Doctor Anthony Holmes

Welcome....sorta. My name is Doctor Anthony Holmes, I'm the head therapist and psychiatrist at Brielle Institution. I'm also in charge of the staff and patients and, literally, absolutely everything at Brielle- so don't try anything.

[lucyintheskyyyy]

@dranthonyholmes

Lucy waited with her back against the wall next to Dr. Holmes’ office door. Over the last few weeks, she found herself feeling more and more uncomfortable in her skin the more she complied with her treatment. Nevertheless, she hoped that her hard work paid off enough to get her out of the medical ward. It was hard to tell how her heart was doing since her physical activity, even walking, had been restricted greatly. Lucy had no idea how much she weighed, but it already felt like too much; she wasn’t sure how much more Holmes wanted her to gain, but she hoped it wasn’t too outrageous. She heard the doorknob turn, and she turned, ready to meet with her doctor.

[dranthonyholmes]

“lucy,” holmes greeted when he saw the other, his expression bare and neutral. “you’re here, fantastic- take a seat, would you?” he insisted, gesturing to the comfy chars adjacent to his desk. he opened up his filing cabinet and searched for the woman’s folder, spotting the tab with her last name scripted on it. he quickly retrieved it and splayed out the pages, notes, and documents on his desk. “alright, let’s see...” he trailed off, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. he then looked up, raising his brows at her “how do you think you’ve been doing, lucy? well? poorly? somewhere in between?”

[dranthonyholmes]

n8whit:

Of course, Nate didn’t mean to literally burn the office down – though that would be a pretty talented move on Holmes’ behalf considering a controlled burning in just one room would take quite a bit of effort and a ridiculous amount of flame retardant. In truth, he desired more for the doctor to burn himself than the office at all, and solve all of his pressing problems that seemed to be constantly overlooked by the head of staff. Nate decided to completely ignore the remark made towards him in a misprized way. While, yes, it was challenging for the teen to neglect the bashing he was taking from the much older male in the room, he did his best – hormones subsided and all – to maintain a stoic expression within his eyes. The rest of his face – he had no control over. The contortions of disgust were to be expected considering the amount of irritability his tiny body held.

If he had to hear his last name one more time, he’d decided he was definitely just going to take one for the team and start referring to himself as “Nathan” the more hated abbreviation of his full name. Nathaniel was fine, Nate was fine, but the second someone dropped “Nathan,” he wanted to die. Nathan was like sipping Clorox bleach in the backroom while the rest of the staff stood around and chatted. He’d much rather croak than endure the shittiness of that shorthanded title. Nate wasn’t going to refute what Holmes had said in regards to hating him. He was almost positive it wasn’t hate but more of a loathe – and while he could’ve been totally wrong, Nate knew he never was and it wasn’t possible for his insight to be anything but the truth. The teen wanted to spit that age was just a number, but that’s what the adults said, and obviously it didn’t apply in most circumstances. A brothel ran by a teen was the genius part of it. Younger people had more observation than old shits that walked around acting like they knew every little thing about the world. Nate would be an excellent owner of one, and Anthony knew it as well – he was just trying to get on Nate’s nerves. Contrary to the fact that his mind was screaming not to refute, his expressions and body language did the exact opposite. Long arms crossed over each other while he half-listened to the doctor, turning his expression and amber eyes to swim around the room, attempting to find something more interesting to focus on. “Anyone that’s not a fucking pig like you, but forget it. I don’t need your help to start it anyway.” – I’m the CEO of this joint.

It was not unlike Nate to confess his behaviors without regret. When confronted, he typically told the truth, unless he found means of why he shouldn’t tell the truth. To Holmes, he believed they had a mutual understanding that he enjoyed causing problems, and by doing so, Nate knew better than to try and wiggle his way out of crimes he definitely committed. “Let’s see,” acting as if he needed to ponder, heavily, about the delinquency he’d in perpetrated, Nate knew the reality of it was that he was well aware of what he’d done, “I smeared some blood on a door, I broke a weird vase, I flip staff off, flushed some Ambien down the toilet, left the grounds without permission, often sneak out at night, openly threaten people, tell everyone about my plans of renovation, steal therapists offices for my deeds, call people out on their bullshit, try to shove peanut allergy-ridden shit at people that can’t have it… - I mean, I could keep going, but I doubt any of those were the reason. So, tell me, what have I done this time?”

