knees.

The figure stood up and walked on shaking knees in the direction of them. Matthew chose that moment to reveal himself, hopping off a stone and into the clearing.

“Dude, are you supposed to be here?” Matthew wouldn’t assume that Dream had opened the way to the wrong dream, he wouldn’t make such a mistake but that left the only other possibility: someone had hijacked the crow’s dream!

Judging by the way the guy flinched backwards and let out a sound that sounded eerily similar to crowing, though, Matthew might have the wrong impression after all.

“Monty, you have changed considerably.” Matthew’s eyes bulged.

“Wait wait wait, replay that, what do you mean? Who is that guy?”

“Monty,” apparently-Monty and Dream said in unison.

Matthew looked up towards the sky once again, hoping for it to open up and hurl rotten tomatoes at these comedy wannabes. What was his life.

“I- I got that, thanks a lot. But the Monty I remember didn’t even reach my beak!”

The guy tried to wipe away the tears that still clung to his cheeks as a small smile took up his previously glum expression.

“Matthew, it’s been a while,” he grinned. His wide and misty eyes combined with the sincere smile were hard to take in. It humbled Matthew in a strange way.

“Dudeee,” Matthew said, for a lack of something better to say, feeling utterly out of his depth.

Monty giggled again, more subdued than in his actual dream but it was a nice sound nonetheless. Fuck, Matthew had missed that kid.

“What happened to you, man? Esther give you some weird protein food?”

Shaking his head, Monty opened his mouth to answer but Dream forestalled him.

“Young crow, magic has touched you recently. Did you wish for this opportunity of experiencing the human condition?” Dream, now resembling his human form again, stepped forward and inspected Monty with slight curiosity. Monty cowered under his stare. Matthew winced out loud – yeah, he could relate –, but neither paid enough attention to him.

“Eh, not exactly? I- I mean! I really enjoy life as a human so far, sir,” Monty mumbled. “It was not really my choice to make.”

Dream scowled, obviously not satisfied with that answer. Matthew shared that notion.

“Dude, that’s your body though, shoulda been your call. Mommy dearest thought she wanted to give kids another go after all these years? Well, at least you got the good fashion sense, the hair looks great too. Hey, was that guy back there your boyfriend?”

Instantly, Monty looked crushed again.

“No, uh, no. No.” He kicked a small stone with his shoe. Dream had his hands buried in the pockets of his coat, shifting slightly where he stood. That sure was an accomplishment, way to put your foot in your mouth.

“You know what? Forget the question.” He settled somewhat unsteadily on one of Monty’s small shoulders. “Let’s go back to those swings and talk. Oh, this is the Sandman, by the way. We thought we could visit your dream.”

“Oh okay,” Monty answered easily, “hello, sir.” Dream nodded while Matthew stopped short.

“You’re taking this way better than I thought,” he mumbled, slightly bummed out that Monty didn’t seem at least a bit impressed.

The former crow laughed.

“Trust me, Matthew, after the last few days, I don’t think much can shock me anymore.”

[a-christmas-carol-from-hr]

The Steeples of Southwark Cathedral

Description: "Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode!" Marley Lives AU. One year post stroke, Marley turns his eyes to his past and his heart to the future.

AN: Happy Death Day, Jacob Marley. I wanted to write something healing.

Kim Hyun-woo is an OC of a friend of mine. They made Marley a university best friend and I love him dearly.

TW: Abuse of the church, Childhood poverty, childhood hunger

-

His therapist’s office is located in Spitalfields, in a small little office right across from a hipster brewery. When he’d had his stroke, it had been recommended that he seek counseling for the trauma. It had been even further recommended when the doctor got Marley’s first depression screening back. She’d been taking clients for only a few months, and had room for a few more. After one meeting with Marley, she’d freed herself up for twice a week sessions.

His therapist was in her late twenties. She’d written her Ph.D thesis on the psychology of billionaires. She’d joked that treating Marley would be a ‘step-down’ from who she was used to, but she relished the challenge. Marley thought this whole thing would be a bunch of pop-psychology bullshit wrapped up in a pink bow. His therapist didn’t dissuade him. She was tiny, smaller than even Marley, and she wore chunky earrings and massive glasses. She liked flowing hipster skirts and peasant blouses, and she always drank cups of floral tea. She looked as vapid and inconstant as a London hipster.

She made him cry within fifteen minutes of their first session. Just metaphorically pulled out his brain and smashed it into a thousand pieces. And she did it with absolutely no mercy.

Marley respected her after that.

He was down to once a week sessions by the time Christmas came roaring back around. She asked him if he wanted to go back to two a week, but he’d told her no. He had a lot to do, and little time to do it. But he found himself dragging himself into her office every Thursday evening. He needed the hourly sessions to purge his brain.

She’d welcomed him into the office. It was one of those disgustingly modern living spaces ‘the youths’ were so fond of. There was bright colors and throw pillows, for Christ’s sake. Imagine that. Jacob Marley, in a well-decorated room. He’d have been disgusted with himself a year ago.

What a coincidence. Marley was disgusted with himself too.

He’d grabbed an iced coffee from the bougie coffee shop next door. He sat down, legs crossed, but arms at his side. He didn’t want to appear closed off. She said that made him looked closed off, and he didn’t want that. They shared pleasantries, and made small talk. How’s work? Oh it’s good. It’s good for me. And how’s Ellen? Good, good. Still away. Oh yes, she's in Beijing, wasn’t she? Yes, she is. So how’s that holiday season going for you? Well…

She wasn’t surprised. They’d talked a lot about holidays. She studied him for a moment. Finally, she spoke.

“Alright, Jacob,” She says, readjusting her glasses as she sits back. “What’s the earliest memory of Christmas you have?”

Marley tilted his head back. He forced himself to remember. Wasn’t that ironic? He’d spent so much of his life trying to forget his childhood. Now it seemed that the only way to heal his vices was to heal himself. How trite. He was so dull nowadays.

He forced himself to think back. To think back to a time when there wasn’t a Jacob L. Marley, CAO at Scrooge and Marley Enterprises. To think back to a time when he wasn’t a broken man mending himself, or a hedonist trying to die young, or a secretary trying to be something, or a university man fucking his way to the top. He thought past boarding school, and gymnastics bars, and a shitty public school, and the apartment he’d grown up in. He thought as far back as he could, past sense, and reason, and logic. He thought back. And he thought of-.

“Hungry.”

His voice was quiet.

“Hungry?” She prompted.

Marley tapped his fingers on the couch. He found himself smiling. It wasn’t a happy smile. “I’m four. My mum woke me and my sister up, and told us to get dressed. She had nice clothes. As nice as we had. She didn’t feed us lunch, and we were hungry. I asked why. She said we’d be getting food out.”

“She had us walk across the city. It was Christmas Eve. We walked across the city because there wasn’t much public transit.”

“Where were you going?” She asked.

“St Andrew's Cathedral,” Marley said. “You ever seen it?”

“No.”

“It’s this big Catholic church in the center of Glasgow. My mother hated the Catholic church. Hated them. But she had proof of her baptism, and that entitled her to a free turkey dinner for her and her children.” He shifted. “She walked us across town for a good Christmas meal. Made us look all nice, and sweet, and she dug out a baptism record of a group she hated so she could feed us.”

Marley’s jaw shifted. He looked at a spot on the floor.

“What happened next?”

Marley chuckled darkly. “We were too late. By the time we got there, it was evening. They started giving out the meals at two. Mum had us leave at twelve. By the time we got there, it was four, and the massive dinner was all gone.”

His therapist stared at him sadly. “I can remember my mother’s hair,” Marley said. “It was snowing for the last kilometer. She had- has- such beautiful hair. There was snow in it. I remember thinking how pretty she was. She looked like a snow princess. She looked like a queen. And she begged those priests right there in the hall.”

Marley tilted his head. Anger seeped into her voice. “My mother is a proud woman. She endured a lot of shit and never batted her eye. This is the only time I can remember her begging for help. I remember her asking what she was supposed to do. She had two kids, and nothing in the house. Wasn’t there something we could have?”

“And?”

He shook his head. “They told her she should have come sooner. Should have done better. And they closed the door. And we had nothing. Nothing but hunger.”

The room was silent. He rubbed his hand over his jaw.

"Yep," He said. "That's the earliest Christmas I remember."

-

The next day dawned annoying Christmas-y. Marley had to endure all sorts of Christmas songs on public transit, and look at all sorts of Christmas decorations on the walk in. It was mere days before the big event, and things were getting down to the wire. He donated to every bell ringer he passed, but he kept his face buried in his coat and his eyes down. He’d skipped breakfast. He was hungry.

He had no meetings until noon, so he worked quietly in his office. He was supposed to be drawing up ideas for a new set of icons, but nothing came out correctly. Marley doodled holly berries and mistletoe in the corner of his sketchpad, and then crossed them out with a fury. He didn’t look up from his work until a knock sounded at the door.

Kim stood outside his office, a large paper bag in his arms. He waved and pointed. Marley got up to let him in.

“Our meeting isn’t until noon,” Marley said as he let Kim in.

“I know,” Kim said. “I thought I’d get us lunch. We can make a meal of it. We don’t have a ton to go over.”

The heady scent of beef broth filled the room. French dip sandwiches. Oh, that son of a bitch.

“I’m not hungry,” Marley said.

Kim smiled. It was a bit sad.

“Yeah. You always say that after Thursdays.”

Marley’s jaw shifted.

“Bad session?” Kim asked.

Marley looked at him before looking at the chair. “Sit down.”

Kim sat down. Marley was silent as Kim pulled out the sandwiches and slid them across his desk. French dip sandwiches had always been his favorite, and Kim knew that. If there was anything that could get him to eat today, it would be this. Kim dolled out the broth and unwrapped the sandwiches, and even set down some candied figs for dessert. “There,” He said, smiling. “Now we’re all cosy. What’s bothering you?”

Marley picked at the sandwich. “What’s the earliest memory of Christmas you have?”

Kim tilted his head as he dipped part of his sandwich into the broth. “Oh. Uh. Well. I’m probably…five? There’s this big tree, and piles of presents, and oh- this gigantic meal. But the tree was beautiful. I remember how much it shined.”

Marley raised an eyebrow. “Hell of a Christmas.”

Kim smiled. “It was a movie set. All fake. I was working.”

Marley groaned. “Well now I can’t tell you about mine. You’ve already beat me.”

“It was fine! Christmas wasn’t a giant thing in Korea when I was a baby,” Kim said as he took a bite of his sandwich. “My dad wasn’t Christian, so we just never picked it up until it became more secular. So I didn’t really care. Why? What’s yours?”

Marley rubbed at his wrists. They’d been hurting lately - as if something heavy was hanging from them. “Mam took us to a church to get a free dinner, but they rejected us. We didn’t have anything to eat.”

Kim didn’t say anything. What could he say to that?

Marley shrugged. He stood up from the chair and walked over to the window, arms crossed across his chest. His hands rubbed at his shoulders as he walked.

“I really don’t like Christmas, Hyun-woo.” He admitted. “I really, really don’t like Christmas.”

“Everyone always says that everyone’s nicer this time of year. That peace on earth, good will towards men, reigns. People are better this time of year. Kinder. But why did we never get that? Why did you have to work, and I had to starve? Why is it never better for everyone? Why do the hungry stay hungry, and the poor stay poor? And yes, I know it’s ironic for me to ask this. But it’s bothered me. It’s always bothered me.” He shook his head.

“Greed is honest. Kindness isn’t. I don’t understand it. I never have. And I don’t like Christmas. I’ve tried. I really have. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Maybe there’s something that will always be wrong with me, no matter how much I try. Maybe it got starved out of me. But I don’t understand.”

He looked out on the city below. So many lives scampered by. Each one had value. Each one had worth. But some of them starved anyway.

“How can people celebrate Christmas and also run out of turkey dinners?” He asked. “I don’t understand.”

