#leading psychiatric hospital

[spandanahospitals]

Key Strategies for Effective Psychiatric Rehabilitation

In a world where mental health issues are increasingly prevalent, psychiatric rehabilitation plays a vital role in helping individuals recover, regain their independence, and lead fulfilling lives. For those seeking mental rehabilitation in Bangalore, Spandana Hospital in Nayandahalli stands as a beacon of hope. Let's explore some key strategies that make psychiatric rehabilitation at Spandana Hospital effective.

1. Person-Centered Care:

At Spandana Hospital, psychiatric rehabilitation begins with a person-centered approach. Recognizing that each individual's journey to recovery is unique, the focus is on tailoring rehabilitation programs to meet their specific needs, preferences, and goals.

2. Comprehensive Assessment:

To create a tailored rehabilitation plan, a comprehensive assessment is conducted. This evaluation considers the individual's mental health condition, strengths, and challenges. It serves as the foundation for personalized treatment strategies.

3. Multidisciplinary Team:

Spandana Hospital's psychiatric rehabilitation programs are led by a multidisciplinary team of experts. This team includes psychiatrists, psychologists, social workers, and occupational therapists, working together to provide holistic care.

4. Skill Building:

A fundamental aspect of psychiatric rehabilitation is skill-building. Individuals are guided and supported in developing the necessary skills to manage their mental health, cope with daily challenges, and enhance their overall quality of life.

5. Community Integration:

Spandana Hospital places a strong emphasis on community integration. Rehabilitation extends beyond the hospital walls, helping individuals reintegrate into their communities and lead productive lives.

6. Family Involvement:

Recognizing the importance of family support, Spandana Hospital involves family members in the rehabilitation process. They receive guidance and education to better understand and assist their loved ones in their recovery journey.

7. Ongoing Support:

Recovery is not a linear process, and Spandana Hospital acknowledges this. Continuous support is provided to individuals even after they have completed formal rehabilitation programs, ensuring they have access to resources and assistance when needed.

In conclusion, effective psychiatric rehabilitation at Spandana Hospital in Nayandahalli, Bangalore, is a holistic and individualized process that focuses on person-centered care, comprehensive assessment, skill-building, community integration, family involvement, and ongoing support. It aims to empower individuals, helping them regain their independence and lead fulfilling lives.

[feminist-space]

"FACTUAL ALLEGATIONS

9. Plaintiff Alexander Morris is an African American man and is the lead singer of the famous Motown group the "Four Tops." At the time of the incident the Four Tops were on a national music tour with the Temptations and had recently performed at the Grammy Awards.

10. On or about April 7, 2023; Plaintiff was transported to the Ascension Macomb Oakland Hospital emergency room via ambulance, and he presented to the emergency room with difficulty breathing and chest pain, he was on oxygen, and he had a significant known history of cardiac disease including the placement of stints and defibrillator. During his hospitalization, Plaintiff was ultimately diagnosed with a heart infraction that may require a heart transplant, pneumonia, and he suffered three seizures during his stay.

11. When he presented to the emergency room Plaintiff informed a nurse and a security guard that he was a member of the famous Motown group the "Four Tops," and that he had current security concerns due to stalkers and fans.

12. Shortly after check-in a nurse Holly Jackson, a White male security guard Greg Ciesielski, and a White male emergency room doctor Brandon Harris Fishman, DO racially profiled him and/or profiled him based upon a perceived disability and placed an order for a psychological evaluation for Plaintiff because they did not believe he was a singer or member of the "Four Tops." Doctor Brandon Harris Fishman, DO, the emergency room doctor who was on staff met with Plaintiff and interviewed him, Plaintiff informed him of his medical history, and informed him that he was having difficulty breathing and chest pain. Defendants and Brandon Harris Fishman, DO wrongfully assumed he was mentally ill when he revealed his identity as a celebrity figure. Defendants and/or Brandon Harris Fishman, DO made the decision to remove him from oxygen and pursue a psychiatric evaluation instead despite his clear symptoms of cardiac distress and significant medical history.

13. Plaintiff had a valid identification on his person and could easily have been identified as a singer in the Four Tops group.

14. Brandon Harris Fishman, DO ordered a psychological evaluation for Plaintiff instead of ordering the emergency medical treatment he needed. Plaintiff was denied the emergency medical care he needed due to his heart condition and pneumonia, and instead a security guard was instructed to ensure he was placed into a restraining jacket and/or a four-point restraint mechanism, removed his belongings, and Plaintiff was told he was going to have a "psych eval" or psychological evaluation. Plaintiff was referred to Virjaya Gopal Kotha, MD for the psychological evaluation.

15. Plaintiff asked if he could prove his identity by showing his identification card, and the White male security guard ordered him to "sit his Black ass down." None of the nursing staff intervened to stop the racial discrimination and mistreatment of Plaintiff. Upon information and belief none of the nursing staff reported the mistreatment or use of the racial slur to a supervisor. Moreover, none of the nursing staff thought to simply ask for Plaintif's identification.

16. Plaintiff told medical staff he was having difficulty breathing and asked for the oxygen back but was ignored. Plaintiff asked to have the restraint device removed and asked for his personal belongings back so he could leave and seek treatment at another hospital, and he was told he was not free to leave; thus, he was falsely imprisoned and deprived of his personal property. During this time his medical condition continuously declined and he was denied the medical treatment he desperately needed.

17. Several security guards were called to surround the nursing station to ensure Plaintiff could not leave. During this entire incident Plaintiff was not being treated for his medical emergency, namely a severe heart condition and pneumonia. Defendant Hospital and Defendant Jackson blatantly refused to provide Plaintiff with medical treatment due to his race and/or perceived mental disability. Instead, Plaintiff received a deliberate misdiagnosis and received a lower standard of medical care based on his race that amounted to racial discrimination and delayed his actual diagnosis.

18. Finally, Plaintiff's wife came to the nursing station to collect his belongings and she saw what was transpiring and Plaintiff informed his wife that the doctors thought he was delusional. Plaintiff's wife informed one of the security officers that he was actually a member of the Four Tops, but he took no action on Plaintiff's behalf, and he was left in the restraints and denied medical treatment. A nurse came to Plaintiff's side, and Plaintiff asked to show the nurse the video of him performing at the Grammys. The nurse realized Plaintiff was a member of the Four Tops, and the nurse went and got the emergency room doctor to inform him. The emergency room doctor returned and said he was cancelling the psychological evaluation.

19. The restraint jacket was finally removed, and he was placed back on oxygen. Plaintiff was restrained for approximately an hour and a half or 90 minutes. As aforementioned, during his hospitalization, Plaintiff was ultimately diagnosed with a heart infraction that may require a heart transplant, pneumonia, and he suffered three seizures during his stay.

20. Plaintiff was offered a $25.00 gift card to Meijers as an apology for the dehumanization and discrimination he faced at the hands of the hospital. He refused to accept the gift card.

21. Subsequent to the incident, a security guard that worked at the hospital contacted Plaintiff and informed him that Greg Ciesielski the security guard that restrained Plaintiff and made the racist comment, made racist comments and jokes to him and other coworkers about African Americans, and that he frequently used excessive force with patients.

22. The security guard who called Plaintiff also reported that he witnessed employees tampering with the internal incident report made on the incident involving Plaintiff, and he believed the use of racial slur was removed from the internal incident report, and he stated that employees were instructed not to discuss the incident. The security guard also stated that Greg Ciesielski was not disciplined or suspended because of the incident.

23. As a result of the above actions and inactions of Defendants as described above and below, Plaintiff suffered injuries and damages. Defendants are sued jointly and severally."

[pressplay-if]

demo (prologue + ch.1, 56k words)

cog forum post

You are one of the most famous yet mysterious characters of the 21st century rock scene. 

It all started when you discovered your love for singing during an extended stay at a psychiatric hospital as a teen. Music became your motivator, and from then on, you knew the stage was where you belonged. You and your friends formed a band, and after years of practice in a garage and cheap gigs at dingy bars, your journey to the top begins abruptly when you team up with a skilled manager.

It’s a meteoric rise— until it isn’t. 

And now, a decade after your band has disappeared from the public eye, you’ve accepted an interview by the acclaimed Groove Magazine. You and your former band members have agreed to give them the truth, the whole truth; as ugly as that might be. 

Follow the story of your band’s rise to fame (and eventual fall from grace)

Play as a pop-rock vocalist

Name your band and customize your music, lyrics and image

Handle the media, interactions with pushy fans and your own repressed thoughts and fears 

Romance your coolgirl-bassist, the childhood friend you cut out of your life, your absolutely insane guitarist, or your biggest fan/possibly stalker

Give one hell of an interview

Inspiration: Daisy Jones and The Six, Fleetwood Mac… and all sorts of music-related drama.

TW: themes of mental illness, unhealthy relationships, substance abuse, death, mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation, self-harm, SA-related trauma

ROs:

Stevie McLaughlin, bassist (f) — “I suppose I was the sanest one in that bunch.”

She’s one of your oldest friends, and if you follow the clanking chain of cause and effect all the way back to the beginning, it is her you have to thank for your entire career. The band was her idea, after all. She’s level-headed, composed, and always there to talk you down when you need her. Sometimes, she acts more as your retainer than anything else…

Stevie is tall and skinny with light brown skin and extremely long, curly black hair which she always wears in a wet look. She has big, dark brown eyes and a soft face.

Paul/Paulette Zima, lead singer & saxophonist (f/m selectable, trans) — “Trying to figure out where you know me from?”

Your band’s brand-new, second lead singer. Your manager says they’re going to give your music the kick it needs, that they’re the one missing ingredient to your success. You’re not entirely sure if you agree. Worse yet, you happen to know this person, and your time together didn’t end on a favorable note. They’re part of a past you would much rather forget.

Paul is very tall, broad-backed and thickly muscled with light skin, shoulder-length slicked back brown hair and bottle green eyes.

Paulette is of average height with an hourglass/slim thick figure. She has dark brown hair with parted bangs and light blonde strands dyed into it. Her eyes are bottle green.

Angel Monsanto, guitarist (m) — “I was always going to make it big, with or without those guys. Only, I… I really wanted it to be with them.”

Your crazy but good-hearted guitarist. His passion for music borders on obsession, and he will stop at nothing to make a name for your band. Sadly, he’s very much of the conviction that all publicity is good publicity, which has encouraged him to pull some very questionable stunts in the past. 