the man had never witnessed such a change of emotions in such a short period of time. perhaps the young man had an undiagnosed condition...perhaps that’s why his face was contorting with writhing. or maybe the patient was just weird ( a justified conclusion, holmes thought ). “your use of language NEVER ceases to amaze me, nathaniel,” holmes brightened, his eyes glowing with amusement as he sat back in his church, watching the young man as if he were a feature film at a cinema. when he began to list his charges- what he was guilty of- the therapist just nodded along. true, true, true- each of those things he head done, and for each of them, no isolation request had been made. the patient got away with far more than he was probably aware of. then there were patients holmes didn’t have time for- those were the patients that got locked up in ISO without the bat of an eye.

but its patients like nathaniel that keep anthony involved in this business ( them and the PAYCHECKS ). the BASKET CASES without a purpose that brought the older man amusement and, well, meaning. what’s a therapist or a doctor without a patient? a CHALLENGE? that’s certainly what nathaniel was...a challenge. “you have done those things,” he confirmed, an unneccessary verbal contribution. “well nathaniel, let’s see,” the man took out his glasses from his suit pocket, took his time unfolding their arms before sliding them onto the bridge of his nose. he looked down at the report sheet and cleared his throat. “nathaniel whitman has been reported for the following offenses: breaking an urn, unplugging CRITICAL medical devices in the medical ward, attempted to recruit underage female patients to work in an underground brothel, disrespecting staff members and their properties, breaking into the confiscation room, and...staying out past curfew on not one, not two, but THREE occasions.” the man had to resist from smiling. “do any of these charges sound familiar? care to explain yourself and convince me not to send you to isolation?” 

[dranthonyholmes]

“...last time i checked, this area of the building was off limits to patients. what IS IT you’re doing down here? other than trespassing, of course.”

[dranthonyholmes]

lucyintheskyyyy:

Lucy looked away with shame, nodding fervently. “I know, I do,” she insisted miserably. She pulled the blankets tightly around her and curled up on her side, her eyes starting to fill with burning hot tears. She didn’t need Dr. Holmes to remind her that she’d let herself go and really failed at all her responsibilities. Hazel had called her a hypocrite enough times already; she’d definitely long been dealing with the shame of going against the very purpose of what she stood for. Lucy swallowed the lump in her throat that formed when Holmes described what her next few weeks looked like. The fact that she was a patient now– that took a lot to process in itself. It was funny (no it wasn’t)– isn’t that what Hazel warned her would happen? On top of that, her former boss was now her very own psychiatrist. The threat of a feeding tube disgusted her, but Lucy didn’t really think Anthony would ever go through with that. Patients in the past had definitely had too easy of a time avoiding it, even when it was necessary in her professional opinion. The only good thing that seemed to come out of this was that Holmes was recruiting a nutritionist, which Lucy felt had been something Brielle and Serenity had needed for a long time. Not that she wanted anything to do with the nutritionist herself, it just seemed right that Holmes was finally recognizing the importance of the use of dietitian in eating disorder treatment. “I’ll… I’ll eat,” Lucy promised softly, though she said it more because she was a bit scared to say the least, rather than as an actual commitment to compliance. “B-but I start on a small meal plan, right?” she asked anxiously, her disordered thoughts over-riding the importance of her health.

if it were anyone but holmes, perhaps they’d notice that lucy was truly in a state of emotional distress. that she had just gotten carried away and lost in her disorder, a disorder that never truly goes away...but holmes didn’t CARE. all he knew was that he was down a staff member, and now he’d have to find some kind of replacement as the count of patients in his institution rose and rose. he let her bask in the pregnant silence, allowing her to absorb the words he had just delivered to her as he took a moment to clear his throat and adjust his coat. at her promise, holmes lifted his eyes. “yes, you will,” he confirmed as he picked his clipboard up and began scribbling some notes as he glanced back at the monitors. “yes, of course,” he assured her, though his words were distance as he was finalizing the touch base on her vitals. “you’re body will not be able to handle such a high caloric intake in such a short period of time. we’ll start you with small, carefully prepared meals- high in the vitamins, nutrients and proteins your body has been neglected. it’ll mostly be veggies and an assortment of meats, mainly poultry, and perhaps some carbs. we’re gonna push your comfort and force you to confront your poor relationship with food...but we’re not going to force feed you unless we have to. do you understand?”  