Kim didn’t say anything, but he stood up. Marley was afraid to look him in the eye. These were selfish thoughts from a selfish man. He was supposed to be thinking positively after all. Wasn’t it him who had paid to have the office decorated, and who had approved the monumentally huge Christmas bonuses, and who had stocked the kitchen with hot chocolate and tea and all sorts of Christmas cheer? He’d been thinking positively for weeks. He’d steeped himself in Christmas spirit up to his eyeballs, and he felt worse. Kim would look at him, and he would see what a wretched man Jacob L. Marley was.

But he didn’t. When his friend walked over to him, Marley only saw compassion in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” He said sincerely. “I think anyone would struggle with Christmas if they had that happen to them.”

Marley tried to smile, but it was more like a grimace. Kim reached out his arms and pulled Marley into his grip.

“I hate that you’re taller than me so much.” Marley murmured against his chest.

“I know you hate it so much.” Kim replied, unrepentant. But Marley didn’t move away.

-

No doubt half the reason he’s floundering tonight is because Ellen is away. Marley still wasn’t cleared to fly long distances, so much of the traveling for work had to be done by Ellen. His dear beloved concubine was in Beijing. She was only gone for a week, and she’d be home in two days, but he missed her terribly.

She video-called him when he got home from work. It was 3 AM in Beijing, but she called anyway. The bleary, blurry image of Ellen Scrooge stared at him from the iPad as he pulled out a tub of soup. She’d made oceans of soup for when she had to travel. It was to keep him from eating garbage.

“You’re not feeling any better.” She said flatly as soon as she connected.

“Hello to you too.” Marley said as he dumped the soup into a pot. “How’s Beijing?”

“It snowed, which is nice to look at,” She said. “I went to my favorite Zhajiangmian place. It was nice. I sat there and watched the snow and ate more food than I should have, and the woman who ran it told me I was too thin. But don’t change the subject. You’re unhappy.”

“I’m always unhappy when I’m away from you.” Ellen gagged.

“Spare me. You’re not feeling any better?”

“Not especially,” Marley shrugged. “I’m struggling with the nature of humanity.”

“Humanity is made up of bastards,” Ellen said flatly. “I don’t understand why you struggle with that.”

“I struggle with trying to be less of a bastard while bastards exist,” Marley said, rubbing a hand over his face. He pulled on his skin, dragging his lower eyelids down. “I confess I find it hard to bother. I do it anyway, because there’s no other option. But I struggle all the same. Therapy brought up some garbage.”

“The thing with the turkey dinner?” Ellen asked. When he didn’t respond, she continued. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But it’s a very sad story all the same. I wish I could offer constructive advice.”

“You should go to bed. Maybe you’ll think of something clever.”

“I’m not tired,” Ellen yawned. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine, woman,” Marley insisted. “Just- blue. I thought this Christmas might be different. I’m not developing a brain bleed for one. But I still can’t help but be unhappy.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it.”

The soup began to bubble. Marley poked it with a spoon. “Before I forget, and not to change the subject,” He said. “I noticed a large charge on the ‘fun money’ account from one of your pet charities. Did you mean to do that?”

“Was it for Stemettes?” Ellen asked.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Yes, that’s accurate. I gave them a blank check. They’re looking to buy a bunch of computers for girls’ schools in the country, but they weren’t sure of the final price. I told them to just take the blank check and cover the final cost.” Ellen placed her phone down as she curled back up into bed. “I’d rather they have it than not. No sense in running out halfway through.”

Marley prodded at his soup. He had no appetite, but Ellen would be on his case if he didn’t eat. “I suppose, yes.”

“…Do you want me to return early?” Marley knew Ellen well enough to know what she was really saying: I’m concerned about you.

“No, stay. Get what you need to done. You’ll be back Christmas Eve, right?’

“I am on the earliest flight possible.” She said. “Will you manage?”

Marley forced himself to smile. “I always manage. I’m the king of managing. I have a ‘World’s Greatest Boss’ mug from the folks in Advertising to prove it.”

“Suck ups,” She grumbled. “They’ve forgotten the taste of fear.” She didn’t seem too unhappy about it.

“…I love you,” Marley said, a bit uncertain. It was nearly a year of saying it, but he still felt a little strange actually saying it. Love was hard, especially when you were repentant sinners. But he’d rather do it with her than with anyone else.

“I love you too,” She replied. “I’m going to try and sleep. Make sure you eat that soup. If you don’t, I’ll just come home and make more, and drown you in it like Richard III.”

“It was his brother who got drowned, and it was in wine, not soup. I wouldn't mind being drowned in wine.”

“You would.” She said, and the screen turned off.

-

Christmas Eve dawned bright and happy. Marley did not.

He laid in bed for a half hour after his alarm, pillow shoved over his head and face buried into the mattress. He only started moving when his phone vibrated. It was from Ellen. She’d gotten to the airport. With any luck she’d be in London for dinner. That was something to look forward to.

He forced himself out of bed and to dress. Marley was a very sharp dresser, but he found himself reaching for the most shapeless sweater and slacks he had. Half his job was to be pretty, but he didn’t feel like being pretty today. He showered, and dressed, and poked at a piece of dry toast before he finally dragged himself out the door.

The world was almost insultingly cheerful. Marley pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders and started the walk to the train station. The scar in his hairline felt cold in the open air.

He'd almost died a year ago.

Marley had spent much of his adult life living in South London. He’d kept an apartment in Canary Wharf since he was about 32, and now that he was…older than that, he’d been in this area of the city for well over a decade. He knew the area well, and the landmarks were as familiar to him as his own face. He didn’t look up, then, as he passed Southwark Cathedral on his way to the stock exchange. Marley usually went to the office right away, but on Tuesdays he had a standing meeting at the exchange. So he just passed by the cathedral without lifting his head. He’d seen it a million times, and he’d see it a million more.

Yet he’d never seen it so crowded. Marley was forced to look up as he approached the familiar spires of the cathedral. An entire crowd of people, mostly teenagers, were swarming around the cathedral like ants. They were picking things up and putting things down, unloading and reloading things, moving things here and there and every way. Marley watched with mild surprise as they descended inside the church, and then reappeared outside to take more things. Amid all of them, standing upon a pile of boxes, was a nun.

Marley had no strong opinions on nuns. He’d been raised strictly secular by a church traumatized mother, and hadn’t had the opportunity to meet many in his line of work. But something in her face made him stop. She seemed quite flustered.

“Excuse me,” Marley said, moving among the crowd. “Do you mind if I get through?”

“Not at all, sir. Sorry for blocking your path.” She apologized.

“Not a problem at all. What’s going on here? I’ve never seen the cathedral so busy.”

The nun, who was younger than he thought nuns could be, sighed. “Today is our Christmas dinner.”

“So early in the day?”

“It’s for the poor,” She said. Marley mentally kicked himself. Yes, you dolt, people do that for the poor. “We like to get things done as soon as possible, but things are a bit unruly today.”

If a nun called something ‘unruly’, it must be dire. “How so?” He asked, not entirely sure why he was bothering to talk about this. He had somewhere to be, after all. But something made him stay.

“Oh, our turkey deliverer held out on us,” She said sadly. “We ordered a certain amount, but it seems they oversold. I have no idea what we’ll do.”

Marley had never believed in God before he almost died. But he did now - and he was coming to realize He had a sense of humor.

“Oh,” Marley said, frowning. “That’s terrible. I’m very, very sorry.”

She smiled at his sincerity. “It’s alright, sir. We’ll make do. Even if I have to order pizzas, I’ll make sure people are fed.”

Marley nodded, and bowed his head. The two said goodbye, and he started on his walk. He turned his head up to look at the cathedral as he walked, mind unhappy. The sun was just starting to peek through the spires. It was already reflecting on the glass of the skyscraper behind it. Marley had never noticed how out of place Southwark Cathedral was. It was surrounded by modernity, and yet it held its own. A strange fusion of the past and present, the here and now and the then and when.

The sun shone down, warming his face. There was no snow outside this church. There was nothing but the warm sunshine above.

And then he had clarity.

And then he turned and was running back to the nun at full speed.

“Madam! Sister! Er! Whatever you are!”

Her eyes widened as he approached. He no doubt looked quite silly as he rushed back, coat unbuttoned and eyes wide. He was already reaching for his pocketbook.

“The dinner,” He said, fumbling for a pen. “The dinner.”

“Yes?” She asked, alarmed.

“How much would it cost you to feed everyone that came?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” She said. “Usually we can feed about 300 with what we order-.”

“No, that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking how much it takes you to feed everyone who comes. Late comers and stragglers alike.” Marley asked. “How much do you think it’d cost you to have food all day, until the evening.”

“I haven’t an idea,” She admitted. “Usually we run out well before then.”

“Can you guess?”

She said a number. Marley nodded.

His hands usually shook when he made out checks, but for once his hand was perfectly steady.

“I am going to quadruple that figure.”

-

Ellen’s flight got in at exactly 6 PM. Marley was waiting at the gate for her, some caffeinated he’d bought at Starbucks in hand. She looked stern, as she always did. She was rolling her shoulder when he spotted her, no doubt sore from being shoved into a seat for over half a day. When she saw him, her mouth twitched slightly. That was like a smile.

“Hullo,” She said as he got close.

“Hello.”

Neither was sure what to do. In the past, they just shook hands when they met at the airport. That was when they weren’t openly involved with one another. Even now, open affection felt strange. They weren’t sure what to do, how to perform this feeling. So he just stuck out the drink.

“This is for you,” He said. “It’s some peppermint mocha bullshit. I figured you could use the boost.”

“Thank you,” She said, taking her suitcase in hand. “Thank you.”

Ellen paused, and looked at him. People they knew were all around them, but she didn’t stop.

“I am glad to see you,” She said finally. “Very glad indeed.”

Marley leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Her face colored slightly.

A year ago he’d almost died. Neither had forgotten.

The drive back to Canary Wharf was quiet. Marley had driven the car there, but didn’t like to drive with the numbness in his hands, so Ellen drove on the way back. They sat in a contented silence, watching the world go by. They had no set plans for this evening. Tomorrow they’d have Christmas dinner with Fred, and he would call his mother and sister. But tonight was for them. Despite being more likable, nobody had extended an invitation. Marley suspected their new friends were avoiding him on the one year anniversary of his stroke. It was a fair reason.

“Anywhere you need to go?” Ellen asked as they reentered the City of London.

Marley paused. “Take Tower Bridge, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Southwark Cathedral was still busy. There were less people than before, but they were still there. And there was still food. Piles of pizza boxes lay abandoned around the church as the volunteers served up slice after slice. Happy, fed faces shone in the light, each person grateful for the hot meal.

A poor, harried-looking mother stood in line, two children firmly in tow. They were twins, a boy and a girl. The boy watched the cars whir by with a wide-eyed look. For a moment, Marley and his eyes met.

Marley waved. The boy waved back. The car drove on

“Who are you waving at?” Ellen asked.

“Oh, just somebody,” Marley said, settling back in the chair.

He’d tell her about it in the morning. For now, nobody needed to know about the benefactor of Southwark Cathedral.

“How do you feel about pizza for dinner?”

[y2ksnowglobe]

Honestly, post S2 is just a sitcom of all the family therapists going to the bar after work like "You will not believe what's going on with this case right now." and then forming a little support group for each other of "yeah my client was recommended to me by Samantha Stampler, why do you ask?"

Close-Foster-Swift therapist: I...I don't even know what dating an alternate universe version of your dead wife means? Like...is there any way to do that healthily? Oak therapist: So...today I got the lore drop that the wife slept with his twin brother and...well they don't seem to think it's a big deal. Li-Wilson therapist: I just...the near dad agreement is wild okay. They didn't let him go more than two and half feet away from them when out in public. He went on a hunger strike to go to public school. I...what? Marlowe therapist: You know...I was going to complain about the whole step-dad got shot right in front of the kid thing, but all your stuff is way more interesting.