Angel is of average height and build with a warm beige complexion and long black hair. He has a square jaw with an occasional five o’clock shadow and brown eyes. 

Lincoln Saunders, groupie?? (f/m selectable) — “What can I say, I loved them.”

Calling Lincoln a fan would be an understatement. Fanatic is more like it. You remember seeing them at your very first show, and you’ve continued to spot them at every venue you’ve played at since. You don’t know anything about them, and perhaps changing that would be a very bad idea. But maybe you still want to.

Lincoln (m) is short and lean, with an angular face and wavy blond hair. His eyes are cobalt blue. 

Lincoln (f) is petite and tan, with a youthful, round face and chin-length blond beach waves. Her eyes are cobalt blue.

Others:

Maddox Wells (m), drummer

Another one of your oldest friends. You don’t much like to talk about what happened with him.

Fatima Shah (f), drummer — “I’m pretty sure they used to try to make me disappear with their fog machine.”

After things didn’t work out with your original drummer, Fatima saved the day. She’s a sweetheart to you, but from what you’ve heard, she can be kind of a terrible person. Maybe it’s best to stay a little wary of her.

Kalena Graham (f), manager — “The first time I saw them… well, they kind of sucked. But I knew, I just knew, that they had what it takes to suck on an international level.”

Your band’s manager. You can’t believe how lucky you were to have caught her attention. She’s experienced, driven, well-regarded in the industry and… kind of mean, to be honest.

Simon Young (m), reporter — “Start at the beginning. And then, don’t stop.”

The guy conducting the interview for Groove Magazine. He’s nice enough, if a little starstruck. It seems he has been waiting a long time for this.

Addendum: NSFW alphabet masterlist

Zima pt. 1 and pt. 2

Stevie

Lincoln

Angel

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Please consider reblogging <3

[bennitastisch]

at this rate every therapist that turns me down feels like another cosmic joke

[gatorbites-imagines]

hiiiii!

may i request a poly ghost face x male reader who has anger issues(but he's such a bottom its sickening) and like his anger issues make people think he's all tough and he's been to like psychiatric hospitals for seriously hurting people and its times to renew his medicine but the doctor is out or they don't have his medicine in stock, so for the next week he has to go without medication and he gets into multiple physical fights and by the end of the week he like breaks down and is like "i don't wanna be angry all the time" which leads to a sweet cuddle session nd praise from billy and stu as reader cries and soon falls asleep

thank you sm!

Billy Loomis x Male reader X Stu Macher

Headcanons

Reader is on the more muscular side in this.

You had a reputation around Woodsboro, as a no fucks, dangerous and angry meathead. It mainly stemmed from the fact that you got into a lot of fights when you were younger, and was sent away to a psychiatric hospital for a while to find the right dose and medicine to give you.

It didn’t help that you lifted weights, worked out, and did different martial arts to help settle the anger that always simmered inside your body. As puberty hit, you shot up like a beanstalk, and you packed on muscle like no one’s business.

Your parents supported you, since having an outlet helped a lot with your anger issues, as long as you took your medicine, which they always made sure was available.

Because of your reputation, no one dares to say anything when you, Billy and Stu start openly dating. People are mostly confused by someone as popular and attractive as Billy and Stu would wanna go out with someone as rough and off-putting, in their eyes, as you.

Your boyfriends love you very much though, and they don’t mind your tendency to resort to anger quicker than most. Billy probably finds it hot to be honest, and Stu always likes to lay on your bed and watch as you lift weights in one of you tank tops.

I can honestly see Billy pushing your buttons just enough to make a vein pop and for you to pin him down, just for him to smirk and wrap his legs around your waist. Hes a little shit, and likes the thrill, what can I say.

Stu has definitely made comments about how if you need an outlet, he doesn’t mind help you out, if you know what I mean ;) ;)

You always just roll your eyes and go for a run to cool off, or do some other hobby your therapist and psychologist recommended, like gardening, journaling or coloring.

Your week starts of shitty, when you run out of your meds. Your parents take you to your doctor to get a new dose, but they’re all out and don’t know what they’ll get their next shipment.

They promise to get in contact with you as soon as they have it, and you get sent on your way, arriving at school later in the day than normal.

The first day or two is fine, since your last dose is still in your system, but when that runs out you start getting agitated. You grind your teeth and crack your fingers, feeling fidgety and so annoyed and angry by everything.

Literally everything pisses you off, from the way people chew gum, to how loudly people close their lockers, or how people cut in front of you in line in the cafeteria.

Billy is the first to notice how tense and agitated you are, as you prowl around like a caged tiger, glaring at everyone and everything. Stu notices not long after when you just grumble and mutter when he tries to play flirt with you or wrap his arm around you.

You get into multiple fights that week, from someone calling Stu and Billy a slur because you three are openly in a relationship, to a guy who bumper checked you on the way to school.

Normally Billy and Stu would enjoy the show of strength and how hot you look, but they can both see how miserable it makes you feel, especially when you are sent home and suspended for an entire week.

When you return home, you stomp upstairs into your room and throw off your jacket and shirt and just get to work lifting weights until everything hurts, and even then, you don’t stop.

Normally lifting weights help at least take the edge off, but nothing is working, only frustrating you more and making you even more angry. It reaches the point where you just wanna cry from how angry you are.

You don’t even notice how you’ve been at it for hours until Billy and Stu arrive and see you hunched over with a dumbbell, arms shaking from how far you’ve pushed yourself.

You are just scowling though, barring your teeth as you push yourself harder and harder, eyes shiny from unshed tears and very dehydrated from working yourself so hard.

Billy goes off to get you something to drink, some clean clothes and a wet washcloth, as Stu goes about getting the weight out of your hand and making sure you are at least okay. When he asks if you are okay, it just all spills over.

You start sobbing and shaking with anger and misery, crying into Stus shoulder as Billy returns. He puts the things he brought aside, and they just hold you as you cry, choking out how you just don’t wanna be so angry anymore, how everything hurts and nothing helps.

Your two lovers just hold you through it, letting you get out as much as you need, before they sit you up and Billy wipes you down with the wet cloth, and Stu gets you to drink the entire water bottle Billy brought to get you hydrated.

Stu holds you again as Billy gets the bed ready, and they pull you under the sheets as they cuddle up on either side of you, keeping you between them as they hold you close.

Because sure, they find your anger hot, but they hate how much pain it causes you. Cue lots of sweet cuddles and kisses from both, but the kisses are mostly from Stu as Billy mumbles all kinds of praise and compliments into your ear from behind.

I could imagine them also massaging your arms because of how hard you strained them, and their combined love and attention makes the anger lessen. It doesn’t go away, it never does, but it’s enough to knock you out.

The hours of working out, a week full of stress, and dehydration quickly knocks you out, putting you to sleep between Billy and Stu as they just hold you.

They know they cant make your problems go away, even though they wish they could, but they will stay by your side the entire way, and will never let you struggle alone.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

I Can Fix That... | Dr. Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary| She's the detective assigned to investigate one of Gotham's top villains, Falcone, but as she follows her leads, she uncovers a new suspect: Dr. Jonathan Crane. His charisma and good looks won't stand in the way of justice, or at least that's what she thinks.

Warnings| Mentions of self-harm in the beginning in accordance to the movie (Batman Begins 2005). Not explicitly discussed but implied sexist and misogynistic work environment. Some archaic language when discussing psychiatric hospitals bc I tried to follow the language that the movie used. Violence with needles, drugging someone. Gun is mentioned but not used. Knife is mentioned a lot but never used to inflict pain. Smut, dubious consent, unprotected sex, restraints.

word count: 6757k (long-ass story bc I didn't want to make separate posts)

Song for a Guilty Sadist- Crywank 🎶

Butch 4 Butch- Rio Romeo 🎵

IFHY (feat. Pharrell)- Tyler, The Creator 🎶

Please read warnings before continuing, thanks <3

i 

She had been following him for weeks, stealing into the shadows at every turn as Jonathan Crane walked through Gotham City’s Police Station. She’d been suspicious of him for months and with the men in the police force finally working up the nerve to investigate Gothem’s leading henchman, Falcone, she’d uncovered a theory that pointed simultaneously at the notorious psychiatrist. Of course, the men in her force had refused to believe her, reminding her of Crane’s long history with the department and work to establish Gothem’s Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminally Insane: Arkham Asylum. But the real reason why Crane had never been investigated was because of his status in the department of justice, and it didn’t hurt that the man was charismatic. He knew how to work the system to get what he wanted. 

Jonathan Crane had a reputation of declaring criminals insane after mere minutes of deliberation, especially those who happened to work with or for Falcone. She’d been in charge of carrying out Falcone’s case and taking him to trial as a detective for the prosecution. After being put in jail, Falcone had managed to slash his wrists just enough to draw attention and a little bit of blood. He was immediately flagged for psychiatric evaluation, bringing Jonathan Crane once again into the basement interrogation rooms to administer an interview. When he clamored down the steps onto the basement floor, she was waiting for him by the door into Falcone’s interrogation room.  

“Dr. Crane,” she greeted him with a smile, drawing every ounce of her long lost theater-kid days into play. 

“Miss —,” he remembered her name and shook her hand with a serious glint in his blue eyes, covered by harsh rectangular glasses. His handshake was firm and strong, and he made eye contact that still shook her even after speaking with him so many times before. She didn’t let it show, however, and nodded towards the door. 

“He cut his wrists last night during the changing of the guard but we don’t know how he even got access to the weapon that he used; and I’ve spoken with him numerous time since we processed him and he’s never given me any reason to suspect that he was mentally unstable, but of course, you are the professional. It’s better that he be evaluated anyway-”

“In case anything were to happen,” he finished for me and clenched his jaw. He gave a curt nod of his head and went inside, shutting the door behind him and drawing the blinds on the door closed. She scoffed quietly beneath her breath and clenched her fists. Don’t be fooled by his good looks or superior smile, she told herself, Jonathan Crane was capable of things that she didn’t know of yet. He was not someone to admire, he was someone to distrust. 

After only ten minutes of quiet murmuring, she could hear clear and blood curdling screams through the door. She knocked on the door, “Dr. Crane?” She called through the door but it opened in her face before she could do anything. He stood in the doorway, his dark hair falling into his pale, angular face. 