[dranthonyholmes]

dinahannliddell:

Her face reddened. Why had he had to ask? He had her file right there in front of her. She shrugged and looked intently at her shoes, as if she’d never seen them before. “I’m… fussy. If…If I c-can’t do things right, there’ll be- bad things’ll happen.”

“fussy,” he repeated as he copied down her answers into his notebook, relaxing back into his leather arm chair as he lifted his eyes back towards her once more. “bad things?” he inquired, raising dark brows at her. “what KINDS of bad things, dinah? no need to fear, nothing can hurt you in here. what you say to me, stays with me.” 

[therapisttaraclarke-deactivated]

Date: October 13th Location: Holmes Office Time: Five PM Who: Anthony Homles and Tara Clarke @dranthonyholmes

             — ♥  Tara walked into her boss’s office when she knew he was in, she had been waiting for the right time to corner him and ask him to do something about the problem that was Nathanial Whitman, the problem that needed to be dealt with by someone that owned the damn place and not a therapist. She had planned to let him know that injury had been partly her fault because she had thrown something at a wall and he had used one of the pieces to hurt himself but he could have done that with anyone, he had broken her mug before so it wasn’t completely her fault, right? She had to keep this damn job and at this moment she was ready to grovel to keep her job even though Tara Clarke doesn’t beg for forgiveness often and when she does? It is normally because she messed up big time. ❝Mr. Homles, we need to speak about Nathaniel Whitman and his behavior in general.❞ Do not let your anger of the teen cloud your judgment, that you need your job and you will do whatever it takes to keep it because becoming a failure wasn’t an option.  Tara stood in the middle of his office trying to keep her stance of as non-threatening and aggressive as she can, which is hard to do.

[dranthonyholmes]

at the sound of a voice, the man’s head lifted. he stopped what he was doing ( filling out an ISO form for dr. parris ) “ ms. clarke,” he greeted the woman who had so rudely interrupted him. he didn’t like walk ins- he preferred appointments. at the sound of the patient’s name, the man did nothing but nod his head. a couple of reports had been made against the brunette standing temper-struck near his desk, but he wasn’t going to ATTACK those accusations just yet. he’d see if she confessed before pointing any fingers. “what about him and his behaviors?” 

[dranthonyholmes]

t-ferrero:

Control. Control. Control. That was good, that was a good sign. That meant that, like soccer when he controlled the ball, they could control his brain. They could control the epilepsy. That meant he could play – what Holmes was saying was that he could still play.

But the doctor was right. Thomas wanted to be treated like an adult, even if he struggled to hear the truth. He wanted to know the honesty of it – the risks, how much he’d be able to play. His parents tried to brush it off into the wastebasket, but Holmes wasn’t doing that – he was telling him exactly what the doctors had said before, only this time, Thomas was finally hearing all of it for the first time. He actually listened. There was no cure for diabetes, but those people still lived. There was no cure for schizophrenia – but those people still had lives { just like Diana }. He couldn’t give up now – what Holmes was telling Thomas was there was hope – there was promise. In a few weeks, he could be back on the field, doing what he loved – even without a cure. From what he recalled, the previous doctors had mentioned that he wasn’t having cluster seizures – something far more pressing than what he was experiencing. They weren’t too often. At most, weekly. If he was lucky: monthly. Holmes handed a heavily inked paper across the desk and into Thomas’ clammy hands it resided, soaking up the fear and denial. Massive words littered the page and after a second of staring at it, it began to look like a convoluted crossword. He had to flip it over and place it back onto the desk, facedown. “That’s a lot,” a mumbled sounded more like mashed potatoes had filled his mouth as his eyes grew to the size of saucers. Somehow they had the audacity to link directly to Holmes’ cold, lifeless ones.