[compo67]

getting an insulin pump this week. o_o still unsure where to put it on my body. definitely not my tummy. does anyone here have one? what has been your experience?

i am not sure how to prep for the third interview this friday between me and my former director

i cannot think of questions she might ask me

i'll search for "third round interview questions" and see what i find

i had the most delicious chinese food tonight

and a rad iced coffee

i have a rheum appt today. nothing new to report to my doc. hands still get red, puffy, and stiff. all over body pain is still there, though at a much lower intensity than 2 years ago, i think

i miss my partner a lot

dear universe, please let me get this job. i so much want that offer letter. that email that says, "congratulations and welcome back..."

it's demoralizing to apply, apply, apply and get nothing

even networking hasn't helped

i'm no longer putting in 4 - 5 hours a day job hunting and applying

it just got too overwhelming and it created/triggered so much anxiety

i have tickets to see sean mcconnell on thursday and i still need to find someone to go with me

there's also a trans day of visibility march on sunday that i so much want to go to, but many of my loved ones are saying don't go, it won't be safe

but i feel the need to be with and surrounded by community

i still have 6 days to decide

i'm actively worried about my parents returning from Chile

also, next week is APRIL???

also actively worried my SSDI check won't come through--and unlike that fucker's 95 y/o grandma, i WILL mind it

i need that money for insulin, infusions, and gas, you assholes

not writing has me super down. part of me wants to "retire" from writing fic. but a bigger, louder part of me doesn't want to let go. i have so many scenes in my head still. snippets of plot. things i want to see. worlds i want to make. sigh.

i was creative with patreon prints this month and that made me happy. maybe i need to make more art--if i can't write

i love train ASMR videos. they are so soothing

my stars, it's fucken wimdy outside tonight

i gave my smartcrutches away on my local EDS support group

i haven't used them in 2 years. i still use my cane, but i have been able to build up strength and balance in PT

they're going to a good home and that's all i wanted

there's a game tomorrow night, yey

i've been watching a lot of Unsolved Mysteries, the ones with robert stack hosting

but only during the day. it creeps me out too much at night

i feel like i get along very well with my partner's mom and that makes me very happy

insurance made me switch from humalog to fiasp bc of their god damn formulary... but wow, the fiasp is actually... better?

i wonder if we'll do labs tomorrow. i bet we will. i hope Michael the awesome phlebotomist will be there

i have to fill out a physician's form for LTD tomorrow with my rheum. i also need to give her office my questionnaire from LTD so they can fax it alongside and hopefully make a copy for me

i need to do my t shot. can you inject t into your arm?

google says yes. i will check with my endo. maybe it won't hurt so much if i do it in my arm vs my thigh

i hope my endo approves me doing 18 units of fiasp instead of the 14 she recommended. like, i'm kinda playing around with units and 14 just wasn't enough

my sugars are at 129... should i eat something before i go to bed? maybe a small butter cookie

i cried during therapy on friday. we did emdr and i connected the dots to things that are very disturbing to me. i started spiraling and my therapist brought me back to a safe place. but i was super cranky and off for the rest of the day

it just hasn't been easy for me to cry since i restarted T

okay this is long o_o

get thee to a nunnery, cal

[dear--charlie]

Dear Charlie,

It is I again ... :)

Well, I actually forgot about the existence of this blog, it has been ... 5 years? Is that possible? That sounds like a lot, it's scary how much of my life has already passed.

I am yet again depressed and disassociated. This time I also packed an eating disorder with me, so it's not all the same boring routine... Splendor at it's finest.

A year and a half ago or so I started university and honestly, I hate university. I have very few friends there and one of them forgot about me the second she got better so I decided to cut her off, to not feel the shame of being used. The other one is also quite mentally ill to be honest and she also suffers from an ed, which makes it hard for me to interact with her as someone trying her best to recover. I recently had a lapse (or relapse? I can never understand what's more appropriate and calling it relapse just feels like I am bragging for attetion) and when I decided I'd stop it and try to recover again, I had to bring the time I spend interacting with her to a minimum. Maybe some people will call me selfish, but do I care? If you were in my shoes, you'd talk differently. People's hate is just the cost of making your own decisions about life it seems.

On another note, I am going to therapy, yay. I also went to this ed treatment center when things got bad with eating and I am still going there in secret from my family.

Now that I mentioned therapy, there is one thing I really want to write here. It happened almost a year ago already, but it honestly still haunts me. Maybe I am too dramatic idk, people have it way worse...but this is MY note so I can write whatever I want right... xd

Well, when I became anorexic about 2 years ago, I sought out a therapist. She was recommended to me by my friend I mentioned above with whom I no longer interact. It was an old woman, 60+, very short, but this person had something so unsettling about her, Charlie, that you entered the room she'd sit in with a feeling of being somehow tried by a figure of immense evil. I felt something was strange about her quite early on, but this lady charged very little for her services and I am a poor student, so I didn't want to give it up... Until one time. She'd often make weird remarks about how pretty I am, asked me who had green eyes, if my mom or dad, I believe it was already on the first or second session... I felt weird, but decided to overlook it. She then later on kept mentioning another client of hers, telling me that I could meet him and talk to him as we both have a history of living with a very manipulative grandfather. I assumed she meant calling him to one of our sessions and having this weird group therapy. Well, I was wrong. One day she asked me if I've ever had a boyfriend - I haven't yet, so I told her no. She acted as if this was a problem - what a total c*nt tbh :^) - but anyway, she then later in the session mentioned him again and kept saying that he is old, way older than me. I felt weird, so I asked how old? And she replied: "Quite old." ??? red flags, I know, but well, I made her tell me he was 34 or so. I don't exactly remember. Well, she said again that we have to meet up, me and him. I was like mhm she probably means some different time. No. At the end of our sessions someome rang her bell and she replied: "*his name*, come in" I was scared, even though still trying to convince myself that nothing is wrong. Well, I wanted to leave, but the witch literally stood in front of the door and wouldn't let me. The man appeared at the doorstep. She told him he should take me for a ride somewhere in his car at the weekend and asked him if he had time - he said well yes. Then she asked me if I wanted to go and I felt so scared by that time - but I managed to say I'll think about it. Well, after this happened, I was mortified and I ended up ending everything with her.

This scared me so much, Charlie. I don't tell people about it anymore, but sometimes I see an old woman outside who faintly resembles her and get a shiver of dread up my spine. Sometimes the memories of her just come to me as flashbacks and I feel dirty. I felt dirty after this happened to be honest, even though nothing really happened to me. I guess I felt strangely exploited and objectified. I came to her for help but she did this thing...for what? God knows.

On another note, lately I am obsessing over a certain anime character and its weirdly healing me even though I am still feeling very bad. He is not a good person, but I relate to him a lot for some reason.

I also write a lot, Charlie, my stories are probably the only thing that genuinely makes me happy to be myself. I also try to draw when I can.

Well, this is all the brain vomit I can think of for today.

Thank you for listening.

-mv

[elijasz]

Okay I was going to put this in the tags but its honestly too important.

Apart from the financial struggle, which includes having to potentially care financially for your family instead of the other way around, there are a BUNCH of other socio-economic factors that prevent poor people from getting higher education.

One is that people who grew up poor have much higher chances of having less language proficiency, knowledge about the world etc. One of the main reasons for that is communication with the parents. If your parents work a lot, they dont have time to talk to you. If you don't eat dinner together because your parents are exhausted, or you cannot talk about your day and your experiences and ask questions, discuss etc, you will likely end up with a smaller vocabulary, less grammatical fluency, worse conflict management skills, issues critically reflecting behaviour and actions (though this is quickly fixed because the world LOVES giving marginalized people criticism and forcing them to change), and much more. Just from a lack of conversation with parents or caretakers. We also cannot ignore the stress and psychological pressure poor people are under for a bunch of reasons.

But back to the language part, because that's what I know about. Children from less privileged financial backgrounds often acquire a certain way of speaking, that is connected to their class. They don't have the opportunities to develop an academic style and this can already inhibit their application process. Adding slower writing and reading speed and taking longer for listening comprehension means they take longer to process and produce work. This takes from their freetime. Their work also takes from their freetime. This is just one of the instances where "we all have the same 24 hours" is total bullshit. Now if you consider that poor people have a higher chance of medical issues, chronic illness, mental and physical disabilities etc, we get to the point were they already spend more money to live, then spend more money to study, potentially need more time to achieve the same goals, which also costs money, and then still have to deal with so much other stuff going untreated because medical care is fucking expensive, you have a recipe for self sustaining classism.

This isn't just an american thing either. We've been talking about this issue at uni in Germany. Our education costs "only" a few hundred euros per YEAR. But the issue is that your workload, the expected workload you have to follow if you want to finish in the recommended/expected time, is often more than 60h a week. Again, adding the extra time poor people might need, and the time people need to work because living costs money and living in university cities costs even more, you have people working 70-100h work weeks.

I worked a lot since childhood because I grew up poor. When I started Uni I lived in a cheap apartment and because I had a well paying job, I was able to sustain myself with only a little support from my parents (who worked extra so my sibling and I could get a higher education. All of us worked more so my sibling and I could afford getting something that's claimed to be "free" in Germany). But you know what happened? I got fucking burnout a few semesters in. Because I was at uni 8-10 hours a day on week days and worked at least another 2 hours after uni every day, and that was barely enough, because I didn't have fucking latin, or hadn't read Judith Butler, or Mann, or Brecht, or whatever else they expected my parents to have at home. I worked my ass off on week days and on Friday I went straight to work after uni, worked until 4am, went to sleep, worked on some paper or presentation, went to work again and so on. I had NO freetime. If my job hadn't required me to walk 10-20km every night, and carry a shitton of full glasses, I'd have gotten no exercise at all.

Went my therapist said I need to slow down, I asked him how. Because I was never asked to slow down before. It was always more more more. Never less. I had to learn to destress because I had several years of stress build up and didn't even realise because I still wasnt performing to the standard I compared myself too: Rich people whose parents were academics, whose parents paid for everything the owned, ate, smoked and drank, who didn't need to go to an extra course to understand the text that kept referencing historical events I'd never heard about or used Latin phrases that left me confused.

Being poor means trying much harder than everyone to achieve the same shit, breaking yourself to be average, and then getting ridiculed because you fall asleep in class, or get sick a lot, or start smoking to cope with the stress because god forbid your suffering isn't sexy and presentable.

There are so many classist systems and the education system is one of the worst. Its self sustaining and allows all other systems of classist oppression to continue. Because it prevents people from taking narrative agency, from telling their stories in a way academia deems acceptable and "scientific". Because it prevents poor people from gaining access to power and to the knowledge on how to break out of that system. I have broken out of that system. But it's cost me a lot and I wouldn't have been able to do that if I hadn't had a supportive partner and parents, who literally worked themselves to failure to support me. (literally. they went to work sick, came home, changed and went to their other job. I'm not joking when I say they worked themselves to failure. Their bodies are failing and I don't have the option to support them yet because I needed to slow down myself so i dont break)

People don't understand how harmful, how deadly, this system is and how it goes beyond free education. Classism is a societal issue that needs to be resolved more than ever, as more people become poor and more money exists in the hands of those who need it least.

We don't just need free education, we need financial support independent of how long its taking you to finish your studies, instead dependent on how much you need to survive as an individual, not a calculated number. And we need a reformed system that recognises that some people will struggle more than others because of their background. With or without their own "fault".