“He’s definitely what I would classify as mentally unstable,” he chuckled calmly as he side-stepped her and closed the door. He ran a hand through his hair and fixed the glasses perched on his nose. “I can’t treat him here, I’ll need to move him to Arkham.” 

“Are you sure?” She asked, more surprised than anything. He had started to walk down the hallway to the stairs when he turned around, stopping right in front of her face, his breath fanned across her face. 

“Are you questioning my diagnosis, detective?” He smirked, an underlying tone of warning below his wide-lipped smile. His blue eyes were unwavering as he studied her face, she swallowed to steady herself. 

“No, sir. Of course not.” She apologized and crossed her arms across her chest, ducking her head nervously. When she looked back up, his eyebrow was cocked. 

“Do I make you nervous, detective?” He smiled and she could tell he was setting a trap, attempting to make himself more likable, more trusting. As if he could be anything of the sort. She laughed lightly and met his eyes, holding his eye-contact defiantly. 

“No, sir.” She answered and he nodded. 

“Good day, Miss —.” He called with his back turned, walking to the stairs and climbing them quickly. She watched him leave and finally released a sigh of relief. There was something about him that unsettled her, but it was something that also attracted her with a devious strength, ripping factual and independent reasoning from her head. 

She had started following him when one of Falcone’s men had been moved to Arkham two weeks before. She switched her assignment for the day to escort the man to Arkham, getting a chance to see the asylum for herself. It was a large gothic building with a modern facade in the center of Gotham. The attendants at the door led the prisoner (or patient now) through the heavily guarded door into the hospital’s main ward that was closed to visitors. Even police or other officials had to obtain a special license that granted them clearance into the institution. The second time she’d stepped inside, she was following a few yards behind Crane, studying how he actually entered the building. They had a separate entrance for the asylum’s psychiatrists at the side of the building by the alley. She waited a few minutes for Crane to enter the building before she approached the guard stationed at the door and flashed her badge. He’d allowed her in but warned that he’d lose his job if he did it again. The next time she followed him, she would need a new method of entering the building, one that didn’t alert Crane that she was in the building in case he got suspicious. When she entered it was easier to blend in so she followed the maze of hallways until she reached a small hub with arrows guiding attendants to the different wards of the hospital. Dr. Crane’s office was included in the psychiatrist ward (funny they had their own ward). 

The psychiatrists each had their own labs, whether or not they used them was their own business, but she knew for sure that Crane used his but for what, she didn’t know. Walking down the hallway to his office, she peeked inside the wide panel of glass into his lab. He had one assistant who was copying his notes into a binder for Crane but quickly left when Crane shooed him away from the set of beakers and vials of powders he was working with. She flattened herself against the wall and pretended to answer a call on her phone as the assistant passed her in the hallway. She hurried to leave the institute, leaving through the same door she entered, thanking the security guard discreetly. 

This time as she watched Crane climb the stairs, she pulled aside a police officer and explained Falcone’s transfer. The officer nodded and left to initiate the transfer to Arkham, Falcone’s hysterical screams still audible through the thick steel door. Crane tugged at the starched collar of his shirt as he crossed the lobby of the police station, sighing in relief. Falcone had tried to corner him. Him! Falcone may have been powerful but he was stupid and Crane didn’t have patience for stupidity especially from someone who was supposed to be a criminal mastermind. News flash: he wasn’t. Falcone was sloppy and arrogant, he didn’t take his own threats seriously. He’d threatened to tell the police about Crane’s experimental drug concoctions but in reality, he still didn’t know the full extent of what Crane was planning to do to Gotham. 

“You don’t know anything,” Crane said pointedly, tired of Falcone’s attitude. 

“I know that half of the drugs we moved belong to you and the police still don’t know what they are or what they can do.” Falcone scratched his greasy nose. Crane almost laughed. He removed his glasses and sighed, reaching into his open briefcase. 

As soon as the words, “would you like to see my mask,” left his mouth, Falcone was done for. The only thing that had inspired a shred of panic for Crane was hearing the girl’s voice through the steel door, calling his name. He expected her to open the door and see his mask, and while he had an explanation that a normal officer would believe, he knew that she was different. He didn’t trust her but something about her made him laugh. She was good looking and smart but too invested in his work and he didn’t like that. He’d have to keep an eye on the young detective, Miss —. In fact, he’d like to strap her down… hide her away in his asylum and play with her head like he did with his other playthings - - - oops - - - patients. Same thing.

ii 

She pretended that her plan was straightforward, it was the only way that she could convince herself to go through with it. No one else in her department would have had the balls to sneak into the asylum where once you went in, you may not be able to leave, that is- if Dr. Crane diagnosed you accordingly. She left a note on her desk in her office, explaining where she was going and the evidence she had already collected. Photos, “destroyed” medical records, and recent missing shipments from cargo ships including one micro-wave machine meant for warfare. She made copies of everything and hid them away in a special box directed to the only person she really trusted in her department, Sgt. Gordon. Even if someone dumped the notes on her desk, Sgt. Gordon would find the box of evidence, she knew. Falcone had been transferred the day before and was nearing his second night in the institution, now was her time to investigate what he was planning to do to him and why. 

She stashed a small knife at her thigh, having learned that a woman had to carry multiple weapons in this city if she wanted to protect herself, which unfortunately, happened often. She checked her weapon and put it in her holster at the small of her back. She was wearing a gray quarter length top tucked into a black skirt. She pulled on her straight black leather coat and closed the door to her office, locking the door. She knew that Crane would be in his office, he almost never went home, and with Falcone there and at risk to disclose sensitive information, he would be sure to stay close by. 

The sun had already set hours before when she approached Arkham Asylum. Each window was bright with light but it didn’t make the building any more welcoming. She shivered as she approached the side door, seeing a different security guard at the door. He stood when she approached, not recognizing her.  

“Stand down, officer. I’m detective — on police business,” she showed him her badge.

“You’ll have to check in at the front, detective.” The officer sat back down with a nod. 

“My business here is strictly confidential; Dr. Crane said I could enter in this way.” She pointed at the side door and the officer looked nervously at her. He reached for his walkie-talkie. 

“I’m here about Falcone. I am the detective assigned to his case, he was transferred here two days ago. I’m supposed to meet with Dr. Crane about some of the things Falcone has said during his initial treatment. Because of the sensitivity of Falcone’s case in the department, as I’m sure you know, the department has asked that we keep this confidential. No one inside can know that I was here to meet about Falcone. We haven’t told the public yet that he’s been transferred here. Your compliance is necessary for this.” She lied out of her ass but the officer nodded slowly when she finished, his eyes widening at the mention of Falcone’s name. 

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry for delaying you. It’s just business.” 

“I understand completely, thank you officer.” She smiled kindly as the officer scanned her in. Once she was inside she hid her police badge and followed the path she had scouted days before, following the black arrows to the psychiatrist ward (again, funny that they had their own ward- almost as if they were patients themselves). Her black mary janes squeaked quietly as she finally turned onto the hallway where Dr. Crane’s office was located. A row of fluorescent bulbs flickered ominously and she rolled her eyes, silently cursing the asylum for its additional eeriness. His lab was empty and dark and his office was empty though the lights were still on. An assistant passed her, coming from a different lab with a pile of boxes in her arms. 

“Excuse me, do you know where Dr. Crane is right now?” She asked the assistant who shuffled the boxes in her arms to answer. 

“I saw him in the ward with the new transfer patients just before I picked these up, so he’s probably about to start a sit-down with a patient. Do you have an appointment with him?” She asked curiously, knowing it was too late for a business meeting. 

“No, I work in the office and I was going to request a few files to finish a transfer of a patient but it seems that he’s busy. I’ll try tomorrow morning. Thank you!” She smiled and the assistant nodded. 

“Have a nice night,” the assistant hurried off down the corridor into the hub. She wasted no time in checking the door to Crane’s office which was miraculously unlocked. She hurried inside and closed the door, making sure that she left everything as she had found it. The door to the lab was located inside Crane’s office, so she entered the lab through the office. The blinds were closed to the outside so she opened the flashlight on her phone and scanned the dark lab tables for the powders she had seen before. The room smelled heavily of chemicals and cleaning solution and it was hard to breathe normally already because she was nervous. The first table was empty of anything but the second was set up for what looked to be his next round of testing. A box that looked like a closed mouse trap was set up on the table. There was a single switch on the top of the box which she knew better than to turn but she examined it nonetheless, hoping to see what it may contain. A tray of petri dishes full of powder sat beside it. Each was marked with a different series of numbers and letters, denoting their different status, she assumed. She recognized the series on one of the dishes: F7jw009. The number had appeared on the list of drugs recovered from Falcone’s drug transport. It was one that hadn’t yet been tested to see what it was composed of. She didn’t recognize the two other dishes but she assumed the powder and the mousetrap device were used for the same thing.

There was a small bookcase attached to the base of the lab table and she crouched, scanning the spines. The books on the top, free of dust, were on phobias. A bound scientific paper on the chemical structure of fear sat on top of the textbooks. She picked it up and flipped through the pages, noticing strokes of pen and notes on many of the pages. In the centerfold of the paper, she saw a picture of a cartoon scarecrow, one from a halloween decoration. It looked like it had been ripped from a kid’s storybook. She stared at the picture, struggling to place where she had heard about a scarecrow before in the precinct… she flipped farther through the pages and landed on a second photo shoved between the pages. It was a drawing of a mask made of burlap. The mask resembled a scarecrow’s face, she furrowed her eyebrows, more uneasy. Finally, she flipped to the very end where she found a clear note detailing what Crane thought the synopsis of the paper had been: 

Fear can be constructed using a series of complex compounds and put into an admissible form. They have already invented serums that temporarily remove the presence of fear by blocking certain receptors in the brain that receive signals of distress or pain. By doing the very opposite, temporarily numbing the receptors that calm the nervous system when danger has been averted, fight or flight is heightened and the human mind is more susceptible to the suggestion of danger and terror. Fear merely needs to be suggested to elicit a response after the brain is prepped for the reaction. Fear can be weaponized. Building the compounds of fear into a powder, the drug can be administered immediately into the air and receive a simultaneous reaction. Pills? Water? How can we distribute this powder? What is the easiest way to administer fear to the entire population? 

iii 

The distinct click of a door opening and closing shocked her back to attention. She put the bound paper back onto the shelf and switched off the light on her phone. In the dark she scrambled into a hidden alcove inside the lab behind one of the hooded chemical boxes. She was pretty sure that the lab’s closet would be shared with the lab next door but she couldn’t remember which side of the room it was on. Dr. Crane had gone into his office and removed his suit jacket. He was too excited by Falcone’s reaction to his fear serum in powder form and he needed to get a handle on himself. It was nearly midnight when he checked his watch. Most of his colleagues would be gone by now, just the night staff remained to look after the patients. Night was the perfect time to work undisturbed in his lab, especially because his assistant couldn’t know the full extent of his research into the chemical compounds of human fear. He slipped his coat over the back of his desk chair and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. 