Whatever the man was saying about soccer having to wait, Thomas was toning it out. If he was taking what they wanted, and he obeyed the doctors and nurses, that meant that he’d be fine – he’d be alright. He could play soccer so long as he took the medication on time. If he wanted to go outside to brush up on his skills, there was nothing they could do. He wasn’t giving up, and he wasn’t waiting. “If they side effects aren’t bad, I can practice while I’m on them. They only time I’m ever drowsy is right after I have an episode, and it’s really not that bad. Even then, I still go out and push myself. That’s what it’s all about. I don’t have time to wait and hope for the best – trying to find the right combination. While all of you are trying to find the right ‘cocktail’, I can play. I can go back to the team and if they don’t work, we just go through that whole jumble of stuff.” Thomas gestured toward the paper expectantly. His plan was going to work. He could still get scholarships – and whatever Holmes said, he wasn’t putting his life on hold. Not here, not now – not EVER.

“it is,” holmes confirmed when the other responded to the list of medications, “epilepsy is no joke. if you don’t play your cards right, you could put yourself in a life-threatening situation.” anthony didn’t want any blood on his hands due to an irresponsible teenager thinking he knew better than the trained professionals. thats something holmes noticed about teenagers with a fetish for their sports; they would put their life on the line in order to play ONE more game. “you’re more than welcome to practice out in the garden with a staff members permission and supervision, GOD FORBID you drop down and start seizing.” was he trying to scare him out of practicing? perhaps. “-the grass is soft and there isn’t anything to hurt yourself on like furniture,” the man then offered, wanting to give the young man a way to practice without rebelling ENTIRELY against holmes’s instructions. he took the sheet of medications and test results back and slipped it neatly back into the folder, pinching the spine of the file to flatten it out before slipping it back in the cabinet.  “each medication has it’s own side effects, one of many being the thinning of your bones, making you prone to easy breaks and fractures.” the man could sense the other getting antsy, restless in his seat. “we have no idea how your body is going to react to the medication which is why we’re making you WAIT before you go and do things that could very likely lead to your inpatient treatment lasting longer, stalling your soccer career even more than you can already IMAGINE.” holmes stood up and moved over to his coffee pot, taking a foam cup and pouring the java carefully into it, allowing it to fill the silence that replaced their spoken words. when he was finished, he lifted the rim to his lips and took a slow sip. cold, bitter, and black; exactly how he liked it. after he swallowed, he shut his eyes for a moment; “CORRECTION. while we work out the right cocktail, you will remain a patient here and continue trying the treatments, only practicing with permission and supervision from a staff member, and not playing on your team until you’re released which won’t be, as it seems, for at least a couple weeks- maybe even months.” the man turned to face the back window, looking out at the gloomy grey sky and releasing an irritated breath. 

“i don’t think you’re hearing me clearly.” he then turned, taking a deep breath; “young man, you are epileptic. you have seizures. you are at constant risk of injury until we are able to figure out what triggers your seizures and how we can control them. your FUTURE, your LIFE, your SOCCER CAREER, your EVERYTHING is in the palm of my hand. you are nothing but a little glass marble, and if you ignore me, if you ignore your doctors and your treatment plan, if you so DARE roll in your own direction...you’re going right over the edge. you’ll fall to the ground and SHATTER and be left with absolutely nothing- not even your life.” holmes paused to take another sip of his coffee, setting it down on the desk. “ as your doctor AND your therapist, it is my job to preserve any amount of normalcy that i can to make this treatement and your stay here as easy and as pleasant as possible, but unless you are willing to pull your weight, i’m afraid i CANNOT help you and i am unable to promise you will ever be back with your team again. do i make myself clear?” 

[dranthonyholmes]

dinahannliddell:

Dinah sat in the chair across from his desk and averted her gaze, her hands folded together in her lap. Lots of thoughts came to mind but as usual, she had a hard time speaking them My name is Dinah Ann Liddell. Everything is wrong. My mother named me after a cat, my birthday was a week ago and nobody noticed, and also I may have a very bad case of headlice that I can’t stop thinking about.  Instead, her answers were as short as she could make them. “Dinah. 16. OCD.”