[violettressedd]

omg did not realize how long that ask was (and how long this one turned out to be- so sorry 😭) til u answered my bad i yap a lot lmao

oh really? u *dare* me? ive got a very competitive spirit, sweetheart, and i love to win. i also play dirty, so fair warning that i WILL find ur weak points and exploit them <3

and remember darling, u wont ever be getting what u want until u ask nicely. (let me know if pet names are okay?)

yesss its just. the HUMANITY and the eternal knowledge that whatever i know or feel or am, someone else knew and felt and was before. 'we are the universe endlessly reflecting itself'. everyone whos been in love knows what its like. that feeling when u smile at a baby or when ur in a big group of people all singing the same song and its so powerful it lifts u right up out of ur body. its all just so fucking beautiful.

i love lots of different periods/themes/parts of history but im especially interested in things like mythology and religion, folk tales and nursery rhymes and lullabies. the stories we tell ourselves and others are so so important to learn how we see ourselves and the world in general and humanity and good and evil and all sorts of things its so so fucking COOL! i could talk for hours on all this sorry for this freaking long ask lmao

oooh i loveeee philosophy!! we have a college philosophy textbook in out home library that i read for fun when i was like 14. speaking of im 19 and pronouns are she/her. my bad i forgot lol

i also wanted to be a therapist or a counselor for a long time but its not in the cards rn. maybe someday. i love listening to people and giving advice and helping them tho its always been smth ive been good at

in everything im interested in i think theres this common theme of 'people' or 'humanity'. i just love people, learning how they work and how our minds work and how we grow and change and have relationships and its all just so fascinating

ooh tell me more about what ur learning!

thank u!! i dont want like a sleeve or anything super big and bold. i want small simple delicate line art. lots of little things in different places. ooh wdymmm more sci-fi style? im intrigued

thats SO fricking sick smart women are incredible and admirable (and also hot) tell me more about ur planned research! whats psilocybin therapy? also i did a research paper in school about the effects of music on the brain and body and it was SO fascinating like when u play music to alzhiemers patients it helped them remember, and the effects of music on ur actual physical body was shocking as well like it was just so cool. i would def recommend looking it up if ur at all interested its absolutely fascinating!

ill be getting my degree in childcare and early education, like for preschools and such. i work at a preschool rn and if i work here 20hrs a week (which i do, and ill be working more during the summer when my 2nd and 3rd jobs end) i get my classes for FREE which is super incredible. im currently planning on working my way up to a lead teacher position but rn im just an aide. its super fun tho i love all my babies so so much

what time is it for u when u answer this? rn its 11:42 pm so i need to sleep soon lol ive got work and i still have to prep for it tomorrow

goodnight!

<3 🍒

really it's no problem, all i do is yap so i get it. and i love rambling on about random stuff it's fun as fuck

competitive, huh?? did i rile you up enough to make you want to take me down? good luck with that, you might play a bit dirty but you're going to have to fight for it. pin me to the floor, rough me up, make me shake. show me you deserve it, then maybe i'll say your name.

(i love petnames!! i added a list of some i'm not into in the intro post but any others i'll welcome)

(also love the switch from hornyposting to anthropology, the duality of humanity hahsh)

you get it!! understanding that the world around us is full of continuous and integrated cycles is so interesting. the love i've felt has been experienced by countless others in the past and will continue to be long after i die. we forget we're all just a part of nature, life that's intrinsically tied to itself and interconnected. and like you said about each of us knowing our common experiences, yess bc there's no feeling that hasn't already been expressed. you can find solace in the fact that thousands if not millions before you do understand and have lived through the exact same experiences.

BIG ON MYTHOLOGY AND RELIGION OMG, two of my biggest interests especially as a younger teenager. understanding the nature of existence through stories that have built upon themselves for decades. they're all metaphors for the natural world and that's insanely poetic. particularly with religion, it's so interesting reading about how it's expanded and formed over time according to culture. and the amount of ethical frameworks that stem from or are influenced almost exclusively by religious beliefs is so vast.

and yess psychology and therapy is such an interesting field, just going deeper and deeper into the mind and why it behaves or reacts is ughh beautiful. and how it shifts and adapts through different ages is crazy, the difference between the neuroplasticity in an adolescent and a senior is astounding

what i'm studying right now is more looking at the differences in their cultural views on sexuality, marriage, kinship groups, also their intersection with local politics <33

yes yes yes i love the soft, gentle tattoos i think they look so pretty. especially with flowers, it's just elegant idk how to describe it. and sci-fi meaning something stereotypically futuristic in design or maybe cyberpunkish if that makes any sense??

thank you!!! psilocybin therapy is used to treat patients that have undergone significant trauma (veterans, child abuse survivors, etc) and help them by giving them a microdosed psychedelic to induce introspection and maybe even a bit of ego dissolution to unpack their trauma. YES WAIT i was going to do a meta analysis on musics interaction with alzheimer's or stroke victims and it's so cool how differently the brain responds to something like music in comparison to other stored information

that's so so awesome and sounds like one of the best jobs known to this earth omg. preschool kids are so precious and early education is super fun because you can integrate so much psychology into it (also free classes hell yeah)

i'm answering this way to late at night for me so i'll end it here haha, i might have written a little too much

anyways gn 🍒!!

[thisislizheather]

Men Have Called Her Crazy By Anna Marie Tendler - A Review

The only thing better than reading a comedian’s memoir? Reading the partner/ex-partner of a comedian’s memoir. Truly. I don’t know why exactly, but the partner of someone who’s had immense success/fame is usually ten times more interesting than the famous one. Practically always. And this memoir was fantastic. I had known so little about Anna Marie Tendler before reading this (I knew that she was John Mulaney’s beautiful ex-wife, that she designed lampshades and seemed like she wouldn’t have liked me in high school) but I’m grateful to have found this book. Favourite parts ahead.

“I cemented my role in relationships as a pleaser, a convincer, a girl, who, well into adulthood, would contort and conform to the desires of a man, overlooking his easy dismissal, and dampening her self-worth, all to be loved” - OOF, it that wasn’t me for all of my dating life.

The parallels of our two lives are fucking eerie (I know that’s interesting to no one other than me), but it’s weird that we both heard about 9/11 in a high school chemistry class. (I also agree with her about hot firefighters but that’s, like, a universal thought that you’d have to be a comatose to disagree with, so I won’t count that commonality.)

The entire part about her longterm therapist being so horrid to her was nuts to read. I loved it mainly because therapists are such trusted people and it’s insane to me that none of the terrible ones ever really get talked about that much.

“Why are women so fucking ashamed of ourselves? I blame men.” Perfect line. Wish it was the title of the whole book. I get why it wasn’t, but really wish it was.

Talking about a web series she did: “I simply got to show a weekly guest how to do one makeup trick and asked them to share a ghost story or paranormal encounter. When the web series aired, it was met with backlash from women, mostly moms, who insisted that a show about makeup was antithetical to the very ethos the website touted - that girls were smart - and the decision was made to stop making episodes. May we never forget that females cannot be intellectual and aesthetically minded at the same time.” I love this woman.

It’s crazy how much I agree with her thoughts on motherhood: “My reservations about motherhood have been shaped by my feelings about men, their general incompetence, their propensity toward selfishness, and their inability to empathize with the female experience. My obsession with equality in relationships restricts me from balancing the weight of what men put into child-rearing versus what women do. I wonder if it can ever be equal. I feel instinctually it can’t, while also recognizing that instinct might be wrong.”

“I know mothers feel excluded from life too. I guess that’s the paradox of being a woman: no matter what path you choose, chances are you’ll feel invisible.”

“I’m momentarily aroused by the memory of a man properly doing a chore.” Good god, that’s funny.

The entire chapter on her losing her dog Petunia made me weep, but I’m a human being with a HEART sue me.

Such an inspiring memoir, I can’t recommend it enough. Read it immediately. And the fact that she didn’t mention her marriage in detail at all speaks such volumes - she’s not defined by that part of her life and that is made extremely clear with what she chose to share. She’s an incredibly strong writer so I sincerely hope she continues to publish. Absolutely love this woman.

[sekwanele]

UKZN OT Curriculum offering European Greatness

"Education is the movement from darkness to light." - Allan Bloom. Sometimes I feel like that when I sit and reflect on my formal education journey. It got me thinking about how it has gotten me to walk the streets of MR and Zwelibovu communities and speaking to managers of prestigious private health institutes at such a young age, places I have never dreamt of. And actually feeling like I know what I am doing and can be in these rooms communicating and adding valuable Occupational Therapy knowledge. This is all due to the rich OT curriculum UKZN provides which is ineffectually delivered at times. https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.picturequotes.com%2Fthe-only-thing-that-interferes-with-my-learning-is-my-education-quote-183&psig=AOvVaw0J_ej6Dq3ybebKK0DQgl42&ust=1726327182084000&source=images&cd=vfe&opi=89978449&ved=0CBQQjRxqFwoTCKiqtoWcwIgDFQAAAAAdAAAAABAE . This image just reinforces my belief that this curriculum can at times interfere with one’s learning. Where it forces you to conform to other people’s thought processes, which can leave one not thinking on a local and community needs basis.

The most shocking revelation for me is that the university is located in KwaZulu-Natal, which has the largest number of Zulu ethnic people (Minority Rights Group, 2023), and takes its Occupational Therapy students out into these communities following a traditional Western standard as stipulated by the World Federation of Occupational Therapy (WFOT). “The Federation can positively influence health, welfare, education and vocation at an international level,” (WFOT, 2024). This shows the UKZN OT curriculum’s commitment to producing an international Occupational Therapist (OT) and not so much a local OT. To me the OT course has basic isiZulu offered in its package, which I have not found beneficial at all, for teaching non-Zulu-speaking folks. This became very evident in my community module when we went into the deep Zulu community of Zwelibovu. Where I saw my non-Zulu-speaking OT partner struggle with communicating with the patients, not because she did not know the OT content but just a communication problem. Upon which I asked her if she found the isiZulu module beneficial, of which she stated that she wishes she had been taught meaningful Zulu words and sentences that would help communicate health related matters to the patients and not taught about the names of animals and reciting Zulu kings clan names. This to me shows the gaps within the OT curriculum that fail to offer comprehensive Zulu modules for a predominately Zulu-speaking province.

When I look at this image I am reminded of the Western body of knowledge we follow. This is evident when this curriculum has taught us assistive devices which are fancy and are to be given to patients, which are not at all relevant to them, financially and even culturally. This became evident to me working at the community doing home visits. Where there now is no electrically controlled bed, no bed at all just a sponge on the ground. This was my reality first week of community in my client’s home, where ideally in a hospital setting transfers would have been easy, using transfer boards, Sara Steady etc. Which I realise I would have recommended to the patient if I had seen her at the hospital rather, due to what I was taught. However, the curriculum does offer us lecturers who have experience in the community, who make us mindful that what they teach us might not be a reality for most of our patients. The UKZN OT curriculum does teach us to be client-centred and holistic and be very able to adapt. However, when doing wheelchair practicals in lectures, we were never taught the realities of the community like transferring from the floor to a wheelchair. Which in my case I had to adapt on the spot, looking for things like benches that would assist my client in transferring the wheelchair and offering her water bottle to maintain the fingers in extension as they had gone into composite flexion, and I was afraid of a developing contracture she could have. Showing that although equipped with information from the curriculum which was fairly Western and not contextualised to the African context.

The OT curriculum teaches us to be critical thinkers, which allows us to expand our minds into thinking about the other issues with regards to the client, not take things at face value. In a conversation with the project officer and manager at COC, we were able to analyse the community which we attended where we saw that the client’s insights are poor into some other conditions. Where usually it is likely for patients to believe that conditions like stroke are caused by witchcraft in rural areas, (Mpanza et al, 2022). This reduces the client's attendance to important therapy and hospital visits and reduces compliance which increases risks or worsening of the conditions. This critical thinking skill taught to me, helped me figure from the PO and manager why my client suffering from a stoke, had a wheelchair but it had no footrest. They made me aware that the community clinic in that area had OT services once a month through the community service programme offered in PHC. They raised the point of the clinic not having enough resources which is why the client did not have the footrests. This led to research as to why this clinic was not working effectively, where it was found that PHC was failing due to limited financial, political and human resources, (Chimezie, 2015) which explains why the client has a wheelchair with no footrests.