He exhaled slowly and removed a stack of papers from his desk, flipping through them as he opened the door into his lab and kicked the door closed with the heel of his shoe. His elbow flicked on the lightswitch and he spread out the papers on the first lab table, seemingly absorbed by the chemical structures his assistant had prepared for him to review. He scribbled a note in red pen on the corner of the document, berating his assistant for his obvious mistake with one of the compound structures. What was this? High school chemistry class? He licked his thumb and turned the page, writing another note in the margin. 

“I know you’re here, Miss —.” He smiled, not looking up from his notes. He tossed the first set of pages further down the table and moved to the next one. “You and your perfume… I can always tell where you’ve been by your scent. I don’t think you’re naive enough to wear perfume in your field, especially when on your little jaunts into other people’s business. So, the lovely smell is from your shampoo, I venture. You use an expensive brand of shampoo because you think that your hair is your best attribute, and I agree, it's one of the best. Your job makes you feel dirty too, doesn’t it? This city makes you feel dirty and so you wash your hair every night with the same sulfate-free shampoo to get the smell of our city out of your system. Your shampoo smells like mint and you like it the best because it makes your head feel cleaner, tingly,” he laughed and moved to the next stack of stapled papers. “And that’s why you chose this job, a detective, because you feel like you’re cleaning up our streets; removing all of the bad blood of Gotham but it’s been a disappointment to say the least. The system is backwards, though you knew that from the beginning, you thought you could fix it. You want things to be right and I don’t blame you, so do I.” 

Dr. Crane finished writing a note on the last paper and capped the pen. He circled the table once before moving to the second table. 

“I’m cleaning the city in my own way, I guess you could say. This city needs a restart button, a way to begin everything again and start fresh. Fear can do that, fear can be controlled and it controls.” 

She could barely breathe, her back was pressed against the wall of his lab. She was scared and she knew that he knew. Fear was his thing, his kink and she anticipated the absolute worst as she waited out her fate, wondering how long it would take for him to find her or if she could manage to escape. 

“This machine can diffuse the compounded form of fear. I’ve used it on most of your suspects, all of them Faclone’s men. I even used it on Falcone himself. Oh, I wish you could have seen his face! The second the powder entered his system he abandoned the arrogant criminal persona, he reverted back to who he was at his very core. He was suddenly controllable and easy to manage. So you see how this could be used to clean up Gotham. It’s a way to seize back control of our city, take it away from the people who run it now; the sycophants and billionaires.” 

Crane pulled a needle from the drawer at his hip and flicked the glass tube. Her chest rose and fell in a state of panic. Dr. Crane leaned against the counter calmly. 

“That’s why you like me. I’m clean. I’m orderly and smart. I’m the opposite of the criminal justice system that reminds you of this dirty city. And, Y/N, that’s why I like you.”

She tensed at his use of her first name. She’d never heard him use it before and it sent a chill down her spine. She reached for her gun. Dr. Crane rounded the corner and stabbed the needle into her neck, pushing the tranquilizer into her bloodstream. She wobbled before slumping back against the wall. She managed to push past him and run for the office door but the drugs worked almost immediately and her legs began to go numb. She couldn’t feel anything below her waist and she worried that he would break her legs running without being able to feel which bones she was using to get away. She collapsed on the floor of the lab and looked up at Dr. Crane who smiled down at her, his hair disheveled. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he cooed and crouched at her feet, “I applaud you for your efforts. You may have succeeded had I not recognized the smell of your shampoo. I know you’ve been here before. You’re a smart girl but I won this game, and the victor gets the spoils. That’s how it works, Miss —.” He crawled over her and pulled the needle from her neck. She didn’t even feel it. Her hair that he loved so much was fanned out on the floor, falling in loose curls. He twirled a curl between his fingers and nodded approvingly. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll treat you with the utmost respect. Afterall, you are my colleague, of sorts,” he shrugged and stood up, straddling her. “It’s a pity that you became a detective. You would have done well in this bloodthirsty field because,” he disappeared for a moment and returned with a set of keys which he slipped into his front pocket, “you’re like me.” 

He pulled her up and put one of her arms around his shoulder, supporting the brunt of her weight that way. Though he was small and lanky, he was muscular and strong. He dragged her through the door in his lab that connected to a separate room that she hadn’t even noticed. He flipped the light switch with his elbow and sighed with pleasure when the room was lit up with light. 

“Here it is. This is where the real fun happens, Y/N. This is where I test my new treatments on our most psychotic patients. Falcone will be here soon, perhaps tomorrow once you and I finish our discussion.” The room was smaller than the lab and housed what looked like a mortuary slab. She tried to scream but her mouth was numb. He dragged her to the table and lifted her onto the flat surface. The numerous straps he buckled around her waist, her wrists, and her feet. When she was secured onto his table, he pushed a peddle at his foot which titled the table forward, propping her more upright. 

“Ah, and now I can finally see you,” Dr. Crane smiled and moved her hair so that it was caught behind her back. He straightened her hair against her chest, running his fingers through the strands. He moved a stool in front of the table and sat on it, his legs spread and his arms across against his chest. “Do I make you nervous now, detective?” He smirked and chuckled darkly when she couldn’t respond. “It will wear off soon. It’s one of those doses that act quickly but then wear off just as quickly. I wouldn’t do anything to you while you were in this state. What kind of man would I be if I did that?” 

He watched her for a few minutes, his bright blue eyes trailing up and down her body. She knew what that look meant from men. Her gun was so close and yet she knew she wouldn't be able to reach it even when she regained control over her body. While he waited, he arranged numerous tools and vials around the room, humming softly to himself. She could feel herself starting to get feeling back in her stomach as the blood recirculated from her heart. Her hands and her feet took the longest to twitch awake. She dropped her head from left to right, groaning in the absence of words. Dr. Crane came back and checked her pulse, pinching her wrist and counting the seconds on his watch. 

“Good girl, you’re coming back. Can you speak yet?” He supported her chin with his hand and when she didn’t answer he nodded. “That’s all right. You’re all right.” He soothed her and she couldn’t help but relax as his eyes checked over her. “Now, Miss —, where are your weapons?” He posed the question theoretically and touched her, she flinched beneath his hands. He felt around her waist and inside her jacket. “There aren’t many places to hide it.” He whispered and wrapped his hands around her waist, finding the gun at the small of her back. “Ah, here it is.” He smiled as he took the gun from its holster and tossed it onto a small lab table. “You have something else, don’t you. You’re smart so of course, you have a second weapon.”  He licked his lips, thinking but it didn’t take him long to trail his hands up her thighs, glancing up into her eyes as he did. Her skirt rose as he felt below it and soon, his fingers were on top of the knife’s handle. 

“What do we have here?” He lifted her skirt, showing the knife’s hiding place at the top of her thigh. “This is honestly almost funny so forgive me if I laugh.” He ripped the knife from the holster and she cried out as much as she could, terrified by his quick movement. He let her skirt fall back into place and twirled the knife in his hand, examining the small blade. “You’ve just made my night so much more interesting, Miss —.” He smirked darkly. 

iv 

She finally regained her ability to speak though her words were jumbled and hard to get out around her tongue.

“Use your words, honey.” Dr. Crane frowned frustratedly. 

“Please…” she managed, “don’t… hurt… me.” She pushed the words out and he listened carefully. 

“Oh but it’s so hard to resist when you so willingly came here and with your own weapons. Can you see how this might be hard for me?” He furrowed his brow as he spoke and she couldn’t tell what was sarcasm and what was real. 

“It was nothing personal… I had a job to do.” She whispered weakly and he cocked his head, his lips parted. 

“You know it's funny because Falcone’s men all said the same thing. I know you didn’t work with them… but I can make it look like you did.” He whispered close to her face and her chest clenched with fear. “I can do whatever I want, do you understand? I have the power to say that you checked yourself in and I evaluated you. I found you on the verge of a psychotic breakdown because we all know you were already prone to hysterics. But your office shouldn’t worry because I’ll be your psychiatrist. And so what if you happen to disappear- go missing? No one comes in here, except for you, and that was stupid.” 

“You might die tonight, detective. I’m sorry to say it because you are one of the most attractive women I have met in Gotham and I fear that you have ruined our chances of continuing this to a second date.” He studied the curvature of her clavicle as it dipped above her sternum. Not knowing what else to do, she kissed him. Dr. Crane stiffened as her lips met his. He pulled away, stopping short a few inches from her mouth.

“What are you doing?” He raised his eyebrow. 

“If I’m going to die, I might as well make the most of it,” she shrugged and kissed him again, her head leaning as far forward as she could reach. She hoped that she sounded truthful enough. He pulled away again and stared at her, his forehead creased as he watched her. She panted softly, straining against her restraints. Her cheeks were flushed and her chest had broken out into hives from the stress. Fear made her even more beautiful. Going against his better judgment, he leaned forward into her and kissed her hesitantly. Slowly, he began to kiss her more aggressively, his tongue dragging against the roof of her mouth before he captured her top lip in a deep kiss. Her hands instinctively went to reach for his hair but they snapped back against the table. He broke away, panting, and took a few steps back, resting his back against the wall. 

“I don’t trust you,” he put his hands on his hips, still holding the knife. 

“What can I do, Jonathan?” She tried using his first name and he raised an eyebrow again, “I can’t move, no one can hear me scream, you’re going to kill me… what reason is there left to trust me? So, either kiss me or go ahead and kill me.” She nearly cried, overwhelmed and terrified. Her plan had been to seduce him, to use most men’s fatal flaw against him, but she worried that it wouldn’t work with Dr. Jonathan Crane. In a way, she had planned for this. The evidence was back in her office waiting to be discovered. She hadn’t gotten a chance to take pictures of the lab but maybe depending on how far he went with this, she could get away. But God, even though she was terrified and held on a slab against her will, he was beautiful. He was looking at her with his aquamarine eyes, his black hair gelled and falling around his face. Even his glasses looked perfect on his face. 