“your full name is DINAH?” holmes started, searching through his filing cabinet for the folder that had her name printed on it’s tab.  “ ah, dinah liddell. christopher’s older sister, yes.” he stated casually to himself, pulling out the manilla file and flipping it open. “alright. when you hear the words obsessive compulsive disorder, what does that mean to you, dinah? what do you think of? your own words, please, not what the psychiatrist told you.”

[dranthonyholmes]

t-ferrero:

Seizures weren’t like a congenital heart defect. They weren’t like cancer, or living on the edge because you were told you have six months to live. 1.6 times was not that high, was it? People got struck down by lightning and killed more often than that – right? If too much thought was invested into the truth being blatantly shoved in his face, Thomas was going to crack. Was Doctor Anthony suggesting he couldn’t go back to what he loved? Did he insinuate that there was no future ahead for him because it’d be all ripped away by a stupid, useless brain that didn’t want to work correctly? Were brain transplants a thing? Thomas wanted one – whatever the cost. His parents would have to come up with it. He was not letting go of soccer. Not after everything he’d invested. All that he’d put forth – for something he had passion for – unimaginable talent. Masticating his bottom lip as Holmes berated him like a sick puppy, Thomas stopped his nervous twitches, trying to maintain his focus on the doctor instead of the heat that had begun to radiate off of his cheeks. “W-what about college? Scholarships? I trained for all of this… It’s my life. I can’t just give it up. It will go away, I think. If I stop drinking it should go away?” Perhaps it was the partying, the alcohol, the fun he loved to have after a big victory. If it meant missing out on that, but still being able to play, he’d give it up. Even if it meant losing his friends – he’d always have his team. But he remembered - too vividly - the doctors before Brielle speaking about it lasting through his life. The options they brought up - the options he so stupidly blocked out because he couldn’t stand to hear them… This wasn’t real. It wasn’t happening. 

many compared holmes to an emotionless brick wall, a cardboard BOX; but he saw himself as someone who told it like it was. he didn’t sugarcoat anything, not even death. the man’s eyes were empty, just near robotic, as the young man processed the life-changing words that the trained therapist had spoke. funny how the world world changes when it doesn’t work the way you’d  h o p e d. “THIS is your life now,” holmes interrupted the silence following the questions, following the panic, following the desperation to be assured that the things the older man was saying weren’t true. “look, i’m not going to sit here and treat you like a child. being as you don’t respect the opinions of your parents and believe you know what’s best, i’m assuming you want to be treated like an ADULT. epilepsy is uncurable, and the most aid we can provide you is medication to infrequent the seizures, seizures caused by sudden changes in the way braincells send electrical signals back and forth. changes we can CONTROL, but not cure.” the man opened thomas’s file back up, wiping the pad of his index finger along the tip of his tongue so he could easily navigate through the fine pressed pages; “when you were first admitted, we took a scan of your brain and obtained the specific type of epilepsy you have. we created a cocktail of drugs to find which ones will best prevent your seizures and regulate the sending of electrical signals to the brain,” holmes handed thomas a chart with all his numbers and calculations and a long, long list of drugs and medications they planned to have the young man try if the ones prior didn’t work. “i’m not saying you can NEVER play soccer again,” he spoke truthfully, “it just won’t be as soon as you’d like.” the man folded his hands, watching with observant eyes. “-but until we’ve found a medication that works for you and is proven effective over a long period of time...scholarships, college, and the like will have to wait.” 

[dranthonyholmes]

t-ferrero:

 “Oh,” he’d hardly realized that he hadn’t introduced himself right off the bat. Surely his parents would look down on his poor manners and try to give him a talking-to in regards to forgetting them outright. “Sorry, yeah. I’m Thomas.” Emerald eyes trailed down to his thumbs where he thumped them against one another in distraction. Bouncing repeatedly, as if a soccer ball was balanced on top, Thomas’ knee raced up and down, trying to clear his head enough to give the doctor an accurate answer. “I mean, I don’t know. It’s not that big of a deal, I guess. Why send me here when that can be treated right at home? They pulled me out of soccer and school just for this?” 

“yes, we’ve established that you’re thomas,” anthony concluded, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as a teenage girl would. the man’s gaze was instead directed to the circles his thumbs were running around each other, chasing invisible tails. “just for this? THIS, thomas,” he pointing do the young man’s file. “-THIS is epileptic seizures. THIS is being at constant risk of injuring yourself and others. THIS is your overall risk of DYING being 1.6 times higher than that of most people.” anthony’s face remained hard and cold, boring the information into the other’s brain. “THIS is why you were pulled out of soccer, not just because you can’t speak to me without twirling your thumbs together or bouncing your knee. do you understand?” 

[dranthonyholmes]

lucyintheskyyyy:

Lucy let her body go slack, sinking into the bed as she winced in pain. She was obviously in the medical ward at Brielle, so it was clear whatever they couldn’t “let slide” was medical. Her memory was rather shot, however, and frankly, Lucy couldn’t remember the events that lead up to the present moment. But she wasn’t stupid, and judging by Dr. Holmes demeanor, her suspicions were probably right. She had hardly a doubt this was caused by her own carelessness and loss of self-control, and she felt bitterly sick to her stomach by the thought. She nodded at Holmes’ statement, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I know. I’m sorry,” she admitted in a hoarse, guilty voice.

anthony had reached the end of his patience, and he run his hands along his stubbled jaw, letting out a deep sigh. “sorry isn’t going to FIX anything, lucy. it’s not me you have to apologize to. it’s YOURSELF. look at you,” he gestured, almost annoyed. “look what you’ve DONE to yourself. you’re supposed to be setting an example for these patients, you’re supposed to TALK to someone when you’re in the midst of a relapse, lucy. you know this,” and slowly, he stood from the chair, moving it out of the way. “unfortunately, you’ve left me no choice- i have to admit you as a patient.” anthony turned to her, folding his arms behind his back, “you’ll remain in the medical ward until you fully recover medically, and because you’re dancing on the line of fatality, if you refuse to eat, i’ll consider putting in a feeding tube. after your charts improve, you’ll move into the psychiatric ward where you’ll work alongside those you were supposed to be helping and start to help yourself. you’ll meet with me two times a week for sessions and i plan on bringing in a nutritionist to speak to you and other eating disorder patients,” he was at the foot of her bed, chin tilted upwards, drilling into her head a reminder that she had messed up. “do you understand WHY i have to do this, lucy?” 

[dranthonyholmes]

lucyintheskyyyy:

Lucy squinted at the figure that just walked into the room. She’d been in and out for a few hours, maybe… She couldn’t really tell, though. A nurse had walked in a few times, but no one had come to talk to her yet. The brunette looked at Holmes, recognizing him now, and opened her mouth to speak, taking a deep breath. “Ow” was the first thing that came out of her mouth, though. Her chest collapsed as she felt an uncomfortable soreness and pressure reverberate throughout her torso. 

“careful,” anthony said with concern, holding out a hand as if it would halt her movements and keep her still. “you’ve got to be gentle, you’re in TERRIBLE condition, stable but...” the man then moved to grab a chair so he could sit beside her bed, letting out a groan as he lowered himself into it. he then rested his elbows on his knees, looking up at her with concern. how had he missed this? he was aware of lucy’s past and he himself had spoken to and analyzed her...but he hadn’t seen this coming. eating disorder specialist...oh the IRONY ( she specialized in them alright...). “this isn’t something we can let slide, lucy. you know this.” 

[dranthonyholmes]

t-ferrero:

“I’m epileptic - my parents are convinced I have ADHD, but I don’t think they know what they’re talking about. I’m sure you’ve heard that one quite a bit though.” 

“alright, well, i’m assuming you must be thomas, then,” anthony commented dryly to himself as he shuffled through his paperwork, finding the young mans file and opening it. he adjusted his glasses, skimming over the fine print and nodding his head. “epilepsy and ADHD, yes that’s what’s written here in your file.” the man then closed it, no longer having a need for it. “more times than you would think, but clearly your parents know what they’re talking about, as our psychiatrist formally diagnosed you themselves. what makes you think you don’t have ADHD?”

[dranthonyholmes]

“lucy, i see you’re finally awake,” holmes commented blandly as he walked into the woman’s hospital room, clipboard in his hands. he let out a sigh, carefully taking his glasses off his face, folding the and neatly tucking them into his coat pocket. “how are you feeling?” he asked routinely, setting down the clipboard as he moved over towards her bedside, folding his arms.

@lucyintheskyyyy

[dranthonyholmes]

n8whit:

Damn did Nate have a bone to pick with Holmes. Not only did he live in the dude’s office, he also had a boiling distaste towards him. No, he didn’t hate the man – by any stretch of the imagination – but he definitely didn’t like him. And while the doctor was probably seldom amused to see the same face constantly burst through his door, the only thing Nate could thing about was the fact that their emotions mirrored each other. Likewise, he had no desire to see Anthony all the time. If he were asked to swear on it, he would, but the teen could definitely see parts of his frontal lobe while he walked into Holmes’ office, rolling his eyes that far back. Just like any one else’s office, he treated the place like his own, relaxing down into an undoubtedly uncomfortable chair, throwing his legs over the side. From his jeans pocket, Nate pulled out a butter knife, extracting it with elegance, and then proceeding to dig beneath his fingernails with it to clear them of whatever the hell lied underneath. Holmes was already yapping away about some absurdity that he could give two shits less about. “Well, maybe you should just burn the fucking office down. Then I couldn’t get sent here anymore, now could I?” Typical Nate, always finding a solution for everything. However, he did not like being told that he had a small brain. After all, he was a genius. Whitman held the future of Brielle beneath his fingertips – and to be undermined by the benighted so-called head doctor was a new low. Instead of boiling beneath the words of the older male, Nate decided to ignore it – just for now. He had much more important, pressing matters to attend to in his thoughts anyway. “I don’t care about your fucking hatred for me. I want to open up a bakery, build a pyramid, turn this shithole into a brothel, and renovate. Not in that order, but we seriously need to talk about the future here, fuckface.”

anthony’s expression, not once, shifted in turn with nathaniel’s words. if anything, a small glimmer of a smile stretched for merely a hair of a second on the man’s mouth before his lips dropped back into their comfortable, downward arch. “humor me, mr. whitman,” anthony used the patient’s last name as a way to belittle them, slurring the surnames with a condescending twist each and every time. worked like a charm, for the most part. “-please, explain how i could burn down this particular office without the rest of the building coming to any sort of harm?” he knew he’d get some time of bullshit answer, some threat that the place should crumble to ashes anyways so- what would it matter if brielle came to any harm? that would have meant anthony failed and the patients had succeeded, and not even when the doctor was in his grave would he roll to their success. to their VICTORY. “i don’t hate you, mr. whitman,” the condescending slur of his “prized” surname continued. but before he could get another word in, a tangent had started, wild, selfish thoughts probing the older’s mans’ temples and making them ache with irritation. nathaniel could go on for hours about his plans of world domination and his open threats against anthony’s position...and all that would result would be a headache no amounts ibuprofen could cure. “a brothel,” he repeated, ( though his robotic expression didn’t show it, holmes was glowing with amusement ) “-now why on EARTH would anyone want to come to a brothel managed by a fifteen year old? a CHILD?” holmes moved to sit back behind his desk, shuffling through papers to find the report a staff member had brought to his attention. “now, because i don’t have time to hear about the new floor plans you have for this institution- tell me why you think you were sent down here.” 

[dranthonyholmes]

demixrivers:

LOST in paradise; each and every caress sending her to a different level of enjoyment as a series of teasing and begging, moaning and whimpering fled from the swollen state of her pinks. Demetria was not looking for somebody to give her love – admiration and appreciation, yes, but not love. Her heart had already been torn from her chest; her rib cage, battered and shattered in a state left from the THIEF that had stolen her soul… Richard was delivering nothing but sheer pleasure. He was giving her the things that she had been wanting, the feelings that she had been craving. He was giving her everything, that her body had needed and more, all in the confined space of a closet. As his thumbs rolled across the buds that decorated her body, her head couldn’t hold itself up and instead, thudded against the back of the door. She could feel her eyes on the verge of rolling back into her skull, UNABLE to supress any feelings that was overcoming her body. 

Demetria was getting to the point where she was unable to hold back, she NEEDED Richard here and now… Rushing, to tuck her thumbs in the waistband of his boxer shorts, Demetria bit on her lip as plump petals lifted into a crescent. But obviously, it was too good to be true. Within milliseconds of his facial features falling, hers did too. Whose voice was that and why the fuck were they trying to INTRUDE on what the two needed most? That gruff tone of voice, the phrase used and the rattling of the door handle seemed all too familiar… Holmes. “Oh my fucking god, that has got to be Holmes.” Squirming away from the tight gap in between Richard and the door, the brunette scrambled to find her clothing but it was lost in between the white sheets that they had knocked to the floor. Fumbling around DESPERATELY as she heard the denim colliding against the smooth of Ricky’s skin, all the brunette could muster was a white sheet before the door found itself creaking open. Squinting her eyes, as though it was going to prevent her from being seen, she froze into place, looking over to Ricky in hope that he would be quick enough to come up with an explanation.

@dranthonyholmes·

he had just wanted some god damn towels. he knew as soon as the door handle wouldn’t budge. his key was jammed and the knob wouldn’t turn, so clearly someone was holding the handle on the other side. beyond irritated, the man lifted his hand to press to the pads of calloused fingers to his temples, tilting his head back in agony. “these fuckin’ kids,” he muttered underneath his breath, questioning for what felt like the millionth time WHY he had strived to be a doctor in the first place. why he had agreed to take over at brielle institute. WHY. WHY. WHY. then, suddenly, the pressure on the handle loosened and anthony easily swung the door open. “who in god’s name-” he began, only stopping himself short when the hall light that had pooled into the room captured the faces of the culprits in a tattling spotlight. THERE, the lightbulbs seemed to sing, THE WRONG DOERS! “well well well, miss rivers,” he stated, voice monotone and flat as if coming out of a machine. his speech paused for a moment as his eyes flickered over to the male figure accompanying her, surveying him; “and...company.”

 it all made sense now, and it took everything within the man not to throw in the towel. give up. send everyone home and call it a night. a week. a month. a year. a LIFETIME. this is it! i’m done! all hope for the progression of these kids is doomed! alas, the man instead continued to stand in the doorway, giving the pair a moment to come up with a lame excuse so he could wave it away immediately. “sir, let me explain-” “no need,” and there was the dismissal, a large hand waving in the air to shoo away the breath of the male fending for himself AND his damsel. pathetic. anthony’s gaze trailed back to the petite brunette wound up in a fresh gown of linen, fingers clutching at the fabric to ensure she didn’t leave herself bare in front of him. thank heaves for that. “...company, may i request you go elsewhere for the time being so i may talk alone with miss rivers? i’ll come find you in due time.” the young male stood there, stunned, before he viciously nodded his head, yanked up his teeshirt from the ground. he pressed his lips to demetria’s and whispered something inaudible ( “room 450, eight o’clock.” ), before he saluted anthony in fairwell and slipped out of the room. the doctor hadn’t turned his eyes away from the girl, he had only known the boy was gone because he saw his shadow slip through the remaining space between anthony and the doorway, and he heard quick and heavy footsteps as the man escaped from his clutches. “put your clothes on and then follow me to my office. i don’t want you to speak unless i tell you otherwise. speak one word and i’m sending you to ISO.” he could hear the cogs in her head begin to kick back into full gear, knowing it was within her nature to disobey him, and he lowered his brows and voice in warning; “don’t push me, miss rivers. i could have you in solitary until your hair goes grey, so i suggest you for once just do as i say without COMMENTARY.”

[dranthonyholmes]

“hello, my name is doctor anthony holmes, sure you’ve heard of me and i’m sure we’ve met before,” the man was adorned in a white lab coat, his name on a shiny badge pinned over his left peck. “i’m going to be your doctor for the next few weeks. now tell me, before we get started, when was the last time you had a check up?” 

@ofxheartache , @petitececeily , @charlotteonfire , @danger-and-beauty