However, I feel sometimes the curriculum, does offer the UKZN OT students in the community skills, like critical thinking skills, as this allowed me to analyse another occurrence in the community I am working in. There was a young client who was not doing well in school suspected of having a learning difficulty. The mother struggled with getting assistance with finding a special school and receiving disability grant for him to send him to these schools. This is where I found that the curriculum does not give us any detailed information with regard to the application of these grants. Had I not been with the PO who is a social worker, who then filled in the gap of the protocol, of the client’s needs to get the SCREENING, IDENTIFICATION, ASSESSMENT AND SUPPORT forms from the client’s school, then only can we (OT) can see them for an assessment. After that, the client can go to the SASSA doctor where he can assess him to be placed on grant. This lack of knowledge of procedures not provided to OT students in the curriculum really affects the ability of the therapist to be useful in the community, (Buchanan, 2016).

In conclusion, the OT UKZN curriculum is very useful and provides students with a lot of insight into engaging and analysing the community. However, their insatiable need to produce an international OT needs to take a back seat and produce a curriculum that will offer comprehensive knowledge to operate in the community. And understand that global recognition in a locally lacking curriculum is futile and somewhat silly and does not go with the university’s motto of “Inspiring greatness” but rather inspiring European Greatness.

References:

van Stormbroek, K., & Buchanan, H. (2016). Community Service Occupational Therapists: thriving or just surviving? South African Journal of Occupational Therapy, 46(3). https://doi.org/10.17159/23103833/2016/v46n3a11

Mkhize, P. Z., Phehlukwayo, S. M., & Mpanza, D. M. (2022). Health seeking pathways for stroke survivors in a rural setting: Optimising early intervention for stroke rehabilitation in occupational therapy. South African Journal of Occupational Therapy, 52(1). https://doi.org/10.17159/2310-3833/2022/vol52n1a4

World Federation of Occupational Therapists. (2017). WFOT. https://wfot.org/education

Aaqil De Vries, Jo-Celene De Jongh, & Wegner, L. (2024). South African occupational therapy students’ reflections on ethical tensions experienced during fieldwork. South African Journal of Occupational Therapy, 54(2), 27–35. https://www.ajol.info/index.php/sajot/article/view/275728

Zulus in South Africa. (n.d.-b). Minority Rights Group. https://minorityrights.org/communities/zulus/

[imready4u2]

sex therapy

Can you find sex advice online? Yes, but be sure to check out a site as carefully as you would a therapist.

Jenny Peters (not her real name) was having difficulty with physical intimacy and pain during sex, but was too embarrassed to bring it up with her doctor.

Instead, she found a free Internet site where the doctor posted her question and, in his answer, suggested she get in-person therapy.

"The Internet got me on the right path," she says. "I wasn't scared to talk about it anymore. I went to my doctor and found out I had a bladder infection. She also put me on a long-term therapy program with my partner to become more comfortable with physical intimacy."

While the cast of television's "Sex and the City" discuss a myriad of sexual quandaries with ease, in real life, most people -- like Peters-- will stammer through questions about such topics as pain during sex or masturbation. In fact, embarrassment can be the biggest obstacle between a sexual problem and help.

That's where online sex experts can help, says Deborah Fox, MSW, a Washington, D.C., sex therapist with her own web site. "The Internet is useful for addressing sexual problems because people are able to ask questions that [otherwise] make them feel uncomfortable."

Online Roles and Limitations

Fox and other sex therapists offer their expertise online, providing educated responses to a variety of questions. They're quick to point out that this does not, however, qualify as therapy. At "Ask the Sex Doc," for example, William Fitzgerald, PhD, a sex therapist in Santa Clara, Calif., posts his answers to hundreds of questions, choosing the ones he feels are most universal.

Common questions easily answered online, according to Fitzgerald, include the effect of masturbation on sexual performance, the regaining of sex drive after the death of a spouse, and the way to approach a spouse about acting out a sexual fantasy. Some sites answer questions free of charge and post the answers for other users to see, while they may require a fee for answering questions privately.

Sandor Gardos, PhD, an online sex expert, also responds to questions on many sexual topics. But when a question is beyond the scope of what can be or should be answered online, Gardos is quick to suggest face-to-face professional help. He and other online sex therapists often recommend traditional therapy for issues that involve more complex problems, such as childhood sexual abuse. Fox adds that current technology simply doesn't allow for the equivalent of ongoing, in-person meetings necessary to resolve many sexual issues.

The Marriage of Therapy and Technology

Online sex therapy falls under the umbrella of "telemedicine," which also includes videoconferencing and telephone therapy.

Because telemedicine is in its infancy, the American Psychiatric Association and the American Psychological Association are still grappling with guidelines. Even so, both organizations emphasize that therapists who are online must adhere to ethics standards already in place.

William Stone, MD, who is on the American Psychiatric Association's Committee on Telemedicine, says the new technology is a mixed blessing. Although it is starting to bring therapy to people in remote locations, it also has limitations and potential dangers. For instance, doctors can usually prescribe drugs only in states where they are licensed to practice medicine, making it difficult to treat patients signing on from other states. And the images transmitted during videoconferences don't always allow detection of subtle changes in body language or expression that are often helpful in making a diagnosis during face-to-face meetings.

How to Judge the Sites

A reputable sex therapy site should have a disclaimer saying that the content and interactions do not constitute therapy or medical treatment, says Mitch Tepper, PhD, MPH, who has been researching online sex therapy sites for more than five years and launched his own in 1996.

Tepper also suggests checking sites to see if the therapists are certified by the American Association of Sex Educators, Counselors, and Therapists (AASECT) or belong to other organizations such as the American Psychological Association or the American Psychiatric Association. Ask therapists where they were trained and how many years they have been in practice (or look on the site for background information on them), as well as how long they have been online.

By doing a bit of research on the therapist and the site, you will be more likely to find someone who is credible and competent.

[gurugirl]

any tips for someone who has zero gun

human contact? i took open school last year (april ‘23), to prepare for national university admission exam (massive deal in my country), open school is basically when you don’t have to physically go to school, you just have to give exams that too from your home. so main purpose of this was to study and go to private institute’s classes for prep for the exam(1.3M+ students appear, and only 39k seats). and i spent a big chunk of my parents money on this private institute, but now the situation is that i’m no longer interested in studying. i cut off all my friends. i don’t talk to people at the institute. my institute has been off for 3 months now (more like i didn’t attend for 2 months, i used to sit at the library after lying to my mom that i went to the institute). i have no human contact. i rot in my bed all day. i watch youtube and instagram just to have that human interaction atleast online. it’s not that all my friends left me, it’s that i myself cut them one by one off bcz everyone was giving me the ick. my mom doesn’t talk to me in a good way, it’s either anger or nagging. she uses me not having any person against me during fights (that are caused by me bcz i share my feelings with her about not having anyone to talk to and how her not talking to me in a good way affects me, i cry like 30 seconds into taking to her). my sister is to young to be hearing all this depressing stuff from me, she’s happy with her school and friends and i want her to be that way. my dad is posted somewhere else for work so he doesn’t live with us. he calls my mom 4+ times a day, talks goofily and happily with my sister, but he never talks to me. he asks my mom what am i doing and her answer is always that i am studying, even tho i’m not and literally sitting right infront of her at dining table. he never further asks about me. i recently bought myself a new phone, i only have four contacts— mom, sis, dad and aunt, and i got my dad’s number after he ringed my phone, which he only does when mom’s not picking his calls. now i don’t pick up his calls but back when i used to, his word used to be “where’s mom?” no hi or how are you to his daughter. i talk to no one. i don’t even go to my balcony that’s attached to my own room. haven’t seen sunlight in weeks. but nobody cares

Hi sweetheart. First it's so hard to know how I can give advice for this because it sounds like you're depressed. I'm not a doctor, though. I have no qualifications to tell you what's happening, but it truly sounds like you might be going through depression. And depression can immobilize you and you may find yourself alienating from all your friends and family, a form of self-sabatoge.

If you have the ability, consider therapy. It sounds like you live in India based on what you've said about open school and nat'l university exams (I might be wrong, if so, apologies) and I don't know what options you have or what cities you live near but see if there is a program or some therapists in your area.

Take a look at this and this and here are some free online therapy chat options (7 Cups always comes highly recommended) if you'd like to talk to someone online.

I'm so sorry that you're going through this and feeling this way. I hope you find some peace and begin to feel like yourself again. While I don't have great advice for you I will say that I'm always here if you want to vent. I'll read any ask you send and hear you. You deserve to be listened to and to feel happy in life.

Also if anyone here has real advice to give or some love to share with anon please do.

xoxo

[nahalism]

howwwww ddid you manage to study and get a darned degree within a scheduled academic reality with your impulsive and random spurges of energy/inspiration¿¡ is it survivable most of my friends r systematic, somehow collected, motivated in a beauutiful steady way that’s typically required in higher ed and i just¡ do not¡ relate¡ loove you hope you are breathing easy🫶🏻🫶🏻

lool man.

the truth is, i did get the degree, but the process was not as heroic as ur question makes it sound. the determination to finish came from a genuine passion for literature, but also cause i didnt want to drop out and have debt, but no degree to show for it. everytime i looked for an excuse to quit, i had my mum telling me 'i only had a year left and could pursue what i wanted to when i was done'. — she was right, but i dont think right means it was the only way to do things. i think my approach was courageous, but also very based in fear and lack of self believe. so whilst i dont regret it, and its part of what got me to build that self believe and faith over fear, there are times i question if dropping out and pursuing my 'spurges of inspiration' would have been the braver and more rewarding choice. it may or may not have been, but i cant answer that cause its not the path i chose.

how i did it was a matter of programming my mind. sounds cliche, but as ive said before i fanaticised over ways i could effectively 'hack my mind' so that regardless of what i thought felt and was going thru, i could not just perform, but overcome the barriers that made it hard for me to perform. (i have a ask with book recommendations and loads of those books were part of the resources that saw me thru). that process was ugly at times, full of extreme stress, insomnia, extreme highs, crazy lows, smatterings of episodes where i was so exhausted and had pushed my body, psyche and emotional state to such extremes that i was full on out of it and a shell of a person. i was sent to my uni therapist and psychiatrist multiple times, and my family were concerned for my wellbeing. i spoke to my professors one on one maybe a maximum of two times. i barely had friends and a social life because my mental state was so poor, and the friends i did have i was constantly paranoid about losing cause i felt like i had no energy to meet up with them call them or maintain a relationship with them. i had consistent insomnia and near to no quality life. and i pursued art, writing and non degree related passions only because i sacrificed doing the other stereotypical university things my friends were doing.

im not saying this to be a victim. i rate myself highly and respect myself for what ive been able to achieve, but i dont want to say all the good w out contextualising the reality of how bad it actually was. i love learning but the the institution of education itself was hell for me 2 b honestly quite insufferable. i dont know how i survived if not for sheer will

the only advice i can give you is try to have a schedule. dont compare yourself to others, just do your best, find what your passionate about re: your degree, set a personal goal of what you want to achieve, and hold on to that blindly. have people around you that will let you break down and vent about what your finding difficult without judgement. & its awkward but if you can find someone in ur unis pastoral care department that knows what your going thru and will check in to see if your doing good or struggling. above everything, life is short and not promised. follow ur urged and ur inspiration cause thats the only thing thats real and only thing that will keep ur spirits up when times are hard. skills and experience are more important than degrees

sending u a huge hug and all the luck in the world. it might be hard but its not impossible!!! u got this

[supernatural-bias]

—bad luck buddies

SUMMARY | sometime in between filling in for carver and completing your mission with ladybug, the two of you manage to have a few laughs

PAIRING | ladybug x reader

REQUESTED | no

WARNINGS | strictly platonic, spoilers for bullet train, hit men, guns, mentions of murder, etc

WORD COUNT | 600+ words

AUTHORS NOTE | very goofy man. funny too. a short little one shot this time though sorry. wasn't having a good night tonight and just wanted to get this done

🐞 Masterlist 🐞 Navigation 🐞 Rules 🐞

"Are you sure I can't get you to give up the number for Barry?"

A gruff voice chuckled next to you as you both through foot traffic, hair bristling in the wind.