“Jonathan…” she started with a shakily voice, “despite why I came today and what you’ve told me about what you want to do to Gotham, right now, more than anything, I want you to come here and kiss me because while I may hate you and you may be the cause of my death, I want you. Give me some comfort if you’re going to take everything away from me.” 

“Freud would have some things to say about you, Y/N.” He pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose and studied the edge of the knife. “Your psychology is so interesting,” he flicked his eyes up to her’s and set the knife down on the table. “To study you…” he trailed off as he loosened his tie and ripped it from his neck. He approached her, standing far enough away that she couldn’t reach him with her mouth. She exhaled, waiting. “I almost studied anatomy,” he pushed a hand against her navel, holding her even more in place. 

“Why didn’t you?” She whispered. 

“I loved the human mind too much to abandon it,” he smiled and drew a hand up her thigh. Her muscles spasmed beneath his hand. He leaned in against her ear, “I know you’re scared of me,” he whispered calmly, “and isn’t that incredible? That you can be so afraid of something that you want so much?” His hand pulled down her underwear and it stretched between her open thighs, held apart by the restraints. His hand went further still, gently tracing the folds of her labia. She knew that she was wet and it embarrassed her, though she knew it helped confirm her story that she wanted him, he didn’t seem to care either way. His thumb rubbed her clit as he slowly inserted his middle finger into her, pushing past the initial resistance. She always hated fingering because it didn’t feel like how people pretended it did. That being said, she sighed as he gently inserted a second finger and pulled against the top of her cunt, fingering her slowly. 

“The body holds fear because our bodies hold memories,” he explained as he pressed her clit harder. “I can find what really scares you and I can fix it.” 

“I’m scared of you,” she whispered, her breath escaping in a sharp pant. 

“I can fix that.” 

He pulled his fingers out of her and held her neck still against the table as he kissed her. The sense of urgency to fight and escape melted into an afterthought when the back of his hand slid slowly down one side of her neck, making the tendons flex. He held her neck still as he kissed down to her collarbones, licking their shelves and tracing the bone with his tongue. His free hand groped her breast over her tight shirt and then surrounded her waist. She started shifting her hips back and forth, wishing that she had something between them to relieve the pressure she felt. He smiled against her skin and clicked his tongue, pulling away from her. He pressed the pedal again with his foot and the table reclined once again as it had been. He climbed onto the table and sat above her on his knees, looking down at her as she panted. 

“Look at me,” he told her and made sure that her eyes met his. “I have no plans to kill you tonight and I know this act is solely for the benefit of your own survival. But knowing that I will not kill you, would you like to change your mind?” He put both hands around her waist, showing the pale flesh of his forearms. She tried to weigh her options, she tried to think clearly but it all felt like a dream. It didn’t feel real enough to have consequences, so she shook her head and licked her lips quickly.

“No, keep going.” She whispered, “please.” Dr. Crane chuckled lightly and trailed his fingers down to her ankles. 

“In that case, would you like to see my mask?” He smiled darkly, teasing her. 

“No, I want to see your face.” She answered calmly and he nodded. 

“Fine.” He removed the restraints around her ankles. He took the knife from the table and cut away her underwear with one strong swipe of the blade. She gasped and he smirked, “I’m a doctor, remember? I know how to use a knife, detective.” 

He put the knife aside and pulled her knees up, sitting between them. He unbuckled his pants and withdrew his erection, glistening with precum. He guided himself into her with his hand, his eyes never leaving her face. She gasped again as he entered her. He rocked his hips slowly back and forth and groaned, watching her mouth open in a silent moan. She raised her knees higher, closer to her chest, giving him a better angle at which to fuck her. His hands pressed against her stomach and his thrusts became faster as his body began to learn hers. 

“You’re getting wetter,” he observed with a sly smile, “I must be doing something right.” He teased her as he started to rub her clit with his thumb, the rest of his hand pressed against her uterus. She couldn’t even speak. It had been months since she’d last had sex and even then, it wasn’t good sex. “I’m going to go harder but you can take it,” he told her matter of factly and placed either hand by her hips on the table. Leaning forward he shifted his hips slowly but harder, going deeper without much care for how her body adapted to the thrusts. “There you go,” he grunted as his hips bucked rhythmically into hers. She cried out, her body sliding up and down against the table, hot with her perspiration. Holding onto the top of the table, he moved farther up, pushing more inside of her, and started thrusting fast. He was suddenly in so deep and only backing away a few inches before snapping back in. Her hips bounced off of his and she gripped the excess material around her wrists to help her stay stationary. 

“Slow… God, please! Slow down… its so much, fuck.” She whimpered and smiled down at her face, flushed and angry with red. He slowed his hips, squeezing his glutes together whenever he thrusted inside. He leaned down and kissed her slowly, still rocking in and out of her. Her body shuttered from the high and started to build a more even climax. She hummed against his lips, her voicing getting higher as she started to orgasm. 

“And here comes the orgasm,” Jonathan smiled and sped up slightly, leaving hickies up and down her neck. She orgasmed with a shuttering cry that she couldn’t cover with her hand, but he didn’t let her finish there. “Fuck, you got so tight again.” He groaned as she panted, her system overwhelmed with waves of pleasure and exertion. She started to tighten further around him as her thighs squeezed his hips. Her breath left her lungs in short pants and she moaned beneath him like a pitiful creature. “Are you cumming again?” He laughed and stroked her cheek. She nodded weakly and he kissed her again briefly. 

“Its so tight, fuck. I won’t last much longer like this.” He took her hips in his hands and started a steady rhythm, pulling her hips onto his cock and thrusting at the same time. She came around him and he groaned animalistically, his thrusts becoming more sporadic and needy. He watched her breasts bounce inside her shirt and how he slid in and out of her, her cum collecting at the base of his shaft. Finishing with fast, desperate movements, he moaned loudly. She felt him finish inside her and it felt almost better than if she had finished herself. He pulled down her bottom lip with his thumb and admired her fucked-out face. Her pupils were shot and she shook slightly from the high. Finally, he pulled out and stuffed himself back into his pants. He sighed as he straightened his clothes and ran a hand through his hair. He took the gun and the knife and stuffed them both into a drawer and locked it with a set of keys from his pocket. They stared at each other for a while until Jonathan broke the silence, clearing his throat. 

“You’re coming home with me tonight, Miss —. We’ll decide what to do with you later.” 

[thesocklesswonder]

Ohio's mental health authority is trying to ban transgender healthcare - esp for people under 21 years of age, BUT they are asking for public input! Hurry, though, as it's only through 5pm local time (US Eastern Standard Time) on January 19th!

Changes to the Ohio Department of Mental Health and Addiction Services rule, "5122-14-12 | Private Psychiatric Hospital: Program, Specialty Services, and Discharge Planning", are to prohibit any kind of transgender care for those under 21 in a psychiatric hospital. Full document here, but be aware it is to a pdf

The rule includes the text, "Medical services shall not include any of the following: ...the prescribing, administering, or furnishing of any prescription drug or hormone...", which means if someone under 21 enters a private psychiatric hospital and who is already on puberty blockers or hormones, the doctors there would be prohibited from giving them the prescription they already have.

A new proposed rule for the same Ohio department, "5122-26-19 | Gender Transition Care" states the requirements for anyone needing transition care under this department. They are targeting the most vulnerable with these rules: young people who have mental health issues who also need transgender care. Full document here, but be aware it is to a pdf

Included in this rule: A doctor may only provide transgender care after three requirements have been met - a psychiatrist who has experience with the patient's age group must be employed by/contracted with the provider, an endocrinologist who has experience with the age group, and the provider has a comprehensive written plan that includes a detransitioning provision.

It also requires any such patient to have a thorough mental health evaluation and counseling period of at least 6 months prior to any transgender care. It also appears to become part of their medical record.

In addition to a ban on any transition surgeries, even if the patient jumps through all of those hoops, is a curious item that prevents doctors from referring patients out to other doctors that can provide care:

Another thing that made me pause was what seems like a scare tactic:

The terms "orchiectomy" and "penectomy" mean the removal of testicals and penis, respectively. The word "castration" could only be redundant or referring only to chemical castration, which seems to not fit in with gender reassignment surgery (correct me if you know it does fit). "Castration" is a scary word for most people with penises. I think it would likely provoke a knee-jerk response, like, "Oh, no, castration is bad. No castration! Enact these rules to keep people from being castrated!"

⚠️ The time is now to tell the Ohio Department of Mental Health and Addiction Services what you think about this! ⚠️

The option to comment on these needless restrictions can be found at the link in the first paragraph, but it's just an link that takes you to your email app. You can also just email them directly at MH-SOT-rules@mha.ohio.gov no later than 5 pm EST on Friday, January 19, 2024.

Please reblog to get this message out! We all have a stake in how rules and laws are enacted. They often lead to more in other states/countries. So, even if you don't have a stake in this personally, please make sure others see it.

Why do I care? I don't live in Ohio, but I have friends all over, including Ohio, who need transgender care. You might know someone like that, too.

[girlfromthecrypt]

Note: This is merely a pitch introduction post. My main project remains Such Happy Campers. I have no title in mind for this IF (suggestions are welcome), although I am very passionate about the idea and will work on it on the side while I write SHC.

You are... or were one of the most famous yet mysterious characters in the 21st century pop-rock scene. 

It all started when you discovered your love for singing during an extended stay at a psychiatric hospital as a teen. Music became your motivator, and from then on, you knew the stage was where you belonged. Your friends agreed… and that is how your band came to be. After years of practice in your friend’s mother’s garage and cheap gigs at dingy bars, your journey to the top begins abruptly when you team up with a skilled manager.

It's a meteoric rise— until it isn’t. 

And now, a decade after your band has withdrawn from the public eye, you’ve accepted an interview by the acclaimed Groove Magazine. You and your former band members have agreed to give them the truth, the whole truth; as ugly as that might be. 

Follow the story of your band’s rise to fame (and eventual fall from grace)

Play as a pop-rock vocalist

Name your band and customize your music, lyrics and image

Handle the media, interactions with pushy fans and your own repressed thoughts and fears 

Romance your coolgirl-bassist, the childhood friend you cut out of your life, your absolutely insane guitarist, or your biggest fan/stalker

Give one hell of an interview

Inspiration: Daisy Jones and The Six, Fleetwood Mac

TW: themes of mental illness, substance abuse, death, mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation and self-harm, unhealthy relationship dynamics

ROs:

Stevie McLaughlin, bassist (f) — “I suppose I was the sanest one in that bunch.”

She’s one of your oldest friends, and if you follow the clanking chain of cause and effect all the way back to the beginning, it is her you have to thank for your entire career. The band was her idea, after all. She’s level-headed, composed, and always there to talk you down when you need her. Sometimes, she acts more as your retainer than anything else…

Paul/Paulette Zima, lead singer & saxophonist (f/m selectable, trans) — “Trying to figure out where you know me from?”

Your band’s brand-new, second lead singer. Your manager says they’re going to give your music the kick it needs, that they’re the one missing ingredient to your success. You’re not entirely sure if you agree. Worse yet, you happen to know this person, and your time together didn’t end on a favorable note. They’re part of a past you would much rather forget. 

Angel Monsanto, guitarist (m) — “I was always going to make it big, with or without those guys. Only, I… I really wanted it to be with them.”

Your crazy but good-hearted guitarist. His passion for music borders on obsession, and he will stop at nothing to make a name for your band. Sadly, he’s very much of the conviction that all publicity is good publicity, which has encouraged him to pull some very questionable stunts in the past. 

Lincoln Saunders, groupie?? (f/m selectable) — “What can I say, I loved them. When they first walked out onto that stage, it felt like my heart was going to explode.”

Calling Lincoln a fan would be an understatement. Fanatic is more like it. You remember seeing them at your very first show, and you’ve continued to spot them at every venue you’ve played at since. You don’t know anything about them, and perhaps changing that would be a very bad idea. But maybe you still want to.

Others:

Fatima Shah (f), drummer — “I’m pretty sure they tried to make me disappear with their fog machine.”

After things didn’t work out with your original drummer, Fatima saved the day. She’s a sweetheart to you, but from what you’ve heard, she can be kind of a terrible person. Maybe it’s best to stay a little wary of her.

Kalena Graham (f), manager — “The first time I saw them… well, they kind of sucked. But I knew, I just knew, that they had what it takes to suck on an international level.”

Your band’s manager. You can’t believe how lucky you were to have caught her attention. She’s experienced, driven, well-regarded in the industry and… kind of mean.

Simon Young (m), reporter — “Start at the beginning. And then, don’t stop.”

The guy conducting the interview for Groove Magazine. He’s nice enough, if a little starstruck. It seems he has been waiting a long time for this.

[dividers by @thecutestgrotto]

Please consider reblogging if you like my work!

[turtle--soup]

Okay.

I have not seen ROTTMNT yet, but I've picked up some stuff from just floating around the fandom. Something I've learned, which is discussed in this post here, is that Rise Leo is generally considered - and considers himself the 'Face Man' of the team. (GIFs below are swiped from the linked post by @risestarkiss - I couldn't find them in tumblr's gif search function...)

Anyway. This is interesting to me because I am, for my sins, also a fan of The A-Team.

(I promise this is going somewhere! If you want to find out where I'm going with this, I'll put the rest of the post under a cut because it got a little long...)

For those of you unfamiliar with The A-Team, it's a (very silly) 80s TV series about a group of Vietnam War veterans who are on the run from the government after being convicted of a crime they didn't commit. The four of them spend their lives in hiding, making a living by using their combat skills to help people in need.

Here they are:

Left: Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith, leader of the team, brains of the outfit and most likely to have become an evil mastermind in an alternate timeline.

Right: Sergeant B.A. Baracus. Nicknamed 'Bad Attitude' due to his lack of patience for bullshit, B.A. is the resident tough guy but also an absolute teddy bear of a man, and is always ready to help people, especially children and the elderly.

Left: Captain H.M. 'Howling Mad' Murdock is the team's pilot and can fly just about anything. As his nickname suggests, he's considered a bit eccentric and is a silly kind of guy. (He's also a permanent resident of a psychiatric hospital but let's not get into that right now.)

Right: Lieutenant Templeton Peck. His role in the team is to provide them with whatever they need, whether that be vehicles, weapons, tools or access to places. He usually achieves this using his charm and wit, gaining him the nickname 'Face Man.'

Okay, so bearing these descriptions in mind, look at Leo's dialogue in this GIF:

I'm assuming that Donnie is the brainy guy, Raph is the smashy guy, and Mikey is the 'eats peanut butter with his fingers guy'. And Leo is the Face Man. That's his role.

But these descriptions fit the members of The A-Team too. Hannibal is the brainy guy, B.A. is the smashy guy, Murdock is the guy who absolutely eats peanut butter with his fingers (while maintaining unbroken eye contact throughout). And then there's Face.

How is this in any way relevant?

Well.

It just so happens that someone else is a fan of The A-Team...

Of course the Mirage turtles watched The A-Team! It was a popular show in the mid-80s, and you have to admit - they do have a lot in common, being four guys fighting injustice from the shadows and all... The A-Team even have a friend on the outside who helps them out - Amy Allen.

She's a reporter. Like someone else we know...

But which of the Mirage turtles in the image above is suggesting they should watch The A-Team?

According to this bio card from 1990 that coincides with the 1987 series...

... it might be Leo!

Was this intentional on the part of the Rise writers? I don't know!

Is it relevant? Probably not!

Does this tentative link between these two silly 80s series make me ridiculously happy? Yes!

Was this entire post just leading up to this? Yeah... sorry...

I like to think that the link is intentional. I've heard that Rise makes reference to other iterations of TMNT, as they all do. I would just personally love it if someone on the team wanted to draw parallels between these two series on purpose!

Anyway.

I just noticed that and really needed to get it off my chest! Thank you to everyone who stuck with this longer-than-intended post right to the end! 💙💜❤🧡

[alice-after-dark]

Vox's Death and Electrokinesis

So I'm straight up warning everyone now that this is a super dark take on Vox's death and where his powers of electrokinesis come from. Please, please, PLEASE read the trigger warnings. This has been in my head for a very long time.

TW for homophobia, 1950s mental illness views and treatments, homosexuality treated as a mental illness, sexual assault, gaslighting/victim-blaming, and other canon-typical triggers.

Some time during his career, Vox began an affair with a man who was also from the television industry. When his wife eventually found out, Vox was presented with two choices: a very messy and highly public divorce where the affair would be plastered across every media source in the country, or end the affair and seek psychological help. Not willing to destroy his image, Vox chooses the latter. He ends the relationship and quietly takes a "medical leave" from his career and is admitted to a psychiatric hospital. It's supposed to be the best in the country, with the most up-to-date practices and treatments. He is greeted by a man with a kind face names Dr. Robles, who takes Vox's hand in his and promises him everything will be alright. Vox's wife assures him he will be well and home in no time, kisses his cheek as he is led away, deeper into the hospital.

It is Hell.

Vox is quickly labeled as having a "sociopathic personality disturbance" in the form of "sexual deviation" and is considered a curious case as he has positive sexual reactions to both men and women. This makes most standard treatments fairly ineffective as he is already having a positive sexual response to women. So they decide to resort to unmodified electroconvulsive therapy.

The treatments are painful and brutal, often leaving him with nausea, fatigue, headaches, confusion, and even minor memory loss. Worse are the breaks and fractures that result from the induced seizures. Frequently he is left bedridden, confused and delirious and unsure of where he is. His sleep is riddled with nightmares of some horrific creature lurking in the shadows of his room, creeping close and hurting him. It finally ends when the machine malfunctions, sending him into cardiac arrest and killing him.

When his electrokinesis manifested, two decades later, it was...a time. First Vox was afraid, then he started cackling at the irony, before having a complete breakdown and scream-crying for the better part of an hour.

For the first week following the discovery of his new powers, Vox refuses to let Alastor touch him, which is particularly startling for the Radio Demon because he's usually the touch adverse one while Vox is very physically affectionate. Even small bumps and brushes has Vox leaping away from him. He begins to grow concerned that Vox has become afraid of him, which is frustrating because half the fun of Vox is that he isn't afraid of him like most Sinners. Eventually he corned the Tv-headed demon and demands an explanation. This of course leads to Vox panicking and sparking like crazy which in turn leads to even more panicking before Alastor seizes his shoulders, enduring the small shocks as he tells Vox to calm down.

Vox breaks down sobbing and tells Alastor everything he has never told him before: the affair, the choice, the hospital, the treatments, the nightmares, his "mental illness," everything. He's terrified of this ability. He knows what it can do and it terrifies him. And Alastor takes his face in his hands and tells him that his knowledge makes him all the more powerful. Not only can he control electricity, but he has first hand experienced what it can do to a body and that is power. Though Vox is hesitant at first, he accepts Alastor's offer to help him gain better control over this new ability.

---

It's about three months after the battle with the angels when Vox gets invited up to Alastor's radio tower. He's only been there once or twice in the past to silently watch Alastor with his "guests" as he broadcasts. Though initially skeptical of the invite, his curiosity gets the better of him despite Velvette and Valentino's warnings. When he arrives, he finds Alastor calmly tuning his radio equipment while his latest guest lays strapped to a metal table. It is unusually dim in the tower and Vox can't quite see what poor soul Alastor has plucked from the streets of Hell this time, but he can smell blood, which is even more unusual as Alastor usually likes to save every last moment for his broadcast, but from the wheezing it's clear this Sinner has already been worked over well. The Radio Demon greets him cheerfully as though nothing is amiss, as though it's perfectly normal to invite your friend-turned-rival over for a casual hang out. It's only when he encourages Vox closer that Vox understands what he's seeing.

Inky shiny black skin. Six limbs. Distended jaw. Long curling tongue.

Lying on the table is the creature from his nightmares.

Instantly Vox begins to panic. He feels terror, hands on him, pain, so much pain, he can't breathe, he can't think, why is it here why why why-

Alastor grips his shoulder, grounding him. He's saying something about...introductions?

"Vox clearly recognizes you, Dr. Robles, but I'm afraid you may have a harder time recognizing him. Like you, dear Vincent has gone through quite a few changes."