"Sorry (Y/n). Gotta keep him all to myself. I can recommend another therapist, though."

Laughter.

"Are you two done talking yet, or should I wait untill you've finished to give you the mission details."

A smile blossomed on your face as the earpiece nestled snugly in your ear buzzed with the sound of Maria's voice. You spared a quick glance at the man next to you, his own expression riddled with amusement—the twinkle in his eyes a dead giveaway.

"Sorry Maria." You grinned. "But Ladybugs' new mindset has me rethinking some of the ways I do my job."

"See! That's exactly what Barry was talking to me about. Put a positive mood out into the world, and it comes back to you." Ladybug snapped his fingers with a triumphant smile, much to the chagrin of Maria. Who by now had sighed in your ear more times than you could count on both hands.

"Please don't tell me you two left the guns in the locker."

You could practically see her pinching the bridge of her nose right now—smudging that weird eyeliner she always insisted on applying. Probably regretting letting the two of you fill in for Carver; that bastard. It was bad enough that separately the two of you barely scraped by on missions. But together? Even you had to admit that the universe seemed to push against your every move. Hence the whole therapist talk. It was high time you tried professional help. At least that's what your targets told you right before you stabbed them in the neck.

"Hey don't sweat it boss man. Er—lady." You readjusted your coat, briefly stopping to apologize to the few pedestrians you would bump into. Didn't expect train stations to be so busy at this time of day. "You said this would be a breeze right? So no guns, no problem."

A beat of silence.

"Your lack of response tells me that you either see the brilliance of the situation or hate us right now." Ladybug scratched at his scruff, nearly knocking his ridiculously chunky glasses astray meanwhile.

"I'm thinking the second one." Maria deadpanned. All she got in response was a cheeky grin from you and Ladybug.

Quick work was made of hopping on the bullet train as you both continued your banter, footsteps falling in sync as you padded up and down the carpeted iles.

"Now you're looking for a breifcase—"

"Could you be a bit more specific?"

"Let me finish (Y/n). You're looking for a silver breifcase with a train sticker on the handle."

"That's not at all ironic." Ladybug cracked a joke, lightly setting his arm on your shoulder to prevent you from toppling on him as the train began to move with a hiss. To which you sent him a goofy salute.

"Fuck it's cold in here. You couldn't have picked a warmer train to stash this case?" You complained, half to Maria and half to Ladybug. Both rolled their eyes, albeit one more playfully than the other. A few nearby passengers didn't seem to take as kindly to your loud complaints though, tossing a nasty look or two.

"Well sorry if the twenty million in cash didn't ask before picking a route out of Tokyo. Did you want to ask the current handlers about a change in plans?"

"Nope." You popped the p while continuing to meander after Ladybug. "I'd rather snatch it from under their noses thank you very much."

Ladybug turned around momentarily to join in on the conversation, clearly buzzed about the promise of a short and easy trip.

"After all." He grinned. "How difficult could this job be?"

[satellite-evans]

Sunshine

Pairing: Chris Evans x therapist!reader

Summary: When Chris sought to find help, he found you.

Word count: it's a short one, sorry :(

Warnings: Fluff, Chris going to therapy and being an idiot in love, a little angst in the beginning. Let me know If I forgot something <3

A/N: Happy reading! I kinda had second thoughts about this one :(

English is not my first language, So I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback and requests are always welcome. Love you all <3

Chris's life sounded chaotic and messy for individuals who didn't live in it. Being Captain America had responsibilities, not to forget the amazing charm Chris holds against the world. Every girl dreamed of being with him and living in the same world as he did. Every woman's dream was to go to events, clubbing together, and award show after award show. The truth was nothing like that.

Chris was a normal guy from Boston who got lucky with getting a part in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Unfortunately for him, the happiness that this role brought him, came not alone. It came with anxiety, too. Hearing every click of a camera pointed toward him was difficult for him. Chris hated that he even heard those clicks late at night in his bedroom. When everyone was sleeping. It was like his own brain was against him, replaying those sounds over and over until Chris couldn't help but get up and go for a run.

He knew he needed therapy. Hell, even his own friends and family recommended him. Seeing Chris miserable was painful for his mother. The fire that was in her son burning for acting was gently dying. She needed to do something; she needed to find help for her son before it was too late.

Lisa found a therapist that changed his son's life forever. You.

Chris was not so eager to go to a therapist, but he trusted his mother's judgment and went to you. Not for himself, but for the people he loved.

When he entered your office, something happened.

He still can't explain to his day what he felt when he saw you for the first time. His vocabulary is not big enough, he says. Something inside him made Chris feel dizzy, like he was about to throw up. He didn't like the feeling, but he took everything that came from you happily.

You.

There was something about you that made Chris want to learn about you. He wanted you to talk about your life and solve any problem you had like he was your therapist. When he sat down, he knew one thing was for sure. He was going to ask you out.

After talking for 2 hours, it felt like the heavy bricks that were crushing him down were crumbling away, and he could finally take a deep breath without shaking. It felt easy explaining his issues to you.

Your eyes were deep brown, but Chris swore he saw a wonderful blue sky in them. He never felt so drawn to a person, and he only knew you for two hours. But if spending two hours with you was like this, he couldn't imagine what a life with you would feel like.

After the therapy session, you told him you loved to see him next week again. Chris instantly agreed, loving that he would see you next week, too.

Every week that he came, he fell more in love with you. You learned more about him, and he learned more things about you, too. How your office was full of flowers, especially lilies, for instance. Or how the two dimples next to your mouth were only seen if you smiled. That you had a tattoo of a butterfly on your wrist. Every single detail that Chris had seen was written on his memory with a pen that couldn't be erased. He never talked about you to his family. Because he knew, if he started talking about you, his smile that would show up and the way his eyes would shine would tell them the truth. So when Lisa asked how therapy was, he would simply answer with 'good.'

But his mother didn't buy it. She knew that something was up and that it had to do something about you. She saw Chris change. He wasn't quiet as he used to be. Her son, that was slowly slipping away from her fingers, was now blossoming like a flower in the spring. She knew that her flower of a son found his sunshine. And she couldn't be happier about it.

He did it. He didn't know why he did it just when the session ended, but he did it. He asked you out. The clicks of a camera that were making a noise in his brain were so far for him to hear, thanks to you. But because of you, he could hear the fight that was going on between his heart and brain right now. His heartbeat was going faster, waiting for you to say yes, while his brain was giving him a headache about all the overthinking he was doing. That you were going to say no, that Chris embarrassed himself, and that he looked dumb right now. Yup, his brain loved him.

"Chris, I really don't know what to say. I'm flattered, really. I think you are an amazing person with a soul that is so kind. But I can't date you, you're my patient. And I'm not willing to risk my career because of my feelings."

He should be hurt by what you said, but he wasn't. In fact, he fell more in love with you. This just showed how strong of a woman you were and that you knew your priorities. But he wouldn't let you go that easily. Chris would do everything just to spend time with you.

"What if I go to another therapist? Y/N, you helped me grow so much as a person. You fixed my fragile heart and I haven't been more confident in my body. Please, just give me a chance. I'm sure you have so some great therapist friends you can recommend to me. I want to spend time with you, Y/N. Please, let me."

You let him. After recommending your therapist friend Farah to him, he took you out on a date and got to know you outside of work, too.

You were a big Disney fan. Your favorite movie was the princess and the frog, seeing yourself in her since you always had to work hard to get your job, too. What made Chris shocked to hear was that you never went to Disneyland.

"I'm sorry, what? You are a Disney fan, but you never went to Disneyland? How is that even possible?"

The two of you were enjoying some pasta in Chris' favorite restaurant. He knew that he had to take you there on the first date. it brought him many happy memories of seeing this place and now he added one more, his first date with you.

"Hey, don't laugh at me, okay? My parents had little money growing up, so we never went. And now, I don't know, It's just weird going alone to Disneyland. Don't you think?"

He frowned at your question. Why would you go alone?

"Well, you don't have to go alone. Take your family with you. I always go with my whole family. My sisters, brother, cousins, everyone. You can do the same."

You laughed at his comment, thinking about how your family would hate that idea.

"I don't think so. My mom and dad aren't Disney fans just like I am. Plus, they would say that I spend my money on unnecessary stuff and that I don't know the value of money. I don't need to hear another entire speech about life and money just because I wanted to go to Disneyland. I got to hear that tons of times growing up that I know nothing."

He saw you became serious and tense. Talking about your parents was a hard topic for you, and he sensed that instantly. Chris wanted to comfort you and tell you that your parents were missing out, but it wasn't the place or the time.

"I'm so sorry. This is our first date, and I am already talking about my issues. As a therapist, you always listen to the problems of other people. Nobody listens to yours."

Chris felt a sting in his heart. You doubtless had so many things to tell, but nobody wanted to listen to you. If you only knew that he would listen to you forever.

"Don't worry sweetheart" he said, taking your hand as his. " I would love to listen to your voice all day, every day."

You smiled at him, with glistering eyes telling him that this was the sweetest thing someone ever said to you, without words. Chris understood. He could read your eyes so well and smile back.

He promised himself that day he would do everything in his power to make you feel safe to share your problems with him. And further to take you to Disneyland, but as a family.

It's safe to say that he kept his promise.

(part 2 anyone?)

[goodnitedrdead]

winter falls

Colonel Carrillo x Reader

Summary: winter blows again, and time has flown by. Colonel Carrillo never thought he'd be fearing the solitude that came with the season. Just as he thought he was about to fall apart, you rush in to keep him together. To help scare away the tormenting thoughts that were haunting him, you decided to take him out for a walk surrounded by the bright Christmas lights that adorned the local plaza.

Word Count: 5.8k (not bad for a girl with no talent)

Warnings: Carrillo lives. Slight/mild PTSD from the night Escobar shot him. Talks about divorce. Intrusive thoughts. Lonely holiday time. Talks about religion. Emotional infidelity, I guess? Lots of feelings. Fluff. Angst with an... okay ending?

Author's Note: don't let the kpop icon scare you, ok? pls be kind to me this is the second fic I've ever written, I'd really appreciate the feedback. ALSO, I am absolutely in love with the colonel. Inspiration for this came from the song Winter Falls by Stray Kids. I recommend looking up the lyric translation because I tried to include them through the fic, but it's not required. THANK YOU FOR READING!!! IT MEANS A LOT TO ME. MWAH TO ALL THOSE WHO WILL READ THIS <3 also, i cross posted this on ao3 in case y'all would like to follow me there, I know sometimes Tumblr tends to be... mean.

IF YOU HAVE ANY REQUESTS FOR THE COLONEL PLS SEND THEM MY WAY.

Colonel Carrillo didn’t fear many things. Hell, he didn’t even fear death itself. But recently, as the nights got longer and the temperatures started to drop, he started to know fear. The thing that embarrassed him the most was that it was an intangible fear. It wasn’t the bullets that flew left and right past him as he was in the streets of Colombia. It wasn’t the sicarios that etched the notorious Colonel’s name in their minds, hiding in the shadows waiting to pounce and take his life. It wasn’t the blood, nor the warzone he lived in day in and day out. No, it wasn’t any of that. Horacio Carrillo was afraid of desolation.

He thought he’d have more time to get used to it. As he awoke one day from being in a coma for who knows how long, he found his wife by his side. He felt a sense of relief, there was somebody there to greet him back to the realm of the living. There was someone who yearned for his existence. Someone that prayed for his return. Someone that needed him.

That feeling was short-lived as he woke one day and noticed she was gone. Divorce papers waiting on the table by his side, along with a long letter explaining her decision. 

Days, weeks, months passed as he went through numerous sessions of physical therapy. He felt a broken man. A once fearsome and lethal man… and now just a man trying to learn simple tasks like if he were a child.

When Escobar shot him, the news of Colonel Horacio Carrillo’s death spread like wildfire. However, thanks to Trujillo, one of the few survivors of the ambush that day, he was rushed to the hospital. Fortunately, the bullets had missed all the important parts of him. Of course there was damage, but little by little, thanks to the help of the doctors, nurses, therapists and everyone in between, the Colonel was able to make it. 