Dr. Robles. Dr. Robles. Dr. Robles. The name rings in his head like a gong.

Warm hands closing around his. A thumb running gentle circles on the back of his hand.

"It's all going to be alright. I promise."

Vox rips out of Alastor's grip and barely makes it to the wastebasket before he is sick. Because he understands now. He understands and he feels disgusting. All the nightmares...all the terror...all the pain...

Alastor's hand is on his back and Vox has barely composed himself when the doctor finally speaks.

"Vincent? Vincent Haynes?"

Vox didn't know exactly what expression he expected to see when he turns to face the doctor again, but the pure unconcealed hatred takes him by surprise.

"Filthy fucking whore!"

His words are venomous as he accuses Vox of being the reason he's in Hell, of tempting him and luring him into sin, of making him crave his flesh. How fitting Hell has stripped him of his beauty and shown him for the vain artificial creature that he is. Even as he says it though, his eyes rake over Vox's body and the TV demon has never wanted so badly for someone to not look at him. Alastor stops the tirade of vitriol with a simple flick of his wrist and a glowing green thread binding Robles' lips together.

"That's quite enough out of you, sir. I hope you don't mind, old friend, I already took a turn with the good doctor. Had to make sure I had the right wretch after all. It didn't actually take all that long. My goodness does this insipid creature like to talk about himself!" Without another word, the Radio Demon slips past them both to slide into his chair. The equipment before him buzzes to life.

"Salutations, listeners!"

Vox's hand crackles with sparks.

[thediaryofaurora]

General HCs

Bloody Painter/Helen Otis

This bad boy is LONNGG, I included a lot of his backstory in this. Writers block is beating my ass. 💔

- Twenty one!

- 6’1. When I say this dudes lanky, I mean LANKY. Slim and naturally toned, his main exercise comes from chasing or climbing stairs.

- Both of his parents are Korean, but he was raised in Pennsylvania.

- His parents struggled with getting pregnant, most ending is miscarriages. His mom was completely batshit, so when the pregnancy stuck she swore she had some divine intuition that made her believed he’d be a girl. She didn’t even bother having an ultrasound, so when he was born and she saw that he was a boy she thought him being a girl was some sort of prophecy she needed to fulfill.

- His whole life she had always told him he was meant to be a girl and he would be going against ‘God’s will’ if he didn’t follow through. He was always dressed in feminine clothing and had an extremely girly room. His mother didn’t put him in school until he was about thirteen, since she thought the kids would taint his mind and make him think he’s a boy.

- When he was put in school he got bullied RELENTLESSLY. His name, the way he dressed, everything. After meeting Tom he slowly started to realize that all the shit he grew up with wasn’t normal and his mom was psycho, so he started borrowing his clothes and changing in the school bathrooms so he could feel less weird. Once Tom admitted to planting Judy’s watch in Helen’s bag, they argued on the roof while getting slightly physical. Tom had slipped off the edge, but Helen managed to grab him. Of course, a middle schooler isn’t necessarily strong enough to hold another off a building without going down with them, so Tom let go to save Helen. Rumors spread that Helen had pushed him, but no one cared enough to investigate.

- After that school year was over he started to dress more androgynous/ masculine and ignored his mom’s pressure, which lead to her abusing him both physically and mentally. Eventually, with his ignored mental issues and the abuse he completely snapped, killing his mom and several of his bullies right before a Halloween party. He was sent to a psychiatric hospital that Slender ended up taking him from.

- VERY polite and proper. He’s pretty soft spoken and his grammar is like never flawed, big word user. 1000% the type of guy to kiss your hand as a greeting. The most he’ll do if he doesn’t like you is give you the silent treatment or a dirty look.

- Weird little detail, but his fingers and SLIM and LONG. His nails are neatly kept. He likes to pamper himself.

- He does botany in his free time! Any flower arrangements in the mansion and the gardens outside are his doing. There’s a few residents that he brings bouquets to every other week so they can have something nice. EJ, Sally, and Jane are his usual market. Also does flower pressing.

- Used to do ballet when he was about 4-7.

- Definitely the safest driver, but that makes him a pain as a get away driver. Always goes the exact speed limit and follows every possible law.

- Mainly listens to classical music. However, he does like Billy Joel, Fleetwood Mac, David Bowie, even a little bit of Queen.

- His room is SO nice and very big. Long sheer curtains, velvet & silk bedding, a grand piano, flowers, tall bookshelves, chairs, a large bed with a canopy, big windows, and lots of sculptures and framed paintings done by him. He’s really into elegant things and floral patterns. Has a mural on his ceiling!

- Hangs out with EJ, Liu, Puppeteer, and Jane. Rarely does he talk to any of the proxies or any creeps he’s not close with. Awfully reserved.

- Loves the fine arts. Painting, writing, music, sculpting, all that jazz. Occasionally does poetry! Him and Liu both like to write, so sometimes they’ll get together and talk about it. He mostly reads old classic books & poetry.

- Jane has taught him how to sew, although he doesn’t find much use for it.

- He has a white persian cat named Juliette in his room no one knows about other than his close friends. She never leaves the room, but she’s content; it has enough room to have lots of things just for her. He has a MASSIVE painting of her renaissance style by her bed. (He got her one of those fancy cat beds that look like a tiny rich person couch.) Pampers her to death.

- I know in his canon design he has that denim kinda jacket on with the pin, but in my HC he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that. Usually wears jeans and baggy button ups while he’s painting, but his day to day outfits are well put together. Rich person style in clothes — turtle necks, slacks, dress shoes, almost kind of dark academia.

- Super high standards in general, but especially when it comes to food. Fine dining for sure. Usually buys only enough ingredients for a serving just for him so he doesn’t have to leave them in the fridge. He doesn’t trust the other residents at ALL.

- This guy is ROLLING in it. He has so much loose cash from victims he can do whatever the hell he wants, big reason why his cat is living like royalty.

- Drinks at least one glass of wine a day. He has an entire rack in his room of old, fine wines. A lot of them are from Europe.

- For whatever reason, he’s an amazing masseuse.

- All of his candles and soaps are very high quality and expensive. He won’t settle for anything less.

- Can play the piano and the violin! He would kill to have a harpsichord, he might.

- He’s not big on history, but he could talk for hours about the titanic. He’s done paintings of it and has watched every possible documentary on it. Thinks the movie is a work of art.

I hope you all liked this! I love this fine man.

❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎❥❤︎︎

[elzdaizy]

Trouble After Paradise (Part 1)

Warnings: lots of angst, conflict, explicit language.

Summary of short story: Reader and Harry have returned from their honeymoon to a harsh reality and their first huge hurdle as a married couple.

A/N: This is 1 of 3 parts. Enjoy! Just a little short story idea i had and wanted to share with you all.

It’s been four weeks since you returned home from your honeymoon in Costa Rica and you’ve found yourself reminiscing constantly on that magical holiday.

To say the least, things have took a turn for the worst since you and Harry got home.

You were bombarded with mountains of piles of work to get through because there was no one to fill your position whilst you’d taken the month off leading up to your wedding, including the honeymoon.

Harry had started filming his next movie, one that was mentally draining due to his character being a very unwell mental patient at a psychiatric hospital.

You worked from seven in the morning until four in the afternoon in the office but always brought home some work to do which kept you busy until about eight at night when you’d get into bed.

Weekends were exhausting as well, you were catching up with friends and family after basically being off the grid throughout the week.

Harry’s shooting location, thankfully, was only a few hours away up north in Manchester so he managed to be home often between breaks but unfortunately meant that he wasn’t home with you for periods of times.

He tries his best to be at home with you on the weekends but his schedule doesn’t work that way all the time. On average you probably see each other a total of two days out of the week and it’s been this way the past four weeks.

You’ve both been so busy, you’ve barely had the time to live life together as a married couple. There’s a tension building full of stress and exhaustion on both ends of your marriage. You find yourselves bickering when you’re together and getting on each other’s nerves more than ever before.

You know it’s because you’re equally annoyed with yourselves and each other with the current situation.

It’s 8pm on a Friday night and Harry called you earlier that morning to let you know he’s coming home today at around 6:30pm and will be able to stay the full week until he’s off again. He asked for you to pick him up from the station because he had booked a meal at The Ivy for 8pm. You of course said yes. You were so excited to hear the news, you felt tears well up in your eyes. “I really can’t wait, I miss you so much.” You replied before you both said your goodbyes and I love you’s before hanging up.

What you didn’t know was that working would be busier than ever that Friday and now you’re still in the office trying to hurry up and finish off one last piece of paper work to be sent off to your client before the weekend. Your phone had died two hours ago and Harry hadn’t contacted you before it died so you weren’t too concerned that he would’ve tried to since then.

You could cry out of frustration. You purposely stayed back to get all this extra work done so you could book off Monday and Tuesday to extend your weekend to spend some time with your husband.

Half an hour later, you finally send the email and pack up your stuff. You race to your car and make your way home. The door is unlocked when you go to turn the key and your heart skips a beat when you realise that Harry must be home.

The lights are all off downstairs which is odd so you make your way upstairs to your bedroom to find Harry sat on the edge of the bed in just his underwear and his phone in his hands.

“Hi, baby.” You softly speak up as you walk through the door and put your bag and coat over the chair in the corner of the room.

Harry glances at you over his shoulder briefly without so much as a tiny acknowledgment of your presence before looking back to his phone.

You frown, thinking his behaviour seems a bit off. The energy in the room seems low and you can sense he’s not in a good mood.

You walk over to him, a hand on his shoulder and the other hand reaching to lift his head by tilting his chin in your direction for him to look up at you. As soon as you try to lean forward to place a kiss to his lips he yanks his head away from your touch and rolls his eyes, letting out a huff.

You step back, very offended and extremely hurt by his cold actions.

“Fuck you, then.” You throw your hands up and storm away to head downstairs to the kitchen. You’re literally trying so hard not to break down and cry right now so you’re pacing around your kitchen, breathing heavily for a few moments then deciding to pour yourself a large glass of wine.

You almost down the first glass. The second one being poured less than five minutes later. You’re just stood by your kitchen island with a glass of wine in one hand and thoughts racing around your mind as you try to figure out why your husband seems to despise you at the moment.

You soon realise it could possibly be the fact that your phone was dead and maybe he was trying to get ahold of you.