Oh how he wished he would’ve been left to die.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

He was raised a catholic man. His family never missed mass on Sundays, no matter how much anyone protested. He’ll admit, there were times when he hated it. He doubted the existence of God. He doubted the existence of la Virgen. He doubted the existence of any omnipotent presence because if anyone in this universe existed, men like Escobar would be brought to justice. 

As he laid on the cold concrete that day, he recited a prayer. A simple prayer, asking for forgiveness for his sins and whatnot. To be completely honest he didn’t even believe the words that he was saying. The overwhelming taste of blood in his mouth bothered him, and kept interrupting his prayer. Now, as the devil himself stood above him, he started to see his life flash before him. Once again, death itself didn’t scare him. He was ready to welcome it, in fact. Unfortunately he couldn’t even focus on that when someone else was occupying his mind. He felt a bit guilty, to be honest. He thought of his wife, Juliana. He thought of his children. He thought of the pain they’d have to endure because of his death. He thought of his mother. How his dear mother would grieve the death of his son. She would always voice her worries to him, but he always reassured her that nothing would ever happen to him. Until Escobar happened, then Horacio started to keep quiet. His reassurances to his whole family turned into nothing but silence. He kept thinking of his family, and he wished that was the extent of who he kept thinking.

That wasn’t the case.

You kept invading his mind like poison. In fact, that’s exactly how you slowly started to infiltrate his every thought. It was one of the biggest mistakes of his life, accepting you into the Search Bloc team. From the very first moment he laid eyes on you, he knew he had broken his sacred vows. He never did anything to you, he kept the relationship professional. Actually, he tried his best to avoid having any ties to you, but due to the nature of your job, it was almost impossible. No matter what he did, no matter where he turned, no matter where he went you always followed. It was as if a snake bit him, and little by little you started to take over every part of him. The poison coursed through his bloodstream, intoxicating him as it spread to every inch of his very being . 

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

 The last few months leading up to his ‘death,’ he spent it at the office. It was during those months where Juliana started to doubt their marriage. Long hours away from home, the pressure and torment that rested upon Horacio’s shoulders, the way Escobar was draining him little by little started to affect Juliana. She didn’t know when this was going to come to an end. If there was even an end. What about when Escobar was caught? Who will follow? She will know no peace next to Horacio. Their children will know no peace next to their father. Not anymore. 

He’d once promised her it wouldn’t always be like this. But unfortunately, she knew that promise would not be fulfilled.

So when she received news that he was caught up in an ambush, she felt life escape her. She regretted ever thinking that. But, as the months passed and she was informed that her husband had made it after all, she felt a tightness in her chest. 

When she saw him there, almost lifeless, she begged God for forgiveness. She begged God for forgiveness for what she had in mind. It’s not that she didn’t love him, no that wasn’t the case at all. But she did not want to live in a constant state of fear. She did not want to get caught up in the war that followed him. So when he woke one day, she allowed herself a few days to feel out her emotions. But, seeing as how close he had come to dying, she came to a conclusion. She had to put herself first. She had to put her children first… and that’s what she did. She had no time to think as she placed the divorce papers on the table next to his bed. She reached into her purse, pulled out the letter that she hoped he’d read, and rested it on top of the papers that were about to end it all. Slowly, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. Disculpame, cariño. 

Now, as the nights got longer and the winds grew colder, he found himself in the position he feared the most. Horacio Carrillo was alone. 

The fact that it was nearing Christmas was worse. He always thought he’d have more time to get used to it. But it was one of those things that he shoved to the back of his mind as he tried to get himself back together. It caught up to him though, and now there was nothing he could do to make peace with solitude. 

The war had been won, to an extent. Escobar was dead. The Cali godfathers were a distant threat. Colombia was starting to get well acquainted with peace. The Americans were still infiltrating his life. That was starting to become the norm for him. 

He was definitely not sure why they had wanted him back. After he was discharged from the hospital and he was able to walk again and become a fraction of what he used to be, he was offered the same position. The same position, minus the physical aspect. Now, he had to hide behind his office and bark orders at men and wait for reports of how stakeouts and raids went. This isn’t how he wanted to live. 

It was starting to get late. The building was starting to empty out quickly as the weekend before Christmas arrived. Carrillo looked out his office to find you on your desk. Murphy sat atop the files you had laid out on the table, throwing a ball of paper into the air before catching it and repeating the same motions. You sat on your chair, a smile adorning your face as you talked about nonsense with Murphy, Peña, and Trujillo. Carrillo felt a ping of jealousy sting him. He wished he would have that same smile directed towards him. He wished that smile was reserved for him and him only. 

See, from the moment you joined the team you became a huge distraction for the Colonel. Your bright eyes, full of wonder and curiosity. Your smile, radiant as the sun and contagious to everyone around you. Your laugh, oh how your laugh was music to his ears. Your hair, the way it framed your beautiful face and left a haunting yet comforting trail of your scent as you walked past him. The way you were friendly with everyone around you and provided everyone that crossed your path with a sense of comfort. The unforgiving way you lit up any room you walked in to.

You were transferred to Colombia from Juarez. You had arrived at the same time, if not a bit after Agent Murphy. Unlike Steve and Javier, you were not a pain in his ass. Carrillo felt a tad bit of hostility towards the gringos, but never to you. Well, you weren’t really considered one to him. He’d come to learn that you were born and partly raised in Mexico, you became an American citizen when you were a teenager. He thought that must’ve been hard for you, leaving your home country and trading it for one that was so… hostile. Carrillo always thought America was like a wild bull, untamable and stubborn. That was one of the many things he’d come to admire about you: the way you’d easily adjust to the situation around you, no matter what it was.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Outside the church, you leaned on your forearms against the side of the car, aimlessly tracing the letters on the hood of the beat up police car. Steve leaned with his back against the bumper of the car while Peña and Carrillo questioned where Javier’s informant was. Helena, you recalled Javier sharing her name with the Colonel. You listened to their conversation in Spanish, and you assumed it was because they were trying to hide something from Steve and yourself.

You didn’t really care if they were trying to hide something. You understood every word they were saying, though they did not have a clue you were fluent in the language. Steve, however… 

You felt so bad for the poor man. A white man in a foreign country, with no concept or knowledge of the language, much less the culture. You felt the need to approach him and inform him of the conversation he was excluded from, but you stopped yourself when you heard the men start to question your presence. 

“¿y la chica?”  

“No, ella se queda con Murphy. Será mucho para ella,” you heard Javier say. Carrillo asked Javier about you, and Peña, most likely thinking you were some sort of fragile porcelain doll, told him you were to stay with Steve. Asshole, you thought to yourself. You looked at both of the men, and heard Javier say, “you two stay here and see if she comes back, okay?”

With that you saw as they both got onto a truck and left, leaving you and Murphy to stare at each other in confusion. 

Time passed and you two decided to get acquainted with one another. You learned Steve was born in Tennessee but grew up in West Virginia. He told you all about his career, how he ended up in Colombia, and the love of his life who waited for him back at the house. You smiled at the way he talked about her. You didn’t really believe in true love, but the way Steve was expressing himself about Connie? You might start to actually believe it. 

The church bells started to toll, and Steve let out a yawn. He excused himself for a moment before he walked to the driver’s side of the car. With a soft knock on the windshield, he approached the officer that sat at the wheel. 

“Any news on the radio?” Steve asked.

“¿Le digo?” The soldier asked his partner. 

“No. Acuérdese lo que dijo Carrillo,” The soldier replied to his partner, eyeing Steve cautiously. 

“Perdón, pero yo no hablo inglés,” The soldier on the driver seat told Steve. An apologetic smile on his face.

Steve sighed. With a frustrated huff he walked back next to you and leaned against the car.

“Nothing yet. Can’t believe they left us behind just like that,” Steve told you while he pulled a cigarette out of the pocket of his jacket.

“There’s something they don't want us to know. Carrillo’s men clearly have instructions to not share any information with either of us. Might want to start questioning who we got as partners,” you told him.

As you lit the cigarette Steve offered you, you noticed how he looked at you confused. 

“What makes you say that?” He asked you.

You shrugged and exhaled the smoke from your cigarette slowly, “I understood what they were saying. One of Carrillo’s men said to remember what he’d told them. That sounds like they’re withholding their whereabouts.”

Steve let out a chuckle. “You know Spanish? How come you never said anything?”

You smirked and shrugged again, “Nobody ever asked. My superiors know, that’s what matters.”

“Remind me to keep you around me as a translator then,” Steve smiled at you.

“Oh honey, I am more than just a translator.”

And that’s how Steve learned about your past. Where you were born, where you came from, what got you to this place. From that moment on, you made an agreement with Murphy that you’d help him with the language. Maybe not with the teaching, but letting him know what those around him would say. 

So long as he didn’t tell Peña or Carrillo that you knew Spanish. You wanted to see how far this little game could go.

Carrillo’s men eventually called the both of you and took you to where Peña and the Colonel were. Steve got out of the car frustrated, immediately asking where Peña was. When you saw he stormed towards both men, you got out of the car. You gave a brief ‘thank you’ to the men that drove you there and tried to catch up with Steve. 

When you got there you heard Steve and Javier speaking about Helena. How she was and if she was gonna be okay. As you listened and looked between the both of them, you felt a strong pair of eyes on you. You shifted your gaze and found the Colonel looking at you. You weren’t gonna deny it, his stare was overwhelming. If he would’ve been any other man, or any other person you worked with, you wouldn’t have thought anything of it. However, the fact that they both left you behind on purpose stirred frustration within you. 

You stared back at him, no intention of backing down from this silent challenge. You thought it might’ve been a meaningless action, but you hoped it got the message across. You weren’t going to give in. Not to him. Not to anybody. There was a reason you were sent down here, and you were here to stay as long as they needed you. 

Eventually Carrillo lowered his gaze. He’d never admit it but he felt small in your presence. Your gaze was soft. Stern, but somehow tender. And that’s what made him uncomfortable. You weren’t just looking at him. You were looking at him. Through him. That made him uncomfortable. That was the moment when he knew you weren’t just going to be another member of the team. And he’d start to regret laying his eyes on you, for it was going to be impossible to get you out of his mind. 

“You left me behind on purpose,” Murphy exclaimed to Javier. 

“Look, man–” Javier started to explain. More than likely it was gonna be some bullshit excuse as to why he abandoned you both.

“If we’re gonna be partners, I don’t get left behind. We don’t get left behind. We didn’t come all the way down here, Peña, to sit on the fucking sidelines.”

Javier looked at Steve and then to you. You gave him a simple nod, signifying that you completely agreed with your companion. You didn’t come here to waste your time. 

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It was late. Nearing midnight. Yet, Colonel Carrillo sat still in his office. The soft ticking of the clock on the wall became louder each time. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to go home. He couldn’t even call it home anymore. The empty structure that held so many memories, so much warmth and love now turned into an unwelcoming and haunted place. The ghost of the memories he shared with his family. 

His mind started to betray him. He thought of the man he used to be. The collected, composed, and stoic Colonel Horacio Carrillo. Leader of the Search Bloc. Escobar’s nightmare.

Now? A broken man with broken dreams. 

He felt the walls he built around himself start to crack.

It’s not like he did it on purpose, as a military man it was more of a requirement. And he wasn’t always like this. 

He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. Keep it together, Horacio. He thought to himself. The rampage of his ongoing self-sabotaging thoughts were interrupted by a series of laughs that came from outside his office. He stood up and walked towards the door, he stopped in his tracks when he found you shoving Agent Peña away from you. The laughter that came out of you was angelical to him. 

Peña, Murphy, and Trujillo looked up at the Colonel, and immediately quieted down. At the sudden change in atmosphere, you turned and followed their gaze and found none other than the Colonel looking at all of you. 

“Carrillo, we were just going to go out for some drinks. Care to join us?” Asked Murphy. 

The Colonel politely declined the offer but wished them a good time. He saw as all three men walked away, waving their goodbyes to you. You turned to settle back into your chair and looked up at the Colonel. 

“You’re not going to join them?” He asked you curiously.

“No, I’m okay. Not really in the mood to join them. I spend enough time with them as it is,” you smiled at him.

He couldn’t even begin to describe the feeling that engulfed him at seeing you smile directly at him. 

He nodded. 

“Shouldn’t you be going home, then?” He asked you once again.

You shook your head. Sure, it could be the weekend and all but you knew if you went home it’d just be a long episode of absolute boredom. Maybe you’d consider joining your friends for a drink.

“Very well then,” he said to you. With a small turn he went back into his office and sat on his chair.

Fuck. He thought. Had you really just smiled at him? He felt like an idiot. He felt like a teenage boy all over again when their crush would spare a glance at their direction.  Keep it together, Horacio. For fuck’s sake. 

He didn’t know long he stayed that way. His face burrowed in his hands. His elbows deeply planted on the surface of his desk. His tormenting thoughts were back. 

Good for nothing. You couldn't even take down Escobar, yourself. The whole nation calls you a hero but that’s not who you actually are. Murderer. Colonel Martinez is ten times better a man than you are, pendejo. You should've died that day. Trujillo should've left you to die--

His body gently started to shake as he remembered Pablo looming above his body. Darkness started to surround him. The agonizing piercing pain of the first bullet Pablo shot at his body. He remembers he didn’t even make a sound when the bullet entered him. He couldn’t give Escobar the satisfaction. 

A knock at his door snapped him out of it.

He looked up to find you, eyes full of concern for him. 

“Everything okay, Colonel?” you asked him. Your tone barely above a whisper. 

He stayed silent as he averted his eyes to his lap. He tried to breathe, but he felt as if he were frozen, under the ice. No matter how hard he hit the layer of ice he was trapped under, it wouldn’t break and he was about to drown. He tried taking another breath, but the oxygen wouldn’t reach his lungs. He slowly started to get pulled deeper and deeper into the depths of the unforgiving arctic, not knowing if he’d ever make it back.

He suddenly felt tears stain his cheeks. The cracks of the walls started to get bigger and bigger, and he knew he was at his breaking point. 

At the sight of the poor man before you, you rushed to his side. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what was acceptable to do. Surely your eyes were playing tricks with you. The rigid man you always knew was shattering before you. So you did what you’d never thought you’d ever do.

You wrapped your arms tightly around him. 

Every single moment after that kept coming as a surprise for you. 

You held him tightly as he sobbed in your arms. His body shook with every gasp he took. You’re not sure how you both ended up on the floor, but the fact of the matter was that he was still in your arms. You were awkwardly sitting with one leg tucked underneath you and the other extended to the side to accommodate the Colonel’s body into yours. You started to stroke his hair and run your fingers through it absentmindedly. Wondering what had brought him to this point. 

Whatever it was you wished you could take it all away. Truth be told you had developed feelings for the man that seemed to not have any. You loved the way he carried himself. Always so full of confidence. You particularly loved that he was such an ass. All because you knew he wasn’t really like that. It was all a show. You just knew there was a playful and gentle man behind the mask of what was Colonel Horacio Carrillo. You knew there was a man worth loving.

You also knew he was married before, so you kept your distance. Always tried keeping it professional. But you’d be a damn liar if you said you wouldn’t go out of your way to make sure the Colonel noticed you. Not in a cringe way, you were slightly younger than him, so you didn’t want to embarrass yourself. Plus, he was married. You weren’t about to become a home wrecker, but the feelings you developed for him weren’t harming anyone but yourself. You could live with that. 

You weren’t an idiot either. You’d sometimes notice the way his gaze would linger on you a little bit longer than other people. The way sometimes he’d use a softer tone with you. The way he’d, although very rarely, would give you the smallest of smiles. This would cause you to go home at the end of the night and smile to yourself like a teenage girl while you attempted to sleep. Maybe it was all in your head, but it made going to work worthwhile. 

As the Colonel slowly came back to his senses, he started to pull himself away from you. He gave you an apologetic look that shattered your heart. It’s okay, you wanted to tell him, I got you.

“I am sorry, agent. I do not know what came over me,” he said as he wiped his nose. Gosh, he felt so stupid. A broken man that was falling apart in the arms of the person who was not supposed to see this side of him.

“No se disculpe, coronel. No hay por qué pedir perdón,” you told him with the softest tone you could muster. You were saying the truth though, there was absolutely no reason for him to apologize. He had done nothing wrong.

Carrillo had once heard that people expressed their feelings better in a different language than their mother tongue. This was due to the fact another language served as a distraction from their actual feelings. So although you were both fluent in Spanish, he felt safer communicating with you in english. If he would’ve been within his five senses, he would’ve started questioning you about the language you replied to him in. 

Horacio took a deep breath and felt the oxygen reach his lungs this time. Your scent filled his system and he felt like he had broken through the ice that trapped him. His head was above the water now.

You both stayed sitting on the floor, at this point you decided to cross your legs and get into a more comfortable position across from him. He sat with his back against the drawers of his desk, his feet planted on the floor and his knees bent. He ran his hands up and down the expanse of his legs slowly, as if he were trying to comfort himself. 

“I am going to be honest with you, agent. I have not been well. I know there’s been… talk. About me, about what happened to me after Escobar, about my life,” he sighed and tried to think of the point he wanted to make, if there was even one. Truth be told, if you had already seen him cry, hell, what else could he lose by sharing a bit of what was on his mind. “My wife left me after I woke up from… the aftermath. I do not blame her, I hold no negative feelings towards her. But I have found myself in a position that I did not prepare for. The days get shorter and the nights get longer..”

You gave him a small nod to indicate that you were listening to him. Gosh, you could listen to him even if there were a million people around you talking all at once. Only him. 

“... Time has passed and everyone except me has changed. I–I am lonely to the point of pain,” he continued. His voice is slow and soft, but the unsteadiness in it was hard to miss.

You took in a deep breath and looked around you, trying to find the right words to say. Trying to find the perfect words for him, because you truly believed if this man asked you for the world right now, you’d find a way to get him the damn universe. 

“I can’t say I understand what you’re going through, Colonel–”

“Horacio,” he interrupted you, “please call me Horacio.”

You gave him a gentle smile before continuing, “Horacio. I can’t say I understand what you’re going through because I have never gone through that myself. However, I can understand your loneliness. But the thing is,” you threaded lightly, because you still didn’t know what was acceptable in this situation, “you don’t have to be. Look, I know it’s hard and all but you somewhat have a second family here. Agent Peña, Agent Murphy, your soldiers… me.”

Horacio Carrillo felt a jolt of electricity run through his body as you looked at him. Truly looked at him. Your own intense eyes focusing on his own. He felt you were a storm. A storm with the darkest of skies and the heaviest of rains that could somehow lullaby him into the most relaxing sleep of his life. 

“Did Martinez… was he a good leader?” he asked, tears once again threatening to fill his eyes.

You let out a soft laugh and looked at your legs. Was he questioning the leadership style of Colonel Martinez because he was… insecure? Was Colonel Horacio Carrillo, the daring leader everyone came to know, insecure? Was he really comparing himself to Martinez?

“Colonel Martinez was good. A very respectable man. But,” you looked back up to him and scooted a bit closer to him, “he wasn’t you. I don’t think there’s any man in the world that would be able to fill your shoes.” You weren’t referring to the previous Colonel’s leadership style. No, this was personal.

He scoffed softly and rolled his eyes. He didn’t mean to do this in a rude way, but he felt you were just saying this out of pity. 

“I am just a fraction of the man Hugo Martinez is,” he said coldly. 

“This isn’t about who’s a bigger or better man, Horacio. Sure, under Martinez’s leadership we were able to bring down Pablo. But at the end of the day, you were the one that haunted Escobar’s dreams. You led one of Colombia’s most important unit. Colonel Martinez continued what you started,” you grabbed his face in your hands and let your thumbs stroke his cheeks. The rough feeling of the stubble that was beginning to grow under your fingers. “Did you hear that? What you, Horacio Carrillo, started.”

“I did terrible things that he never even had to do,” he protested.

“We all did, my dear. But we all did what we had to do in order to survive.”

My dear. That alone blew away the brewing tempest that was forming his mind. He nodded in your hands and swallowed the tightness he felt in his throat.

You pulled your hands away from his face and stood up, extending one of your hands to him to pull him back to his feet. He wanted to chuckle at that. You, smaller than him in size, wanted to bring him back to his feet. He ended up taking your hand but didn’t put any of his weight on you as he rose to stand.

“Come with me. Let’s go think of something else,” you smiled brightly up at him. A full smile that reached your eyes and hinted at a bit of mischief that somehow put him at ease.

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You had convinced him to climb in your car without saying where you were taking him. He didn’t mind though, he trusted you with his life. You’d been by his side during some of the most dangerous moments of his life, what would make him think you’d want to hurt him.

Nearing your destination, you instructed him to close his eyes. He obeyed without having to ask him twice. He was starting to come to the realization that he quite enjoyed following your commands. His mind started to wonder to more pleasant situations as you drove. How would it feel for you to give him simple domestic commands? For you to tell him to do the dishes… to let you cook in peace… to give you one more kiss before he left for work. He snapped out of it before his mind decided to wander off too far. He felt the car come to a complete stop and heard you change gears to park. 

“Keep them closed, okay?” you instructed him once again and he gave you a nod, the smallest hint of a smile starting to form on his face.

You got out of the driver’s seat and rushed to his side to open the door. You told him he could come out and held the door open for him as he undid his seatbelt and got out slowly. Once he was completely out of the car, you closed the door and took a deep breath.

“Alright, should I cover your eyes or guide you with my hands?” 

He raised an eyebrow and started to grow suspicious. What could you possibly be hiding from him? He wasn’t going to give up the chance to have close contact with you though, even if it was just the feeling of his hand in yours.

He didn’t reply, instead he just extended his hand out to you. You smiled to yourself at the motion, immediately reaching out to hold his hand before you started to walk forward at a careful pace so he wouldn’t trip.

Horacio had lived most, if not all, of his life in Colombia. The cold weather didn’t faze him, hell, he was in the military and they had to endure rigid temperatures as part of their training. However, today in particular was cold. He wasn’t sure if it was because he had unconsciously lowered his defenses while he was with you, but the cold was starting to get to him. Even with his jacket on, he still felt the chill in the air as you guided him through wherever it was you took him to. His mind going haywire between the stark difference of the crisp weather and your warm hand holding his. 

He heard the distant sound of children laughing, families calling out for their kids, conversations here and there, cars passing by. His suspicion grew by the second as he followed you, his eyes still closed when you came to a stop. 

“Okay Horacio, you can open your eyes now.”

At your command, he opened his eyes and looked around, his sight trying to adjust to the environment around him. You’d taken him to a local plaza, a tourist-y area adorned and decorated with Christmas lights on every surface. There were lights wrapped around the trunks of the trees, lights hanging from the branches that swayed with the wind, lights resting on top of some small and well-kept bushes, lights that paved the way to the different directions of the plaza. Colorful lights everywhere. 

“Ta-da!” you exclaimed, a bright smile on your face as you looked at him, waiting for a reaction.

He tried to take it all in, kept looking around before focusing on you. He saw the way you smiled at him, a hopeful expression in your eyes almost as if asking, do you like it?

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before taking a deep breath. He didn’t have time to think before he wrapped his arms around you this time, his lips resting against the soft skin of your forehead. 

“Thank you,” he whispered against your skin. A million words he wanted to say but couldn’t. Thank you for not letting me fall apart. Thank you for not letting me drown. 

You closed your eyes as you returned the embrace. Wishing that, somehow, you could make him feel the love (that you’d been trying to bury deep down) through this simple act. Wishing that, maybe one day, you’d be able to tell him that if he were drowning you’d drain the whole ocean for him. Only for him.