You start to feel a pit of guilt in your stomach when you take your phone from your pocket and plug it into the charger point next to your toaster.

You finish your second glass of wine once your phone switches on and your eyes widen when you notice the ten missed calls and five unread messages from Harry.

You read the texts carefully one at a time.

From Harry:

6:09pm - l’m fifteen minutes away from the station if you want to set off now. Love you. Xx

6:30pm - Where are you? I’m waiting near the security box until you’re here. Xx

6:53pm - I’ve rung you five times and you’re not answering so I’m making my own way home now.

7:26pm - Why aren’t you answering and why aren’t you at home? You do realise we have to be at The Ivy in half an hour.

8:03pm - cancelled the booking. If you read this before you come home - don’t bother me when you get in, I can’t be arsed with this tonight.

You heart feels like it’s going to stop. You have never felt more terrible in your life. You feel like a punch to the gut is what you deserve right now and nothing less. And to think, you literally just spat in his face and said fuck you to him, still not realising what you’d done.

You were so fixated on wanting to spend the week with Harry that you’d completely forgotten about picking him up and going out for dinner tonight.

You were a little drunk and very upset with yourself so of course the only thing currently you did was start to cry. You sat on a stool at your island, lent your elbows on the countertop, put your face in your hands and sobbed. Sobbed for your husband and how upset he must be feeling. Sobbed at the realisation of how much you hurt him and let him down. You felt like a failure.

After about thirty minutes of letting your feelings flow out of your system uncontrollably, you composed yourself and prepared yourself to go and apologise profusely. You’d gone over what to say in your head a million times and nothing sounded good enough but you know the least he deserves is an apology rather than an explanation or excuse right now.

Your face is puffy and red from the crying as you shakily walk up the stairs to your room and find Harry is now laying under the covers with the tv on, watching a movie with a deep frown on his face. As if he’s in deep thought rather than paying attention to the screen.

You push the door open gently and let yourself in. Basically walking with your tail between your legs, you can barely look at him as you sit on the bottom corner of the bed on your side. You couldn’t be further away from him on the bed if you tried.

“Harry, I’m so sorry.” You croak. Lips quivering as you fight the urge to break down crying again. You finally look at him after your first attempt at the beginning of a long apology. He’s ignoring you. Keeping his eyes fixed on the screen and his arms crossed over his chest.

You decide to keep speaking, “I completely understand why you’re angry and I don’t want to give myself any excuses for-.”

He reaches for the remote and turns up the volume to drown out your voice.

You let out a shaky sigh. A tear slipping down your cheek. “I didn’t ignore you on purpose- look, can you please just say something?” You beg pathetically and Harry’s head turns as his eyes look at you with anger.

“Told you I can’t be fucked with this tonight just leave me alone, please.” He sighs in annoyance before completely turning his back to you as he lays on his side.

You really don’t know what to say now. You didn’t expect this reaction from him. He’s never been this angry with you before and it’s terrifying you slightly because you really can’t cope with it. You don’t even care if he shouts at this point, you just want more of a reaction from him.

He has every right to feel the way he does, you know that. You hate going to sleep on bad terms though. You both agreed to always resolve conflicts before getting into bed because you never wanted to be that couple that gets into fights and makes one or the other sleep on the sofa.

It seems like it’s going to be that way tonight though. You don’t want to say another word because you don’t want to make it worse. Even though you know you won’t get much sleep, you decide to go sleep downstairs on the couch. You could go sleep in the spare room but you need a tv to distract you from your racing thoughts so the living room it is.

You get up from the bed, go take a quick shower and change into your pyjamas before grabbing your pillow from your side of the bed and walking towards the door.

“Goodnight, Harry. I love you.” You say to him softly before closing the door behind yourself and making your way downstairs.

You turn on a shitty reality show to fall asleep too. It takes a few hours but eventually you drift off.

The next morning you’re awoken by the sound of the blender rattling off in the kitchen. You feel at peace for a split second as your groggy memory clears up as your consciousness comes back, along with the awful events of last night. You grimace start yourself as you sit up on the couch and turn around to see Harry standing in the kitchen, making himself a smoothie, dressed in his running gear.

It mustn’t be any later than 6am because he only likes going running at the crack of dawn. He hasn’t noticed that you’re awake yet but you know he’s still fuming by the look on his face.

Now that you’re not intoxicated and knowing it’s a new day, you’re determined to resolve this issue very soon. You don’t want to waste any more of the short time you two have together for the next four days being bitter.

You get up from the couch and stretch before walking over to the kitchen island and taking a seat on the stool you were sobbing on last night.

“Morning.” You say with a tired voice as Harry still hasn’t acknowledged you whilst he’s cleaning up some dishes. You’re both facing each other on opposite sides of the island.

Harry looks up at you frowning and doesn’t reply so you take it as your queue to go in strong with all guns blazing.

“Can we please talk about this now?” You plead. Harry just deadpans and looks at you with a look that tells you no as he picks up his AirPods and puts them in as he makes his way to the door to go on his run.

“What the actual fuck! This is an actual fucking nightmare.” You frustratingly shout to no one but yourself after Harry closes the door on his way out.

[milkywaydrabbles]

geto and 39? :>

A/N: foaming at the mouth I love Geto sm. I'm not sure if this was quite enough body worship but also I feel like he wouldn't be that obvious with it, especially after his defection and leading up to the night of 100 curses. But I am a FIRM believer he would try to baby trap. Hope you like it mwuah

CW: riding, pet names, baby trapping

Body worship x Geto Suguru

"A-ah, Geto-Sama!" Thrust. "Please, beautiful." Thrust. "I thought I asked you to call me Suguru when we're alone." Thrust.

It had been a few months since you and Geto had met each other. You, an apparent normal human being who has been saying what you thought to be ghosts for your entire life. You had ignored them the best you could, being in and out of psychiatric hospitals because of your bouts of fear with the paranormal. Society had shunned you for your "insanity". But you knew they were there, even if you were the only one who saw them. Eventually, you faked being cured of whatever level of psychosis they thought you had, stopping the medication that sedated you. You simply learned to pretend they weren't there. It got easier as the years progressed, however some days were more difficult than others, depending on the size of the curse, and depending on how in your face it wanted to be. You thought you would just live like this—on the verge of a mental breakdown one day at a time. Until you met Geto.

You saw him one day, at the tail end of swiping away at one that seemed to be a pretty big nuisance for him, before condensing it into a black orb and ingesting it. You couldn't help but stare, eyes wide and hands trembling. It was someone else that saw them, someone else that can do something about them. There was no way you hallucinated that. He glanced over at you in disgust that a monkey would even have the audacity to look at him. But tears accumulated in your eyes, and you whispered "you see them too?" 

He softened immediately after that. 

Geto took you in, soothing your tears after telling him all the terrible years you've endured. Days turned into weeks, of helping you understand what the world of jujutsu is, of what curses are, of his end goal. Weeks turned into months, of him letting you stay with him even though you weren't a fighter, and your healing abilities were barely sustained. He let you stay because he had a soft spot. And feelings emerged. Started to cherish you, started to steal glances, fingers grazing just a bit more than deemed normal.

Geto was in love with you. The rest of them could see it, but they wouldn't dare say anything around him.

"Ah—fuck—'msorry Suguru" you hiccuped, bouncing on his lap, cock buried deep inside your sloppy pussy. Suguru loved you like this, chest to chest, as close to him as possible. It felt right this way. "Let me take care of you, pretty girl. You deserve it" he slowed his movements, wanting to take his time with you. Suguru placed open mouthed kisses on your chest, lavishing your nipples under his tongue. "You're so perfect" he'd whisper, hands caressing your back like he was holding a doll. "I can't believe I've gone my life without you." Another kiss to your chest, and a suck to your other nipple. You gasped, clenching around his dick, juices flowing freely over his balls. "Suguru," you whined "feels good." He kissed your neck, and pressed you closer to him. A hand came up to your head to pull you down for a kiss on your lips, slow and deliberate, taking his time to taste you fully. "I want to make you feel good always, my perfect baby. Taking me so well, your pussy was made for me." Another clench and whine, head lulling to the side out of sheer bliss. "Never want to let you go" he murmured, though he wasn't sure if you heard it. 

Geto quickened, a hand coming in between your bodies to rub at the swollen nub at the apex of your thighs. You cried out and tightened around him, orgasm closing it. "Come on, beautiful. Cum for me, I want to feel your cute little cunt milking me" Suguru bit at your neck, angling his hips to hit that delicious squishy part inside you that made you see stars. "S-suguru! A-ah fuck, oh fuck" you cried out, legs trembling and body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. You rode out your high as Geto continued to pump his length into you. "Gonna cum in you, pretty, gonna fill you up." He thrusted into you a few more times before shooting his load into you. He fucked his cum into you, wanting more than anything to keep it inside that puffy cunt of yours. 

I love you, I love you, I love you.

He was going to make sure it took, that you'd get pregnant. You wouldn't leave him now, he was sure of it. But he needed a guarantee.

[massiveharmonytiger]

So some people were very confused by this post, which would not exist were it not for the very specific form of Hannibal brainrot I'm afflicted with that can be summed up with the following sentence: Everything is about my blorbos. So I thought I should make a series of posts, because of reasons. Yes, I am very hinged and normal, thank you for asking.

First up, Zootopia.

A prey-coded character with lots of empathy, a passion for solving crime and big blue eyes tries to become a cop.

They get told that they don't have what it takes to be a cop for very similar reasons.

Their boss is a big, burly, slightly grumpy character.

He keeps assigning them cases that they're a bit reluctant to take on, but they do their job nonetheless. After all, they're professionals. They're here to save lives.

Their work leads to them meeting a sassy gay couple.

And a handsome, suave, honey-tongued predator-coded character who wears a tie everywhere.

He has an appreciation for fresh produce:

And has worn a muzzle at some point because the people around him feared getting eaten:

They team up and solve crimes together for a while.

There's a significant part of the plot takes place in a psychiatric hospital.

At one point the main character's very rich friend gets pregnant. They agree to become a parental type figure in the child's life.

The prey-coded character betrays the predator-coded character. The betrayal involves them denying the savagery inside them.

This betrayal is only fixed when the prey-coded character realizes they are not immune to going savage.

The prey-coded character leaves their family and returns to the predator, who means a lot to them.

They celebrate by sacrificing a lamb.

Bonus bunny cannibal joke: