#selling your medical practice | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fozmeadows · 14 days ago

Text

there is no ethical consumption under capitalism

Years ago now, I remember seeing the rape prevention advice so frequently given to young women - things like dressing sensibly, not going out late, never being alone, always watching your drink - reframed as meaning, essentially, "make sure he rapes the other girl." This struck a powerful chord with me, because it cuts right to the heart of the matter: that telling someone how to lower their own chances of victimhood doesn't stop perpetrators from existing. Instead, it treats the existence of perpetrators as a foregone conclusion, such that the only thing anyone can do is try, by their own actions, to be a less appealing or more difficult victim.

And the thing is, ever since the assassination of United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson, I've kept on thinking about how, in this day and age, CEOs of big companies often have an equal or greater impact on the day to day lives of regular people than our elected officials, and yet we have almost no legal way to redress any grievances against them - even when their actions, as in the case of Thompson's stewardship of UHC, arguably see them perpetrating manslaughter at scale through tactics like claims denial. That this is a real, recurring thing that happens makes the American healthcare insurance industry a particularly pernicious example, but it's far from being the only one. Because the original premise of the free market - the idea that we effectively "vote" for or against businesses with our dollars, thereby causing them to sink or swim on their individual merits - is utterly broken, and has been for decades, assuming it was ever true at all. In this age of megacorporations and global supply chains, the vast majority of people are dependent on corporations for necessities such as gas, electricity, internet access, water, food, housing and medical care, which means the consumer base is, to all intents and purposes, a captive market. We might not have to buy a specific brand, but we have to buy a brand, and as businesses are constantly competing with one another to bring in profits, not just for the company and its workers, but for C-suites and shareholders - profits that increasingly come at the expense of workers and consumers alike - the greediest, most inhumane corporations set the financial yardstick against which all others are then, of necessity, measured. Which means that, while businesses are not obliged to be greedy and inhumane in order to exist, overwhelmingly, they become greedy and humane in order to compete, because capitalism encourages it, and because there are precious few legal restrictions to stop them from doing so. At the same time, a handful of megacorporations own so many market-dominating brands that, without both significant personal wealth and the time and resources to find viable alternatives, it's all but impossible to avoid them, while the ubiquity of the global supply chain means that, even if you can keep track of which company owns which brand, it's much, much harder to establish which suppliers provide the components that are used in the products bearing their labels. Consider, for instance, how many mainstream American brands are functionally run on sweatshop labour in other parts of the world: places where these big corporations have outsourced their workforce to skirt the already minimal labour and wage protections they'd be obliged to adhere to in the US, all to produce (say) electronics whose elevated sticker price passes a profit on to the company, but without resulting in higher wages for either the sweatshop workers overseas or the American employees selling the products in branded US stores.

When basically every major electronics corporation is engaged in similar business practices, there is no "vote" our money can bring that causes the industry itself to be better regulated - and as wealthy, powerful lobbyists from these industries continue to pay exorbitant sums of money to politicians to keep government regulation at a minimum, even our actual votes can do little to effect any sort of change. But even in those rare instances where new regulations are passed, for multinational corporations, laws passed in one country overwhelmingly don't prevent them from acting abusively overseas, exploiting more desperate populations and cash-poor governments to the same greedy, inhumane ends. And where the ultimate legal penalty for proven transgressions is, more often than not, a fine - which is to say, a fee; which is to say, an amount which, while astronomical by the standards of regular people, still frequently costs the company less than the profits earned through their unethical practices, and which is paid from corporate coffers rather than the bank accounts of the CEOs who made the decisions - big corporations are, in essence, free to act as badly as they can afford to; which is to say, very. Contrary to the promise of the free market, therefore, we as consumers cannot meaningfully "vote" with our dollars in a way that causes "good" businesses to rise to the top, because everything is too interconnected. Our choices under global capitalism are meaningless, because there is no other system we can financially support that stands in opposition to it, and while there are still small businesses and companies who try to operate ethically, both their comparative smallness and their interdependent reliance on the global supply chain means that, even if we feel better about our choices, we're not exerting any meaningful pressure on the system we're trying to change. Which means that, under the free market, trying to be an ethical consumer is functionally equivalent to a young woman dressing modestly, not going out alone and minding her drink at parties in order to avoid being raped. We're not preventing corporate predation or sending a message to corporate predators: we're just making sure they screw other worker, the other consumer, the other guy.

All of which is to say: while I'd prefer not to live in a world where shooting someone dead in the street is considered a valid means of redressing grievances, what the murder of Brian Thompson has shown is that, if you provide no meaningful recourse for justice against abusive, exploitative members of the 1%, then violence done to those people will have the feel of justice, because it fills the void left by the lack of consequences for their actions. It's the same reason why people had little sympathy for the jackass OceanGate CEO who killed himself in his imploding sub, or anyone whose yacht has been attacked by orcas - it's just intensified here, because where the OceanGate CEO was felled by hubris and the yachts were random casualties, whoever killed Thomspon did so deliberately, because of what he did. It was direct action against a man whose policies very arguably constituted manslaughter at scale; a crime which ought to be a crime, but which has, to date, been permitted under the law. And if the law wouldn't stop him, can anyone be surprised that someone might act outside the law in retaliation - or that regular people would cheer for them when they did?

#UHC #capitalism #brian thompson #luigi mangione #deny defend depose #late stage capitalism

2K notes · View notes

inkskinned · 2 years ago

Text

the thing is that they're so fascinated by sex, they love sex, they can't imagine a world without sex - they need sex to sell things, they need sex to be part of their personality, they need sex to prove their power - but they hate sex. they are disgusted by it.

sex is the only thing that holds their attention, and it is also the thing that can never be discussed directly.

you can't tell a child the normal names for parts of their body, that's sexual in nature, because the body isn't a body, it's a vessel of sex. it doesn't matter that it's been proven in studies (over and over) that kids need to know the names of their genitals; that they internalize sexual shame at a very young age and know it's 'dirty' to have a body; that it overwhelmingly protects children for them to have the correct words to communicate with. what matters is that they're sexual organs. what matters is that it freaks them out to think about kids having body parts - which only exist in the context of sex.

it's gross to talk about a period or how to check for cancer in a testicle or breast. that is nasty, illicit. there will be no pain meds for harsh medical procedures, just because they feature a cervix.

but they will put out an ad of you scantily-clad. you will sell their cars for them, because you have abs, a body. you will drip sex. you will ooze it, like a goo. like you were put on this planet to secrete wealth into their open palms.

they will hit you with that same palm. it will be disgusting that you like leather or leashes, but they will put their movie characters in leather and latex. it will be wrong of you to want sexual freedom, but they will mark their success in the number of people they bed.

they will crow that it's inappropriate for children so there will be no lessons on how to properly apply a condom, even to teens. it's teaching them the wrong things. no lessons on the diversity of sexual organ growth, none on how to obtain consent properly, none on how to recognize when you feel unsafe in your body. if you are a teenager, you have probably already been sexualized at some point in your life. you will have seen someone also-your-age who is splashed across a tv screen or a magazine or married to someone three times your age. you will watch people pull their hair into pigtails so they look like you. so that they can be sexy because of youth. one of the most common pornography searches involves newly-18 young women. girls. the words "barely legal," a hiss of glass sand over your skin.

barely legal. there are bills in place that will not allow people to feel safe in their own bodies. there are people working so hard to punish any person for having sex in a way that isn't god-fearing and submissive. heteronormative. the sex has to be at their feet, on your knees, your eyes wet. when was the first time you saw another person crying in pornography and thought - okay but for real. she looks super unhappy. later, when you are unhappy, you will close your eyes and ignore the feeling and act the role you have been taught to keep playing. they will punish the sex workers, remove the places they can practice their trade safely. they will then make casual jokes about how they sexually harass their nanny.

and they love sex but they hate that you're having sex. you need to have their ornamental, perfunctory, dispassionate sex. so you can't kiss your girlfriend in the bible belt because it is gross to have sex with someone of the same gender. so you can't get your tubes tied in new england because you might change your mind. so you can't admit you were sexually assaulted because real men don't get hurt, you should be grateful. you cannot handle your own body, you cannot handle the risks involved, let other people decide that for you. you aren't ready yet.

but they need you to have sex because you need to have kids. at 15, you are old enough to parent. you are not old enough to hear the word fuck too many times on television.

they are horrified by sex and they never stop talking about it, thinking about it, making everything unnecessarily preverted. the saying - a thief thinks everyone steals. they stand up at their podiums and they look out at the crowd and they sign a bill into place that makes sexwork even more unsafe and they stand up and smile and sign a bill that makes gender-affirming care illegal and they get up and they shrug their shoulders and write don't say gay and they get up, and they make the world about sex, but this horrible, plastic vision of it that they have. this wretched, emotionless thing that holds so much weight it's staggering. they put their whole spine behind it and they push and they say it's normal!

this horrible world they live in. disgusted and also obsessed.

#this shifts gender so much bc it actually affects everyone #yes it's a gendered phenomenon. i have written a LOT about how different genders experience it. that's for a different post.#writeblr #ps my comments about seeing someone cry -- this is not to shame any person #and on this blog we support workers.#at the same time it's a really hard experience to see someone that looks like you. clearly in agony. and have them forced to keep going.#when you're young it doesn't necessarily look like acting. it looks scary. and that's what this is about - the fact that teens #have likely already been exposed to that definition of things. because the internet exists #and without the context of healthy education. THAT is the image burned into their minds about what it looks like.#it's also just one of those personal nuanced biases -#at 19 i thought it was normal to be in pain. to cry. to not-like-it. that it should be perfunctory.#it was what i had seen.#and it didn't help that my religious upbringing was like . 'yeah that's what you get for premarital. but also for the reference #we do think you should never actually enjoy it lol'#so like the point im making is that ppl get exposed to that stuff without the context of something more tender #and assume .... 'oh. so it's fine i am not enjoying myself'. and i know they do because I DID.#he was my first boyfriend. how was i supposed to know any different #i didn't even have the mental wherewithal to realize im a lesbian . like THAT used to suffering.

29K notes · View notes

anxiousbabybird · 1 year ago

Text

Love and Deepspace men x fem!reader slightly unhinged HCs

I started Love and Deepspace yesterday so please have my slightly unhinged HCs for the men so far. And minors don’t you dare interact

Part 2

Rafayel

He’s a biter. Leaves you covered in marks from your neck all the way down your thighs.

Plans a date where he’s laid out a huge canvas on the floor of his studio, puts your fave color paint on your hands and his favorite color on his hands, plus several globs of the two colors across the canvas, and then proceeds to have the wildest three rounds of sex on that canvas as it gets progressively more covered in paint. Sells the painting for 6 figures a few weeks later and uses it as an excuse that you need to make more of them.

Tells you his best masterpiece is painting your body with his cum—got really into it once and dipped the paint brush into your cunt to collect his cum and then painted it across your breasts

Has a secret sketch book that’s nothing but pictures of you. Lots of them are of you sleeping when he can study your features but there’s still quite a few he drew from memory.

Made you lay down naked with your legs spread and be still so he could draw the most detailed image of your pussy you could possibly imagine. It’s his personal fave that no one besides him will ever see.

Sees shibari as a beautiful art form and likes to practice with you—has a whole album in his phone just of pics of you tied up all pretty for him

Rarely gets soft in a serious way, he much prefers the teasing back and forth you two usually have.

Xavier

He’s definitely broken into your room Edward Cullen style and watched you sleep

His favorite dates are taking you into the forest at night to watch the stars and moon together. Bonus points if you come across a wanderer and get to fight together.

Clingy after you become his, always wants to be touching you and doesn’t let you out of his sight (and yes that means sometimes he’s following you but it’s just because you’re brave and reckless and he worries)

When he eats you out, he holds both your hands in his for you to hold on to and does it with no hands—makes you cum more times on his tongue than you could fathom (and yes, he’s eating you for his pleasure)

Downloaded a tracker into your watch so he can know where you are at all times

Gets horny when he watches you fight and has def pulled you aside during a mission for a quickie in which you end up having your cunt stuffed with cum for the remainder of the mission

Such a cuddler but like a cat where he only wants to cuddle if he wants to—falls asleep nearly instantly in your arms like the cute sleepyhead he is

Zayne

Finds it so cute the first time he comes to your apartment and sees all the little snow creatures he’d made you sitting in a windowsill together. Makes you so many more after that. Sends you a bouquet of flowers made from his ice too (#Elsa)

Has food delivered to you at lunch on days he knows you’re super busy so you don’t forget to eat since you often forget to take care of yourself (he doesn’t mind too much since he likes that you let him take care of you)

Prefers kisses over hugs, except when he’s sad because of a patient (then he likes the warm comfort of your hugs)

Moves his glasses to the top of his head and rubs the bridge of his nose when he gets really stressed

Brings you a mild painkiller after blowing your back out, a smug but tiny smile on his lips, and tells you, “I was a bit rough so humor me and take this medicine. I don’t want you in excess pain because of me.”

Loves when you want to lay on his chest when he’s reading through cases and medical journals at night. He’ll read them out loud until you fall asleep and then finish them quietly as you snore softly into his chest

Calls you before a difficult surgery because your voice instantly calms him down

Into bondage—specifically he likes to tie you up so you can’t escape when he starts to overstimulate you. He really can’t help it, you just make such pretty noises for him when he gets you to that point that he has to keep going

Tags: @adaurielle @luffysprincess @seraphofthesimps

#love and deepspace #love and Deepspace HCs #zayne love and deepspace #Zayne HCs #zayne x reader #rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel HCs #rafayel x reader #Xavier x reader #xavier love and deepspace

6K notes · View notes

lotus-tower · 1 year ago

Text

Mask recommendations for ordering online (NA)

Note: for consistency, practicality, and simplicity all prices are listed in USD.

masknerd has a comprehensive data set on hundreds of masks he's tested according to his own criteria and methodology (pinned tweet). find his recommendations on his youtube channel. many of the following are on his list as well!

DISPOSABLE MASKS

3M Aura and Vflex: one of the most commonly recommended brands of N95. Where to buy?

- US: see here - Canada: see here - Multiple sizes per model. These suppliers are good for bulk ordering. If you aren't sure if something will fit you, check out the sample kits in the next recommendation - Price point: varies from $1-1.3 USD per mask depending on supplier

Breatheteq (US):

- KN95s that come in small, medium, large, or XS (kids) - Offers sample kits so you can test out what your size is - Comes in a few different colours. shoutout to the lavender - Earloop only - Price point: $69.75 USD for a 50-pack (~1.4 USD per mask)

Canadastrong (Canada):

- The Canadian equivalent to Breatheteq, but also carries N95s of other brands such as 3M Aura and Vflex, Vitacore, and Drager X-plore

Vitacore (Canada and US):

- N95 certified, but actually has 99% filtration - Both earloop and head strap versions (warning that the head strap seems to fit considerably smaller) - Regular and small adult sizes offered, also a kid's size - Price point: $33.99 for a 30-pack (~1.1 USD per mask)

Wellbefore (US, ships to Canada):

- N95s, KN95s, and KF94s - Head straps, normal earloops, or adjustable earloops depending on model - Kids/petite size available for certain KN95 models - Wide range of colours (excluding N95s) - Price point: varies per model, from $0.79 USD to $2.09 USD per mask - Also sells Covid tests, over the counter medication, and medical supplies

Masklab (US):

- This is an indulgent option for if you want to go out and look good, while still staying safe. These are masks that are part of your outfit - FFP2 certified, equivalent to KF94s - Standard size and slim fit series - Many beautiful patterns - Price point: $24.44 USD for a 5-pack ($4.88 per mask) for the patterned KF ones, ~$3.4 USD for the plain KF ones, ~$3.3 USD for the slim fit series, including patterns.

ELASTOMERIC MASKS

Flomask (US, ships to Canada):

- Reusable elastomeric mask (with replaceable filters) that meets KN95 standards - Two adult sizes (low/medium nose ridge and medium/high nose ridge) and a kid's size - Adjustable straps - Price point: $122 USD. 50-pack replacement filters: $81.46 (filters to be changed after 20-40 hours of use, depending on filter type)

A humble P100 elastomeric respirator from your local Home Depot or similar store! Magnitudes cheaper than the Flo mask (both the respirator itself and the filters)--however, I can't offer estimates for how often filters should be replaced. May not look pretty, but the most economical option for the highest degree of filtration if you aren't self-conscious.

General advice:

N95 or higher are the most reliable. They normally come with head straps, which offer better protection by making a tighter seal around your face.

But fit and comfort are the most important! Find a mask that fits your face and leaves the least amount of gap possible. KN95s are often more comfortable and breathable--find what's right for you.

You can wear different masks for different situations depending on risk level!

If you're hesitant to buy online, here's advice on how to tell if your respirator is legitimate.

A SIP drinking valve can be installed on any disposable mask to allow you to drink in public with less risk.

If anyone has other recommendations, please feel free to add!

#i'm so sorry non-NA people i don't know enough but i will try to look into it #covid

3K notes · View notes

sbcdh · 15 days ago

Text

"You saw it?"

"For a second. Yeah. I saw one."

"Start at the beginning."

"Hoo. Okay. Uhhh... It was 77. I think. I was air force. Or, hypnoengineering support staff contracted to help out around St. Louis."

"That's how you came into your supply of JVH-1"

"It was JVH-11 actually, and yeah, the fuckin, uh- the requisitions officer at Scott was an old buddy of mine. We used to fuck around in college before I, you know-"

"Yes I understand."

"I worked records for Sears-Roebuck, I had all the accounting expertise, as well as a ready supply of LSD."

"How did you start?"

"Oh it was easy at first. Really just selling off phials of the new experimental stuff to finance guys. They'd go nuts for the stuff, pay top dollar for it too. Hell, I could get 100$ for a milliliter. Made it easy to keep my contacts bought in and re-invested. Honestly I don't think the req office would even know that we were skimming if they weren't in on it.

But, you know how it is with hypnoregulation. Transchronological market data is worth it's weight in diamond. It started with the odd photo of a 2q-week readout, then biometric data, then, uh- then. Well, we decided to try it ourselves."

"You attempted full sub-finantial emmanation?"

"No no god no, what're you nuts? No, see. We figured if one person can meld their brain with the market, we just had to get as close as we could to that guy, and mark the twain, hypnologically speaking."

"Mark the twain?"

"Yeah, see, okay. A plutophant in full emmanation isn't like us. We exist at a single point in time, an R1 rational market actor. But they exist in multiple points in time, back in 77, I think the government could hit R6 with that analogue tech. Most people can hit R2 with a single hit of JVH-1, with practice you can hit R3, but anything higher than R3 takes a pretty serious support team. But here's the thing, I had a whole cadre of co-implicated members of a military grade hypnoengineering support team. All we needed was the space."

"The warehouse. Schaeffer Marble and Tile was it?"

"Bingo. See here's the thing. You know why the government had to start building those special regulation temples? It's not just for security. Once you crack the R6 barrier, Plutophants start leaving what's called a wake. You know, like a fuckin, uh, like a boat. They're imperceptible to normal people, but if you have sensitive enough instruments or, say, a person in the edge of sub-market emmanation.

See the government didn't know at the time, but if you balanced the drugs just right, and kept someone right on the edge of R4, you could actually read the plutophant's interpretations by their wake rather than their direct neurofeedback. It's not nearly as precise, but if you have a good team and you know what to look for, you can get some really, really valuable market data that way."

"And your co-worker?"

"You mean Mills? Fuck. Yeah...Mills. Right."

"Take your time."

"No, no I'm good. It's... It's uh, It's dangerous. Brains aren't meant to take that much JVH-11 all at once. We could stay on R4, but what we didn't have was a recovery team, or a medical team, or recon team. It was me, Mills, Israel, Connaught, and Marsh. The five of us were the only ones in the soup. Bruso was running the machines and Lasker was monitoring the readout."

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"Yeah. Yeah. It was a normal intrusion. Hypnogrid emmanation is pretty simple with our tech and support. Sedation was all green, hypnoinduction was green. Smooth as silk. Landed about 40 minutes from our work location. We had the codes from the IRSAW people that morning, all we had to do was maintain hypnoinduction for 40 minutes while traversing the colon and we'd be able to-"

"I'm sorry, colon?"

"Oh come on. Colon. Collective Unconscious. Col-Un. Colon."

"I- of course. Continue."

"Hey, have you ever been on a dive before?"

"Can we focus on your statement?"

"It's important. I need to know if this next bit is gonna make sense to you or not."

"I've undergone basic anti-intrusion training standard for IRS investigation task force officers."

"So you've done safe dives. White room? Castle training? Putting up the wall? All that jazz?"

"That's correct."

"Did they ever tell you why it's dangerous to perform off-site hypnoincursion in meta-unstsble hypnospace?"

"They did."

"Well they're lying...don't look at me like that. I'm not bullshitting you. They're lying...there's...there's shit out there okay? There's things out there."

"Mills?"

"Yeah. Mills. Uh..."

"Take your time."

"Yeah yeah. Quit interruptin me. Mills... Uh, yeah so we were T-Plus 30 into the dive. Bruso gives us a heads up that some hypnoflora is headed our way, but can't get a read on mass. Says we should steer clear, but we are so close. Israel had handled some hypnoflora before, so we weren't worried. But it was... I dunno. I can't explain."

"Do your best."

"Like. Okay. Meta-unstsble dives are fucked. They're acid trips. The St. Louis hypnoscape already doesn't look normal, but Scott Base looked like some kinda bastard lovechild of a medieval castle and a seashell, all twisting up into itself. The streets were a chessboard, and all the streetlights we're these tall kinda mannequin lookin' things holding a tiny sun in their hand. Everything is fucked, it's all topsy turvy. But it's okay, because it's meta-unstable hypnospace, its not SUPPOSED to be normal. And then there was a Red Sock."

"Like for the feet?"

"No. Like. In the middle of this fucked up dreamscape, there's suddenly a batter for the Boston Red Sox. He's standing there, maybe 50 feet away. He's got a bat in one hand and a mitt in the other, and he's just kinda walking towards us. Nobody really knew what to do. It didn't look dangerous, but something wasn't right. It didn't fit. We just kinda stood there, looking at the thing. Israel starts talking to Bruso, asking him what to do. Suddenly, Bruso is screaming at us, telling us to book it. He's screaming into the com, telling us to prepare for de-emmanation. Nobody knows what's happening. Israel is suddenly standing between Mills and the Red Sock, and..."

"Any information you can recall could be of use."

"It's...it's mostly feeling at this point. You ever been having a normal dream? Like, a good, normal dream? And suddenly you realize that something is really, really wrong? There's signs. For me? It's that the lights go out. Suddenly day turns to night, and something about this batter just makes me want to curl up and hide. Suddenly, moving through the world is like trying to swim through molasses. I try to run, but nothing moves, and everything is dark. The world is shifting. There's shadows under the bathroom door that can't be happening. A man who looks like Jesus. An old and terrible house and an old man with no name whose face I can't remember. The batter swings at Mills and she just...vanishes. Shes gone. Bruso pulls us out a second later."

"So this, batter killed Ms. Mills?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. We get out, she's comatose. Whatever that thing did to her, she was still in hypnospace. I gave her a hot shot of barbiturates. Her brain activity slowed to R0 after about 90 seconds."

712 notes · View notes

wanderingcritter · 3 months ago

Text

Friendly reminder to never EVER let losers on the internet convince you that alterhumanity is wrong or will never be accepted by general society.

I went to my city's local renaissance faire earlier this week and I had genuinely such an incredible experience. I went with my tail, theta delta necklace, and mask (which I may post here once Im fully done with it lol) gear and received so many compliments. Not only that but I saw and talked to quite a few other alterhumans, like at least 10 and that was after only being there for 1 of the 2 days for less than 2 hours. Also please keep in mind that this was by no means a large ren faire (at least compared to others in the region) and the area I live in is very mixed in terms of progressiveness. But at one point I was walking past some vendors and an older lady running one of the booths exclaimed how much she liked my mask and asked to take a picture of it, and explained how her granddaughter was just starting to learn how to make some of her own. And then told me that the booth next to hers was "selling some therian masks" (yes she actually used the word therian completely unprompted!) and sure enough the couple in there were selling some masks made by their 11 year old daughter (which were absolutely gorgeous btw). Afterwards, as I was out near the parking lot waiting for my ride so that I could leave, I was practicing quadrobics and some 5-6 year old kids walked past me with their parents and looked absolutely awestruck. Shortly after another woman approached me and told me that her young granddaughter was completely overjoyed when she saw me me running around and had wanted to come play with me, and had said "Ive never seen a creature play like that before!!"

Not only was the ren faire itself super fun and cool to be at (I can't wait for next year omg), but it was unexpectedly the most positive alterhuman related experiences Ive had maybe ever.

There is a future where we are normal, where others see us as who we truly are and where we don't have to conceal ourselves to avoid judgement. The road isn't always going to be smooth, especially as we grow in numbers, in fact I fully expect things to get a whole lot worse for us in the years and decades to come. But one day, maybe even in our lifetimes, you will walk through a pride parade and see someone enthusiastically waving a massive theta delta flag through the crowd. You will hear strangers casually use species neutral language like it's the most normal thing in the world. You will sit down with your family to watch the newest popular tv show that includes a character who has received species affirming medical care. You will walk past a cozy locally owned business that has an "all species welcomed!" sticker on their window next to their lgbtq+ and poc welcoming signs.

We are everywhere, and we're not going away. There will always be those who refuse to understand us, but there will be more who choose to love and accept us in our entirety, I have absolutely no doubt about that <3

797 notes · View notes

seigeladvisoryservices · 5 months ago

Text

Navigating the Sell of Your Medical Practice

Most healthcare business owners have very limited experience in selling a medical practice. A qualified intermediary will understand how challenging the M&A (Merger and Acquisition) process can be, especially from a tax, legal, and regulatory perspective.

It can be a challenge for most medical practice owners to find an intermediary who understands how their business operates. An intermediary with previous experience owning and operating a healthcare business will be more knowledgeable about your business, allowing potential buyers to have a clearer understanding of your business.

Seigel Advisory Services provides a range of consulting and M&A advisory services for physician practices and other healthcare business owners throughout the United States.

Selling a Medical Practice — Choosing an Intermediary

The majority of intermediaries are “generalists,” in that they sell companies in a variety of industries without gaining an expertise in a given industry. As a result, most intermediaries fail to understand the nuances and intricacies specific to the healthcare industry. An intermediary with a detailed knowledge of the healthcare industry is best equipped to assist healthcare business owners looking to sell their business.

Therefore, it is crucial to retain an intermediary with an expertise in all areas of the M&A process to obtain the highest price for your business. Many healthcare transactions involve the sale of a “security,” often in the form of stock, membership interests, or partnership interests. In the sale of a security, known as a “Stock Sale,” only intermediaries that are registered representatives of a broker-dealer can be paid a fee based upon the successful completion of the transaction.

If a business owner engages an intermediary that cannot lawfully conduct securities transactions, devastating results can occur, such as the rescission and unwinding of a sale years after its completion. Therefore, healthcare business owners should look for an intermediary that has a Series 79 and a Series 63 registration to ensure that the transaction is compliant with securities laws and regulations.

How to Sell Your Medical Practice — Navigating Obstacles

Understanding of Tax Consequences The corporate structure of your healthcare business can have a significant impact on the tax consequences resulting from the sale of your business. An intermediary with a background in tax, such as a tax attorney or a Certified Public Accountant, is best suited to assist healthcare business owners in minimizing their tax liability from the sale of their business.

Integration of Succession Planning For many healthcare business owners, their business often represents the highest concentration of their net worth. And once the business is sold, many healthcare business owners may not be financially or emotionally prepared for life after the deal. A qualified intermediary should be able to integrate and educate business owners with sound succession planning strategies throughout the M&A process.

Medical Real Estate Expertise Whether a healthcare business owns or leases their medical office building, the medical real estate is an integral component of any healthcare transaction. Regardless of whether you intend to retain or sell your medical real estate, an intermediary with experience in medical real estate can tailor a strategy specific to the objectives of healthcare business owners.

Selling Your Medical Practice — A Solid Foundation

Legal Experience All healthcare transactions require a team of professionals to assist in the transaction. In a typical healthcare transaction, an attorney specializing in healthcare mergers and acquisitions will be responsible for drafting and reviewing the legal documents. An intermediary with previous legal experience can efficiently coordinate their work with the attorneys involved in the transaction, resulting in significant time and cost savings for healthcare business owners.

Seigel Advisory Services — A Healthcare Investment Bank Seigel Advisory Services is a boutique healthcare investment bank located in Atlanta, Georgia that assists physicians and healthcare business owners in the sale of their medical businesses and their medical real estate. We can successfully help you answer the question “how to sell a medical practice’.

Our advisors are licensed practitioners in the fields of investment banking, law, accounting, commercial real estate, and medicine. We provide a range of consulting and M&A advisory services for physician practices and other healthcare business owners throughout the United States.

Selling Your Healthcare Business — A Helpful Guide

Some of the topics in this guide include:

Knowledge of the Healthcare Industry

Mergers and Acquisitions Expertise

Medical Real Estate Expertise

The Integration of Succession Planning

How to Sell a Medical Practice

Learn about Selling your Healthcare Business

Download the guide today and learn all about efficiently selling your medical practice.

Seigel Advisory Services A Healthcare Investment Bank

691 John Wesley Dobbs Ave NE, Suite C Atlanta, GA 30312 Phone: (727) 460–4858

www.seigeladvisoryservices.com

#selling a medical practice #how to sell a medical practice #selling your medical practice

0 notes

gin-juice-tonic · 1 month ago

Text

There were a duo of murderers in 1800s Scotland named Burke and Hare who killed at least 16 people for the sake of selling them to anatomists for dissection. After they were caught, Burke was sentenced to be hanged, and at the time the judge said:

"Your body should be publicly dissected and anatomized. And I trust, that if it is ever customary to preserve skeletons, yours will be preserved, in order that posterity may keep in remembrance your atrocious crimes"

And indeed both of those things they did do to his corpse afterward. His corpse was dissected publicly at the University of Edinburgh. A minor riot broke out because more students wanted to get inside than tickets were available. His skeleton was preserved. You can still see it at the Edinburgh Medical School. That's not all that was done though. During the dissection, the professor performing it wrote a message with Burke's blood, and supposedly his skin was used to bind a book and create a calling card.

At the time, the bodies of murderers were actually the only ones legal to use for dissection. However, the Burke and Hare murders (and similar murders afterward) sparked a law 2 years after Burke was put to death that finally allowed the donating of bodies, but also disallowed the practice of using murderer's corpses. So Burke's big public dissection almost becomes ironic in a way.

I suppose all that happened to his body after his death was considered retribution for his crime, but can you really call it retribution when done to a dead man? He certainly is unaffected by it. His and his partner's crimes sent a shockwave of fear through everyone who heard about what they'd been doing. Could it have been considered an act of closure for a scared public? Did any of that actually make anyone feel better? I have been thinking about this a lot lately.

#'why are you telling us this'#i dunno #but if anyone wants this to be tagged as something let me know #i could understand the idea of closure for maybe the families of the people who were killed - but im not sure a public dissection at a #university could really be called that #long post

420 notes · View notes

ozzgin · 1 year ago

Note

OZZGIN!

May I request an idea/imagine?

It is about yandere! mental asylum patient and psychiatrist! reader, who is very practical and strict regarding her job, takes no BS from others. But, for some reason, she has a soft spot for yandere! mental asylum patient. The reason could either be he had a hard childhood in which he had to do what he had to do, which brutally killed his father, who used to abuse his mother and sister, but when the father tried to sell the sister into prostitution to buy more alcohol, all hell break lose. Psychiatrist! reader thinks what yandere! mental asylum the patient did was OKAY, and she wants to get him out of the asylum. They love each other deeply and would do anything, so far as to kill for one another. If you can, make it as twisted as you can. I live for some dark romance!

Please ignore my request if you are not able to do it. I completely understand. Thank you in advance! <3

Oh my, this request hits somewhat close to home as I have a friend incarcerated for similar reasons. I'm pondering the logistics behind this context you've provided, since murdering someone won't necessarily land you in a psych ward unless there are other symptoms that come with it. And so I've taken the liberty to expand the character's profile if that's alright. (Conveniently enough I still have my psychopathology lecture notes)

I want to add, however, that this story in no way romanticizes mental illness! If anything, one may consider it an opportunity to reflect on the fact that so many people struggling with disorders do not receive the proper care for it, or only do so when it's too late. Furthermore a medical professional should never, ever behave like this and whatever is written here should stay in the realm of fiction!

Yandere! Patient x Psychiatrist! Reader

Featuring a patient that's pushing the boundaries of your work ethic and might even succeed.

Content/warnings: female reader, detailed mentions of mental disorder, violence, obsessive behavior, breach of professional conduct

You roll up your sleeve and check your watch. He should be here soon. Out of habit, you shuffle the papers for a quick case review, even though you already know all the details by heart. You carefully set aside the patient’s MMPI and WHODAS entry assessments, then your first interviews. Your eyes briefly rest upon the resulting report you’ve comprised: Schizophreniform Disorder (Provisional) with good prognostic features; Diagnostic criteria consisting of delusions, disorganized speech (frequent derailment with episodes of incoherence, echolalia) and comorbid catatonia. Responds well to antipsychotic (clozapine 25mg/12 h) with no imminent need for dosage increase. As it currently stands, he will be fit for proper incarceration in less than 6 months. Is it something you agree with? Not quite. You’ve presented your case many times and it has always been met with pitiful shrugs and dismissals.

The door opens and you fix your posture, sweeping the documents back into your drawer. “And? How are you feeling today?” You ask, flashing a professional, cordial smile as the assisting nurse leads the patient to his seat and prepares her leave. “My chest hurts.” The man answers in a low voice, glaring at the nurse. He taps his foot against the plush carpet, seemingly restless. “How bad would you rate it? Chest pain is a somewhat common side effect of your medication.” You retort, following the movements of the woman finally excusing herself and exiting the room. Once you’re alone, the man’s shoulders droop and he visibly relaxes. “It’s not that, you know it. When can I touch you again?” He pleads, despair twisting his features. You tense up at the words. “Behave yourself. It hasn’t been that long.”

It’s not something you’re particularly proud of. In fact, you might even call it one of your great shames in life. You’ve always been a textbook professional, perhaps even too strict according to your coworkers and most patients. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have dared to imagine you’d violate the code of ethics by falling in love with your patient. But something about his situation stirred your sense of justice. Surely one cannot be punished for protecting their loved ones. The only criminal in the equation, at least in your eyes, was that joke of a father and he had it coming. So you found yourself wrestling against a blooming protectiveness and favoritism towards the young man brought here last month.

What would have normally compelled you into action had therefore been silently swept under the rug. Or even worse, you secretly indulged in it. A patient showing signs of affection towards you would instantly be transferred to a different psychiatrist. Yet you couldn’t put away the letters written by this one. Erratic, crumpled notes of “I love you” written countless times, pencil dug so deep it tore into the sheet. Bizarre illustrations that looked almost threatening. His elaborate delusions before medication was introduced, where he’d detail in grand narratives how you were fated for each other and nothing would stop him from having you sooner or later. You do not know what forces possessed you into this addictive plunge, but you’ve come to enjoy his violent, frenzied confessions. So much, that during one of the unsupervised meetings you let yourself pushed into the sofa as his hands tugged at your body in rabid need. It was so out of character that you wondered if it truly happened, though the bite marks and scratches on your neck and chest proved otherwise.

“Are they going to send me to prison?” He changes the subject and stands up, walking towards your desk. “Most likely. What you have is the result of a traumatic event, not a lifelong condition. Sporadic episodes that can be kept under control with antipsychotics aren’t enough of a reason to keep you in the hospital.” You press your legs together nervously and glance at him. “Can’t you just say it’s no longer working?” He suggests, kneeling before you and placing a hand on your thigh. “You know I can’t lie on the report.” You really don’t like it when he manipulates you like this. “Ah, yes, because lying is worse than fucking your patient.” He scoffs, annoyed. “Don’t threaten me like that”, you say as you turn towards him, but you’re stopped by the rough grip of his hand over your cheeks. “I’m not threatening you, I’m threatening everyone else. Listen, (Y/N), I’m not fucking around. I don’t mind pretending to be crazy if I have to. Will the meds still be working if I steal a shaving razor and cut the nurse open?” You try to open your mouth, but his fingers are pressed into your skin, locking your jaw into place. “I’m not going to prison. I’m not. Then I’ll never see you again and that can’t happen. You know that.”

Eventually he releases his hold, allowing you to speak. "I understand. Then there's no choice but to arrange your escape." You sigh, defeated, and he raises his eyebrows. "Won't that get you in trouble?" You chuckle at his statement. "Either way I'll be in trouble. You said it yourself. Might as well quit before I have to stand in front of the ethics board and have my license revoked." You'd prefer to keep the last ounce of pride if possible.

He sits on the floor and you notice his trembling hands. "Nervous?" You ask. "No. Just really happy. I'm not a bad person and you were the only one here to see it. But God, (Y/N), I'd kill anyone if it was for your sake. I can't wait to hold you whenever I want." He gazes at you as a smile widens on his face.

#female reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere oc x reader #obsessive yandere #tw yandere

2K notes · View notes

lushxboba · 6 months ago

Text

The Emperors Prize

Emperor Geta X Peasant!Reader

Word Count: 2k

TW// 18+ ONLY (minors be gone), mentions of family members death, mentions of murder, spitting, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, thigh riding, if i missed anything let me know !!

A/N: i haven’t written in months so be gentle with me pls 🙏🏽

It’d been the longest year of your life. Ever since Emperor Geta took over after his father died, your whole life had been turned upside down. Your father died the year prior, finally succumbing to his disease after being refused medical care by the kingdom. And your brother was left to do the only thing he felt was right to take care of your family. Train to be a gladiator. Perform in front of the Emperor and all of Rome to fight for his families survival. Only to not survive himself. Leaving you to take care of your little sister and sickly mother all to yourself.

Of course you blamed the only person you felt was responsible. Geta. He killed your father. He killed your brother. You wouldn’t let him take the last of what you had. So you did what you needed to survive, and stayed far away from his tyrants.

You’d heard of his army walking the markets day to day, blending in with the rest of peasants just to try and find someone stealing. They would take them to the temple and cut their hands off, cut their tongue out, maybe even behead them then and there. But you were smarter than those people. And faster. You had to be.

Before your father died, he always told you that your speed would be your superpower to survive Getas reign. You’d never have to face the torment of being in the arena and using your strength against your neighbors, but you could use your speed against his tyrants.

You spent days running in the slums, back and forth until you couldn’t breathe again. Or until you felt like you could’ve lost them. You knew you were ready for anything. Considering you did steal food to survive, you had to be.

You never thought you’d get caught. You’d been doing it for months now, and it seemed that only the elderly were the ones being dragged back to the kingdom. Call it population control if you will. But your time was surely coming to an end, and you could feel it.

You took your weekly walk down to the market, keeping your hood up and frequently looking out for suspicious vendors and customers. You’d seen people dragged away enough to know what they’d look like. They weren’t very good at disguising themselves. To you at least.

You tried to go to different stands each week so they wouldn’t catch on to you. You found a nice fruit stand with more colorful berries than you’d ever seen in your life.

You approached the stand as you practiced your distraction tactic in your head. You took a look around the stand, asking the man about how much he gets each week to sell, making him turn around to look in his inventory, giving you the perfect chance to quickly shove pints and pints of fruit in your bag.

Before he could turn back around, you were gone. Quickly walking through the market fast enough to be out of his eyesight but not fast enough to cause a scene.

You’d made it halfway down the road, just long enough to think you’d gotten away with it until you felt two pairs of hands gripping on each of your arms tightly.

“Little girl thought she got away, huh?” A deep voice husks behind your ear. You don’t fight it. No point in fighting when they’ve already made up their mind. And they are clearly much stronger than you.

You just roll your eyes as you let them walk you towards the kingdom. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you as they practically carry you towards the kingdom, but you pay them no mind. Your father always told you there was no reason to fight.

Once you reach the castle, the anger in you bubbles more and more. Knowing two people you loved died here made you want to rip the ugly brown wallpaper off of the walls and break down the pillars.

The men carry you up the steps to a large room bolted down with a big gold chain. You don’t even bother being nervous or anxious about what’s behind that door. You know your fate is decided the second your name is mentioned to the emperor.

One of the men unlock the chain while the other holds your arm even tighter. You’ve made no signs of struggle so you don’t exactly understand why they have to bruise your arm in the process. The door opens to reveal a long hallway, covered with a red and gold carpet leading to a throne. You’d recognize that throne anywhere. Along with the man who sits on it.

The walk down the runway seems like hours, as the man you despise most in this world stares you down with his wide brown eyes.

“You’re dismissed.” He says in a dark tone. The two men let go of your arms and bow before Geta before turning and leaving the room. Bolting the door down once again behind you.

“Most people bow when they see me.” He says, his legs and arms spread comfortably on the soft throne paid for by his slaves.

“I’m not most people.” You stand tall in front of him, keeping eye contact. “...your highness.” You smirk before playfully bending your knee and bowing in front of him.

Geta scoffs before standing up from his throne, slowly making his way towards you. “You look familiar.” His breath lingers down your skin as he circles around your body, his arms behind his back.

“You killed my father… and my brother.” You can see the gears click in his mind as he stops right in front of you. He places his hand roughly under your chin making you shiver. He forcefully turns your head both ways before nodding. “Caius’ daughter. How could I forget those innocent eyes?”

Your breathing gets heavier as you remember everything this man has put your family through. You spit on his cheek, making him quickly shuffle back. He chuckles under his breath, looking up at you as he wipes your saliva off of his face. “I should have you hung for that alone.”

“You’re going to kill me anyways. What else do I have to lose?” You get down on your knees, placing your hands behind your back as you ready yourself for the knife that is knowingly going to come to your neck.

“Who ever said anything about killing you? I surely didn’t.” He steps closer to you, leaning down to place his hand under your chin once again, this time softer. “Who could kill such a pretty little whore like you?” He lifts your head up to look at him, smirking as your eyes meet his once again.

He roughly pushed your head away as he steps back, slowly untying his robe. “I’ve already done enough damage to you, don’t you think?” He smirks, dropping his robe to reveal his extremely toned naked body. His cock jumps up to his stomach in anticipation, and as much as you hate him, you can’t take your eyes off of it. “In return for letting you live, I say you do a little something for me, don’t you think?” He spits in his hand, moving it down to stroke his cock as you watch on your knees. “You’re already in the position… it’s only fair.”

He moves back to his throne, sitting with his legs spread as he continues to stroke himself. Your mouth salivates at the image alone. You get up from your knees, slowly walking towards him until you’re standing in between his legs.

“I’d rather die than do anything to serve you.” You spit on him once again. Before you can turn around, he grabs you by the wrists and pulls you down on to your knees, holding your hair in one hand so you can’t move.

“This wasn’t an option.” He grabs his cock with his other hand, tapping it on your cheek before roughly shoving it into your mouth. You can’t help but moan the second you taste his salty seed lingering out the tip. “The good girl likes it, too.” He chuckles.

You look up at him with fire in your eyes, slowly bobbing your head up and down his hard member. You keep your arms behind your back and let him take control. That is all he wants after all. You watch as he throws his back in pleasure, moaning loud enough you’re sure the rest of the kingdom can hear you.

He grips your hair tighter with each movement of your mouth, pulling you every which way he wants you to go. “Your mouth is so wet and tight. Can’t wait to see what that perfect cunt feels like.”

You quickly pull off of him, removing one of your hands from your back to stroke him. “You never said anything about fucking me.”

“Oh, but I just did.” He smirks, leaning down to grab your hips and pull you into his lap. “You thought you were going to get away without me feeling your cunt wrapped around my cock?” He grinds into you, his hands roaming up and down your sides. You can’t help but to grind with him, moaning into his hair as he attaches his mouth to your neck.

His hand reaches down to lift up your skirt, revealing no underwear underneath. He moans into your neck as his fingers trace along your wet slit. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him closer to you as you grind your pussy along his hand.

You reach down to palm his cock, making him moan even louder if that was possible. “Need to feel you already.” He whines as he pulls your shirt up, his mouth immediately sucking on your nipples.

You grab his cock and run the tip along your slit, smirking as you tease him. “Never thought I’d have the Emperor of Rome begging me to fuck him.” You laugh, still riding the tip of his cock.

He growls, grabbing his cock and quickly thrusting up into you. You gasp loudly, gripping his neck tighter than before. He wraps his arms around your back, thrusting into you hard. You match his movements with the bounce of your own hips, leaving both of you a moaning mess.

You can feel your own arousal leaking out and coating both of your thighs. The sounds emitting from this room were obscene, and you just hoped the Gods would forgive you.

You roll your hips faster against him as you feel the familiar coil burn in your stomach quickly. His cock twitches inside of you, making your ego bigger than it already was coming into this room.

“You’re going to cum.” You say breathily, gripping him by his hair to make him look at you. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks in your eyes with his mouth open as he thrusts into you one last time. His hands grip your hips tightly as you feel him dripping out of you. The feeling is enough to make you shake as you reach your own high.

You hold him by his hair tightly, your hips still slowly rolling against his as your both catch your breath. It doesn’t take long for him to remove you from his lap. He grips your hips and swiftly places you back on your feet.

“You may be dismissed now.” He says quietly, clearing his throat as he looks down at his feet.

“Nothing to clean me up at least?” You respond, looking at him even though he isn’t doing the same.

“You’re a peasant. You walk around dirty anyways.” He scoffs.

You walk close to him, lifting your skirt and placing a leg on either side of his thigh. You slide yourself down his thigh until it’s coated in your juices before hopping off.

You fix your skirt, smoothing it out as you smirk up at him. “Your highness.” You bow, pulling your skirt out each way before turning around and walking yourself out. Leaving Geta speechless… for now.

#emperor geta #emperor geta smut #emperor geta fic #joseph quinn #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fic

536 notes · View notes

lethalchiralium · 2 months ago

Text

Waiting Room | Happiness Series

a/n: yes, i’m posting twice in the same month! crazy lol (always thanking my lovely @as-is-above-so-below for editing)

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, medical stuff, injuries, simon spiraling

The ICU is bare at this time of night. There are no alarms for nurses to attend to, and the lights are dimmed. The doors shut, and meal trays were taken away hours ago. Triangle lights above the doors are filled in with red or green lights. The only sound in the corridor is of boots thumping against the floor.

Calloused hands gripped the nurse’s counter. Your name prattled quickly off his tongue with a question of where you were. A room named off, and he was already out of sight, running and escaping the nurse calling him to come back. When he reached your room, his hand didn’t tremble as it did the whole way to the hospital. He calmly and slowly pushed the door open.

All he saw was no bed, and John Price sitting on the couch below the window, hunched over and murmuring into the phone against his ear. He looked up and ended the call, standing quickly to walk towards him.

“Simon-”

“Where is she?”

“Still in surgery.”

“What the fuck happened?”

Price stiffened slightly, and the air between them suddenly stifled. Simon’s dry eyes stared him down, and Price could feel his failure crushing him. He promised to keep them safe and sound, yet here they were, barely thirty minutes into emergency surgery before your husband arrived.

“According to Laswell, she made them take Winnie to the park–her and Roach. She was home with Mel and König when they were ambushed.hey shot him, and took the girls.” He looked down at his phone, then pulled up the pictures of the damage to his front entrance–showing them to Simon. “…Your father took them to a cabin in the Lakes District witht he intention of selling her and Melody to traffickers, in a bid to exploit you for money.”

His heart began to race, hard, like a hammer against museum glass. Shattering it into his ribcage, the thumps of his lungs against his liver and spine like an out-of-control wave.

“She escaped with Melody, and uh… well.” Price swiped, and Simon was met with a caved-in face. But, he picked out the silvery scars on his father’s forehead from when he beat him himself, many years ago. “She beat the shit out of him.”

“Is he dead?”

“He is.”

Pride would be the word he was looking for, if not for how intense the injuries were to his father’s face. Your hands must be mush. “Good.”

“She was found in a valley. She tucked Melody in a dense fir tree; she has some scrapes and bruises, and was freezing to the touch, but we found her. She was calling for your wife.” Price slid the phone into his pocket, settling back on his heels. “Only reason we found them was because she was crying. She’s upstairs in the NICU; Laswell and Roach are there with Winnie, whenever you’re ready to see them.”

“Okay.”

Yet, he made no hurry to move from his spot, hovering in the center of the near-empty ICU room, the space left for your bed, the machines that would be attached to you, and the fear that would radiate off of you and permeate the silence like no other sound. Could he leave this spot to check on his children? Could he escape the betrayal he indirectly caused when he failed to protect you? Would he be able to pretend that he isn’t full of rage for his superiors, barring him from keeping his promise? But, should he be able to stay upset with Price, his closest friend, in finding and saving his wife and child?

Could, would, should. All words with no meaning without action.

Simon’s eyes met John’s, and a brief silence fell upon them.

“Go see the girls, Simon.”

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation, “I can’t.”

John didn’t even breathe before speaking again, “Then stay. I will go sit with them.” He quickly ushered Simon into the chair he had occupied only moments before. Simon practically collapsed into it. His head in his hands, heart torn into shreds of silken fabric, drowning in a sea of despair. The thin plastic chair would do nothing to soothe his aching bones, his body a fresh arrival from London to base an hour ago. Never did he imagine he would have to rush home, in the midst of a panic attack over losing you the way he lost Grace, losing another unborn baby, and his infant. He didn’t dare pretend like he could hold this weight, the fear, the panic, the imagination of the sound of your screams.

There, in the white chair after thirty-six hours of being awake, he watched John leave him alone. And there, leaned over his knees, he let out whimpers that sounded much like the ones that escaped him as a child.

He didn’t wake again until he heard a collection of clicking. His arms tightened across his chest as he heard footsteps fade away. He rolled his head up before opening his eyes - all he saw was the hospital bed, and your figure covered by thick blankets, nodes pressed onto your forehead like thorns on a rose, a breathing tube taped to your chapped lips, and a level of calm on your face that he’d seen only a few times. The sound of the chair screeching across the floor, closer to the bed, closer to the iodine smell that permeated the room from you. His hand slipped under the warming blankets, lifting it to seek out your arm, gazing at the wrapping on your hand before he settled his own on the undamaged skin of your forearm. Covering you again, he silently thanked the nurse for keeping the bed rail tucked away. He leaned forward and settled his head against his arm - listening to the soft wheeze of the breathing machine.

His mind was void of words, but his tongue spoke from the root of his pain, just a gentle, “I failed you.”

In the dim light from above the bed, Simon’s thumb traced warm circles on your lukewarm skin, and he closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember before he left for the hospital, couldn’t remember the mission, only…emptiness. An overwhelming urge to vomit ichor into his lap as he sped through red lights. A softened part inside his stone-cold heart rotted, black like tar, gooey and burning every inch of his injured rib cage.

His lungs filling with warm breaths, fighting to ignore the iodine stench only found him asleep again, body hunched over as if to find some solace in protecting you now - when the void of his betrayal burned harsher than the dance of bourbon on his tongue.

Simon doesn’t greet your brother, and doesn’t dare move his temple from the blanket tucked beside his head, eyes glued to the TV in the dusty corner of the room. Below it hung a whiteboard detailing your name, age, gender, and nurses. Following that was a rotation with the times they would be by for checks, medication, replacing the cold blankets with warm ones, and moving you so bed sores don’t grow on your already fragile skin. The BBC show wasn’t anything interesting, not his favorite but something to do that wasn’t throwing up what little breakfast he had into the trash can.

He’d been visiting Mellie the morning before, brought in by Price after she was discharged. Her one-day hospital stay was officially over, and he had finally seen her - but guilt nestled in his esophagus as he pressed his nose into her scalp, her little body curled as far as it could into his chest. He would have been a better father to tend to her first, but the thought of losing you was more apocalyptic than he ever imagined. He couldn’t leave this room, could barely piss in the bathroom without the door open to keep an eye on you, and barely spoke to anyone who came in; whether it be a nurse or the task force, they were all given silence in exchange for their pleas for him to go home, take a shower, get a fresh set of clothes.

“You smell like shit, dude.”

Jake, your older brother, moved a chair beside Simon on his right, his hand gently patting your ankle as he sat. Your husband may have snapped at him if he wasn't absent from his mind. Simon was nestled in a deep corner of his consciousness, only pretending to be human for his friends and children as he rotted beside you.

He didn’t answer his brother-in-law, eyes flickering from character to character on the screen, as if that was a good-enough distraction from his painful thoughts.

“That Soap guy said you haven’t showered in four days. You smell like it, go take a shower.”

Simon huffed out a humorless chuckle. “Not leavin’ her.”

Jake paused for a moment, pensive for just a millisecond. “The bathroom is right there. Yes, she’s protected at all times with you here, but she’s safe when I’m here too. So go. I’m sure she wouldn’t want to smell your ass when she wakes up.”

“Fuck off, Jake.”

“You have to at least wipe down if I’m going to sit next to you. You reek.”

“Then don’t.”

“Not a chance, bud.”

A gentle but firm hand settled on Simon’s shoulder, and he barely reacted, only a rumble of disapproval from his throat. He wanted to wretch his shoulder backwards, get Jake’s hand off, scream at him, ask him what makes him think he’s right. Ask what made him think he truly knew the answer to Simon’s mistake, miscalculation, the broken promise that lay like glass at his feet. What makes him think that Simon could accept his help at all?

He would’ve fought his brother-in-law off if there was any point, but he had been sitting at your bedside for two days straight and you hadn’t woken up yet - even when they shined lights in your pupils, checked your wounded hand, adjusted nodes on your forehead, checked the back of your head. So Simon found himself standing, Jake’s hands ushering him to the bathroom, but he slammed his hand against the door when Jake tried to close it.

“Leave it open. Wanna see her.”

Jake didn’t make a sound, just gave an understanding nod. “Try to use the curtain. I’d like to avoid seeing your dick, and I’m sure the nurses would appreciate it.”

Simon doesn’t even remember keeping the curtain open, getting under the hot spray, and just… standing there. The water hit the crown of his head, spilling down and over his face, his chest, his stomach - his body ached from the lowest muscles in his calves to the tenderness nestled in the nape of his neck, yet he could feel nothing in between. No tremor of his lungs, no twitch in his bad knee, no rumble of his heartbeat. Even as the scalding water cascaded over his lips, eyes, and cheeks, he felt nothing. No prick in his eye to cry, as if he had already cried everything out and had nothing left to give.

There was nothing in this hospital room shower, just a shell of a man who wanted nothing more than to switch places with you.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Mess with her hair.”

The wrapping around your head was changed this morning, leaving more of your hair visible, and Jake was combing it with the shitty brush he bought down at the gift shop. “She always had a thing for her hair to be untangled. It bothered her a lot as a kid.” He set the brush down by your side, his fingers quickly remembering the braiding motion as he continued to speak softly, “Learned how to braid on her dolls so I could braid her hair for her. She didn’t like Mom or Dad doing it, only me.”

Simon rested his head on his arm again, watching the morning news. “Looks like shit.”

“I’m out of practice. Like you could do any better.”

“I have two daughters. I can do better.”

Jake could only half chuckle, almost lifeless. For a few moments, the only sounds were the breathing machine, the rustle of your hair, and footsteps approaching the door. Simon raised his head, watching over you like a hawk as the door creaked open; his hackles relaxed instantly as Winnie bounded in, followed by Price, who held Mellie. Simon was quick to sit back, allow his child to climb into his lap, and bury her face in his neck - he cradled Winnie close, kissing her hair and reclining back.

Her hair was in a messy ponytail, curls unruly and Simon felt acidic bile creep up his throat when she started crying.

She couldn’t say a word; neither could he, when he truly needed to. He needed to comfort his daughters, tell them that everything would be okay, that the doctors are taking care of Mama. He should be taking accountability with his children for failing to uphold his promises, yet, he kept his lips pressed to his eldest’s hair. His hand rubbed light circles on her shoulder blade, his eyes flickering to his brother-in-law and then his brother-in-arms. His infant was curled identically into Price’s chest, her little fists grabbing at the worn Metallica shirt, curls finger-brushed, onesie covered by a thick coat. Simon’s eyes fell back to you, the braid settled against your shoulder as Jake moved to the side, gently rubbing your bicep for a moment.

“You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to take care of her hair,” Jake mumbled. Simon didn’t miss the tears that rimmed the man’s eyes.

Simon didn’t make a sound, listening to his daughter’s sniffling as Price spoke, “She’s been taking care of everyone but herself, and we will keep taking care of her.”

Winnie whimpered; Simon kissed her hair again, keeping her close for as long as she’d let him.

12:39 am. Simon could barely make the time out from across the room. The heel of his hand rubbed into his eye, and he flipped up his phone, squinting to see the date. Four days. Four days since you were rushed here, four days since he hasn’t left you alone. A sigh settled deep in his bones as he let his phone fall, his tingling hand gently rubbing your forearm before he leaned up, wiping his face. He flicked the crust from his eye away, turning to look at you before laying his head down again.

His eyes fluttered closed, his stomach churning just a little before he settled again. His chest weighed like a bell, his heart laying limp in the comfort of his cushioning lungs, his mind wandering, pondering whether he would ever see your eyes again-

He sat up instantly; your eyes were staring at him, wide, almost painful. The look made his stomach roar, his hackles raised, eyebrow furrowed, eyes full of tears and concern.

“Sweetheart, it’s me, it’s okay-”

An alarm blared from your heart monitor, and the call button you rapidly pressed with your less injured hand. Simon’s heart clenched as your tears mirrored his, and the sound of you choking on the breathing tube made his stomach acid toss like salad dressing. He stood, and you flinched; he knew what was happening. He scrambled away, found the switch for the blinding overhead light, and flipped it before he moved to you again. The flood of tears in his eyes made it hard to see you recognize him, but you did. You reached for him as the door burst open - making you jerk again, a whine-like cry escaping your throat.

You thought he was Lloyd.

Simon couldn’t blame you. He spent years breaking mirrors because he looked like his father, his abuser.

He stumbled back, his wrist to his nose as nurses flooded your bedside, his eyes never leaving you. The nurse closest to him helped remove the breathing tube while the other injected something into your IV, and the last furiously typed on the computer. Simon could only keep himself a few steps away, listening to the sound of your whimpers and watching your weak attempts to move away from the help. His nails met his teeth, the quick already bloodied as he had chewed them down two nights ago. The emptiness in his chest had surged as if it was a flood, knocking his respiratory system around like a ping-pong ball against his ribcage. He couldn’t breathe, his heart felt as if it was beating so fast that it would catch fire, the tears leaking into his mouth were like acid.

Of course, you would think he’s Lloyd, the man humorlessly chuckling in his clouded head. Simon looked so much like him that they could be considered brothers, not father and son.

A deep part of him knew this would happen. The one thing Simon fought the hardest to protect was an easy domino to fall, the most direct way to get Simon’s attention, hit him where it could and would hurt the most. He’s kneeling and bleeding, his heart pouring blood as he has to watch his wife cry out when a nurse even grazes her skin.

Simon would be lying if he said he could handle this.

He doesn’t get frustrated with you when you turn your face a little to the left when he brings the spoon to your lips. He put it back into the ceramic bowl as he softly sighed to himself. You’ve barely eaten all morning since they took out the breathing tube, visiting hours are almost starting and Jake would be here, asking a million questions that Simon would need to answer. If the best you could do was five half spoonfuls of broth, it would have to do. He pushed the rolling table away, moving the blankets farther up on your abdomen and tucking it close to your body. Your gaze felt like knives on him, he was barely strong enough to look at your face when the profound sense of guilt only seemed to take his words. He refused to be upset with you when your hand touched his, even though he felt like he needed to rip his skin off.

Your thumb brushed over his bruised knuckles as he kept his hand settled on your hip, staring at the minute gesture that meant so much before, but now… felt bitter. Simon would have thrown up again, recognizing the way your comfort now felt painful.

“You gotta eat more later.” He mumbled, hunched over your bed, wanting to rip his hand from yours but also needing it to stay there. “You need to sleep too, you have to be tired- Ow!”

He looked up at your face, ignoring the dark bruise on your throat, to see just a little smirk. You had pinched his hand, and he furrowed his brows, confused.

“Was that funny?”

A tiny movement like a nod, and he huffed out a flat laugh. His free hand raised a little, in your vision, before slowly moving to settle on your face. He hovered his thumb along the bruise on your cheekbone, his fingers cradled your jaw like porcelain. Your head only moved into him, eyes never moving from him. He wasn’t sure you’d ever be able to look at him like Simon again, after your reaction a couple hours ago. He wouldn’t blame you at all if you couldn’t. He wouldn’t blame you if you left him after this, take the girls and move far, far away from him and everything that came with him - enemies, lies, pain. He wasn’t even sure how safe you were now and that killed him, destroyed his sense of safety and replaced it with so much fear.

“Mel…ody.”

Simon snapped back into reality where your eyes were narrowed slightly staring at him, and he instantly answered. “She’s safe. Just some bruising, she’s home with Jake and Price and Soap.”

Relief washed over your face, your head settled back on the pillow as your gaze finally moved to the ceiling. It’s at times like this where he wished he struggled to know what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. But, he could read you like an open book.

“You did good,” He spoke, your name escaping like the prayer he needed days ago, “Our baby is safe. Mellie’s okay.”

You pinched him again before you looked back at him, and he let his thumb lightly graze your bruise, you didn’t even flinch.

“New one’s okay too.”

A whine escaped your throat, tears instantly falling from your face as relief washed over it. He patted your hip.

“You did good, Mama. Did really fuckin’ good.”

#lethalchiralium #happiness series #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x wife!reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x wife!reader

244 notes · View notes

seeingivy · 2 years ago

Text

king of my heart

satoru gojo x f!reader

maybe satoru gojo, the man you were arranged to marry by your very annoying parents, was the one you were waiting for all along

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: arranged marriage trope, megumi + tsumiki kiddos, annoying parents, mentions of drinking + prom/highschool LOL

an: taylor swift satoru gojo propoganda returns.

You hold the vase of tulips in your hands, your palms sweating against the glass secured in his hands. You sincerely hope your anxiousness doesn’t make you drop the flowers before you can hand them to Mrs. Gojo. That would be a disaster.

Your parents are behind you, locking up your car and fussing over your outfit. Your mother had picked out a pale, baby blue dress for you, a modest cut but flattering your best features (according to her) - your hips, shoulders, collarbones. She’d given you a sparkling silver necklace to match, to draw attention to you. You silently wonder when she became such a conniver, hand picking your best traits to put on display for the Gojo family.

Your father’s mimicking her motions, taming down your stray hairs. You had braided the front pieces of your hairs just behind your ears and curled the rest of your loose hair to perfection. Your mothers request, of course. He’s less anal than her about the entire affair, but you don’t miss his nervous twitching as you walk up to the door.

The only person you can stand is your little brother, Saiki, who's been rolling his eyes since we started driving here. He thinks the entire proceeding is archaic, which it is, and has vehemently been making his disapproval known. He would keep it going, but there was talk of grounding on the table, which silenced him all together.

The four of you gather on the steps of the Gojo's mansion. You prepare yourself, mentally running through the steps your mother had drilled into you since you started meeting potential suitors a few months ago. Polite nod to the husband, hand the flowers and press a kiss to the wife, a shy smile to the suitor.

The three of them are crowded at the door, Satoru Gojo towering over the two of them. You’d heard of him before, your mother mentioning that their family was one of the most esteemed business owners in our entire social circle. She had never had the pleasure of making her acquaintance, which killed her every night (you’re sure of it), until now. A mutual friend had mentioned the Gojo family was looking for their daughter in law to “perfect their set” and your mother was all too willing to offer you up on a silver platter.

You do as your told. You knew you would have to anyway and struggling was useless. Plus, you’d sworn off love as of late anyways. This is what you were primed for - that shiny medical degree, your private pediatric practice - they’re all sparkly little gimmicks meant for this. A selling point.

The door opens and you start. First, a polite nod to Mr. Gojo, who gives you a chill with his stare. His eyes are void of warmth, the cerulean blues staring back into your eyes. His hands are cold when you press them together to shake, the same cold gaze being exchanged with your parents over the back of your shoulder.

Second, flowers and a sweet kiss to Mrs. Gojo. She dotes over the tulips, in a polite way, before dismissing them away to the servants you didn’t notice standing against the wall. You thank the servant for taking the vase, giving a warm smile before pressing a kiss to Mrs. Gojo’s cheek. Ice cold.

Third, a shy smile to the suitor. Whatever the fuck that means. You meet his gaze, half obscured by the sunglasses he was wearing indoors. He’s dressed in a buttoned up white shirt, the sleeves rolled past his forearms. The slacks are pressed to perfection, his shoes shined so well you could use them as a mirror. You give him a smile, which he halfheartedly returns. It seems he’s more interested in talking to Saiki than you.

The seven of you walk down the length of the hall, the table set up with white lilies and silver tablemats. Mrs. Gojo turns to Satoru, insisting that he take you and Saiki on a tour. Satoru nods, begrudgingly, before gesturing to you and Saiki to follow him up the stairs.

When you reach the top of the stairs, Satoru turns to a painting on the left, a painted portrait of his family when he was way younger. They all have solemn looks on their face, Satoru’s hinting on the borderline of irritation and boredom. Before Satoru can start his riveting spiel, Saiki interrupts him.

“Are you really going to make us do a real tour? Do you have video games or something till we have to go back?”

You dig your hand into his shoulder, bending down to his height and squeezing slightly.

“Saiki. Be nice.”

“Mom’s not nearby, you know?”

“She has superhuman, x-ray vision, Saiki. I bet she can see you from here.”

The two of you laugh and you ruffle his hair before you stand up again. You pat down the pleats of your dress, drying your palms against the fabric, as you turn back to Satoru.

“We don’t actually have to do a tour if you don’t want to. I have Mario Kart in my room.”

You and Saiki shoot him glimmering smiles, following him down the length of the hallway. He opens his bedroom door for you, the room the exact opposite of the perfectly proper, museum like decor downside.

His walls are navy blue and littered in posters and pictures. You can see his diploma hung up on the wall, right next to a poster for the Spongebob movie.

“I’m shocked they even let you do this.”

“They didn’t, Y/N. I just did it anyway.”

You nod at his words, turning your neck back to the walls. Saiki and Satoru sit on the floor, legs crossed, playing the game as you take a moment at each section, observing all the pictures. He has what seems like twenty or thirty pictures of his friends - sleeping in class, sitting by a lake, studying in a library. You don’t miss the multiple pictures of the girl with dark hair, a scar pressed against her nose. Especially the one of him kissing her cheek.

The other picture that stands out is a picture of Satoru himself, from when he was younger. The picture was clearly taken from above, an exasperated look pressed on little Satoru’s face. You can’t help but think he looks sad, lonely in the picture and commit it to memory. Your parents were more irritating than most, but Saiki got you through.

You settle down onto the floor next to them, Saiki handing his controller as you start to play.

“One more round and we should head back.”

You nod, playing the game, the pictures rattling around in your head.

The dinner is horrible, obviously. You were seated in between Satoru and his father, with Saiki exiled all the way at the end of the table. You shoot him glances every few seconds, trying your best not to smile at his very clear distaste for it all.

You can sense the dynamics fitting into your mind, observing every little thing to better understand what you were getting into. After all, the Gojo’s were going to be your family in a few months, whether you liked it or not.

Satoru has a clear distaste for his parents. His father, more than his mother. You can just tell by the way they look at each other. You think back to the picture, the one of him when he was younger, and can’t help but wonder if his father took it.

After dinner, your parents and Satoru’s convince force the two of you to take a walk along the garden, alone. You nod, preparing yourself for what was coming. A moonlit walk, pleasantries, and a ring secured on your finger by the end of the walk.

The two of you walk in silence, a respectable distance between the two of you. You can smell his cologne as you walk next to him, the breeze in the air making the hair on your arms stand up.

You press your hands across your arms, entering the gazebo with Satoru. The two of you take a seat on the bench in the middle, keeping a respectable distance.

“Y/N.”

“Can I say something first?”

He nods, leaning over the bench to meet your eyes. The only light in the gazebo is from the tiny, sparking fairy lights around the interior, the moon shining through the openings on the side. You can’t help but wonder if things were different, that this might have been the happiest moment of your life.

“I would like to be married by name. I figure you have a girlfriend, that girl from the pictures in your room with the scar on her nose, and that’s fine. I’d just like to keep it up for images to satisfy both of our parents, since I figure yours are as relentless as mine.”

The two of you sit in silence, the words hanging in the air. You focus on the lilies growing by the edge of the opening, wilting in the air of the night.

“You’d be okay with that?”

“I was never expecting us to fall in love. We just have to do what we’re asked, keep our own lives outside of it.”

He nods, the silence returning. You can see the gears moving in his head, considering your offer. After a few minutes, he removes a dark green box from his pocket, sliding it over to your side of the bench. You open the box to find a sparkling, modest cut diamond secured around a gold band.

You take it into your hand, taking out the diamond ring and placing it on your ring finger. You stick your hand out, staring at the sparkling ring on your finger.

He shoots you a genuine smile, shaking his hand in yours. Deal.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, Satoru.”

He secures his hand in your own as the two of you walk back down the path. Your parents are all too delighted, everyone pressing warm kisses to your cheek as they take your hand in their own.

The business deal is set. Your parents deal with each other and yours with Satoru. You can feel Saiki’s hand shaking in yours, trying to hide his upsetness at you. You reach down to ruffle his hair, shaking your head at him as the four of you head back home.

You and Satoru are married by the end of the month.

“I have a secret.”

You’re currently standing in Satoru’s driveway, your driveway now, with your boxes lined up on the sidewalk. Your parents had insisted that you move in with him, now that you were married. You had to oblige.

All in all, your marriage with Satoru was pleasant. You guys went out to dinner every night, exchanging pleasantries over an expensive meal Satoru bought you. The two of you often shared jokes, trying to ease the tension. He updated you on his relationship with the girl, Utahime was her name, and you talked to him about work. You find out that his relationship is anything but stable, the two of them fighting like it was breathing. He likes to hear about your coworkers, the patients you saw that day, how you like the workplace.

It felt more like hanging out with a friend, but there was always an invisible, silent wall between the two of you. You were married. You had to have kids together. Grow old together. He doesn’t talk about it. Neither do you. You’ll breach that when you get there.

“What’s your secret, Satoru?”

“I have kids.”

“If there’s a zoo animal inside that house, I’ll run you over with my car.”

Satoru loves to prank you. You get irritated with him very easily, which you’re aware goads him on even more, but you can’t help it. He’s an idiot.

But this time, he places his hands on your shoulder, squeezing twice. His sunglasses are hanging from the collar of his shirt, his usually obscured eyes peering into yours. No sign of a joke in them. You gesture to the steps on the porch, the two of you sitting down against them.

“You’re a manwhore? You got a girl pregnant and then had to raise it by yourself?”

“Obviously. The woes of a single father.”

You laugh, leaning your neck back. The sunlight is sprinkling onto your skin through the leaves, the beams kissing your skin. It’s a nice feeling, the breeze tickling the wisps of your hair. You can feel Satoru staring at you through the corner of your eyes and you turn your head to the side to look at him.

“Their dad passed away. I took them in after, just because I didn’t want them to be alone. Their names are Megumi and Tsumiki, they’re five and eight. I really hope you like kids, they’re really well-behaved.”

You turn to face him, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You’re kidding right? Did you just ask me if I like kids?”

“Well yeah, you’re going to be living with them, I was just wondering.”

“Do you ever listen to me when I talk? Do you even know what I do for a job?”

“Um…”

You burst out laughing, the tears rolling through your eyes.

“You’re ridiculous, Satoru Gojo. I’m a pediatrician. Like a baby doctor. Like I full on go to work everyday and see children all day.”

He pushes you over, grumbling about how you were still laughing at him, about how it was an honest mistake to make. When your tears subside, he reaches his hand out to you, pulling you up to enter the room. The two of you shuffle the boxes to the edge of the door and pad into the foyer. Satoru grabs your hand, pulling you in to meet Tsumiki and Megumi.

Tsumiki extends her hand, introducing herself politely to you. You bend down, reaching in your pocket for the lollipops you always had in hand, and don’t miss the glowing smile when you hand it to her. You turn to your side to look at Satoru, whose rolling his eyes at you.

At the sight of Megumi, you can tell he doesn’t look quite right. His face is flushed pink, his forehead covered in beads of sweat. He can barely keep his head up, eyes wavering at the sight of you. You reach down, pressing your hand against his forehead.

“Satoru. He’s sick.”

“Are you sure?”

“Satoru, I’m a doctor. Do you have anything on hand?”

At the sound of your words, Satoru enters into a full blown panic, grabbing basically any medicine and blanket he had in the nearby vicinity. You examine him, asking his sister how long he had been feeling this way, laying him down on his back and administering the medications Satoru had brought you.

When things settle down, with Megumi’s eyes fluttering open and Tsumiki running her hands through his hair, you join Satoru in the kitchen behind them. He’s nervously watching the two of them from the back, his eyes still pinched in worry.

You link your arm through his own, preparing the parent pep talk you give your patients every day.

“It’s okay, Satoru. Kids get sick all the time.”

He nods, his eyes still fixed on Megumi.

“It was a good thing I was here, really. He’s going to be okay, I promise.”

Megumi speaks up from the couch, his grumpy voice permeating the air.

“Satoru would have killed me if you weren’t here”

You turn your head to face Satoru, expecting to find annoyance pressed on his face. Instead, he’s broken out into a full smile, shaking your hands in his and thanking you profusely.

“That’s a good sign?”

“Kid always loves to give me attitude. If he’s well enough to make a dig at me, he’s perfectly fine.”

“Can’t blame the kid. I would do it too.”

“First, I get an malevolent kid and then a malevolent wife? No breaks for Satoru Gojo.”

“Woe is you.”

You roll your eyes, joining Megumi back at his side to take his vital signs again. The two of you share a knowing look, ignoring Satoru’s joking pouts and comments in the back.

You can’t help but smile at the two of them, their soft hands clasped in each other as they fall asleep on the couch after a few minutes. After a few minutes, you and Satoru carry them back to their beds, giving each other a high five before heading to your own rooms.

Maybe it won’t be so bad.

Satoru comes home late one Friday, well past Tsumiki and Megumi’s bed times. You had to shower and tuck both of them into bed by yourself, which was irritating.

Satoru reserved Friday nights for Utahime, the two of them going on a secret date somewhere in the city. You had met her once, establishing that you had no intentions of doing anything with her boyfriend, which she was all but understanding of.

You figure that she must love him so much that she’s willing to look past it. You get it, you’d do the same if you were her.

If you were in love. In general. Not in love with Satoru, obviously.

He trails in, ten minutes past midnight to find you sprawled against the couch. You’re wrapped in three blankets, your head poking out of your little cocoon.

“You know what sucks? You got some tonight and I got to tuck two kids into bed.”

He trails to the kitchen counter, no stupid remark in response. You get up from your tiny fort, padding into the kitchen where Satoru is standing. He’s eating a box of macaroons, pushing the last one towards you to eat.

The two of you are leaning over the counter, the silence palpable.

“You okay, Toru? Where’s my usual back talk?”

“Mhm. Kind of broke up with Utahime. Don’t feel like it today.”

You push yourself onto the counter, your legs dangling over the edge. The two of you are the same level now, facing opposite directions. You lean your head against his shoulder, linking your hand with his and pressing twice.

“I’m sorry, Satoru. Want to talk about it?”

“She just got upset that I got married, that's all. Didn’t really understand that it was something I had to do. Said I was doing a little bit too much for her to make up for it and she met someone else.”

You nod, the two of you sitting in silence. You stay that way for a while, your head against his shoulder, your hand in his. You’re rubbing small circles into the side of his hand, your fingers tingling at the contact.

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“When I got my heart broken, all I could think about was how I wanted it to be him so bad. He meant everything to me and I’d do anything to be the one next to him.”

“Heartbroken? You never told me that.”

“Yeah. It was a few years ago. He didn’t feel the same about me as I did about him.I]”

“Did you date anyone after?”

“I waited for someone, the person who was meant for me. I kind of gave up as time went on, swearing off of it all together. It’s partially why I struck the deal I did with you. If I was going to be forced to marry someone, he could at least be someone nice, a friend I could keep.”

He sits quietly, pondering your words. He’s leaned his head against yours, the two of you sitting quietly. The only sound is your breaths, inhaling and exhaling in sync.

“You think I’m nice?”

“I’m not soothing your ego.”

“Rude. I’m wounded Y/N.”

You poke the side of his cheek, rolling your eyes at him. You move closer into his embrace, now tangled in his arms. You can hear him whispering against your hair, his lips against your forehead.

“Did it hurt? When he left?”

“Yeah. But, someone told me something and it’s always stuck with me since then. I guess I was trying really hard to make it work, but things like this always sort themselves on their own.”

“What do you mean?”

“The right people were always going to stay. If Utahime and Getou were the right people, they’d still be here, Satoru.”

The two of you stay that way for a while, pressed against each other. Tsumiki and Megumi trail in at the sound of Satoru’s voice, pressing themselves against your legs.

You all sleep together in Satoru’s bed that night. You ignore the stinging in your chest at the thought of Satoru hurting.

You can feel your phone buzzing on the counter, as you tuck the last bit of flowers into Tsumiki’s hair.

toru: hurry up

toru: this kid is gonna shit his pants and i think im scaring him

you: omfg don’t tell me you gave the poor kid a pep talk

toru: kind of. told him id throttle him if tsumiki doesn’t come back from the dance with a smile on her face.

you: satoru gojo, i will hurt you. leave the poor baby alone.

Tsumiki turns around, her pale pink dress falling to her sides. You hear Satoru’s footsteps down the hallway, glaring at him as he joins you two at the door of the bathroom.

“Don’t tell me you left him alone at the dinner table.”

“Megumi is there. He’s staring him down real good.”

You and Tsumiki glare at Satoru and you turn back to Tsumiki to give her the final touches. You press your shiny pink lip gloss in her little hands, settling her hair down as you stand up. You and Satoru move out of the hallway, about to find your way back to the room, but Tsumiki stops you in your wake.

Her hand is pressed against yours, pulling you down.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure thing, Miss Miki. What’s up?”

“Do you think I’m pretty, Y/N?”

“What? Of course, I do Tsumiki. You look lovely. I’m sure Ethan will love it.”

She gives you a shy smile, her eyes wavering on uneasiness.

“You’re very pretty, Tsumiki. I love your dress and your eyes are all sparkly the way you like. Just have fun out there okay? If you’re not having fun with Ethan, you can always have fun with your friends instead.”

She nods, pressing her body against your frame. You squeeze her tight in your frame, Satoru eyeing the two of you on the ground.

“Thanks for always being here, Y/N. I love you.”

Tsumiki lets you go, running off into the kitchen where Ethan is very shyly handing her the little corsage he bought her for the dance. You turn to Satoru, the two of you watching him in the kitchen.

“She loves me.”

“Are you dense? You do know Tsumiki and Megumi both love you right?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t entirely sure of it. I figured they might, but I never thought they’d actually say it to me.”

You pull out your camera, snapping pictures of Tsumiki and Ethan as they press their little flowers to each other’s clothes. Ethan’s parents are waiting in the driveway. They’re driving them to the dance and you and Satoru will be picking them up.

You follow them into the driveway, waving goodbyes as the car makes its way down the road.

“Did you like school dances, Y/N?”

“I never really went, Satoru. No one ever asked me.”

“What? Not even Prom?”

You shake your head, facing away from him as you pull out the dinner the two of you were going to eat. Ice cream. Satoru’s idea, obviously.

“Why didn’t you go?”

“It’s kind of stupid, Satoru.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“You’re keeping secrets? From your husband? Who is he?”

You laugh, playfully pushing him. He gives you a smile, locking his fingers with yours.

“Cmon, tell daddy. I won’t make fun.”

“You’re disgusting. I’m filing for divorce.”

“As if.”

You look down at your hands, his pale, nimble fingers interlocked with yours.

“It’s just stupid. I wanted to go really badly, have my whole special moment. A guy who asks me to the dance, brings me a corsage, matches the color of my dress, and we dance while drinking cheap beer out of solo cups. But no one wanted to do it with me.”

He turns his head to the side, staring down at you.

“Forget it. You’re dumbass was probably Prom King for all I know. You wouldn’t get it.”

You lean against the counter, digging your spoon right into the center of the tub of ice cream, rather angrily, reliving the stupid, pitiful feeling of your teen years.

“I was Prom King.”

“Of course.”

“Hey. I’m sorry you didn’t get your moment, Y/N.”

“I’m glad Tsumiki has someone to do it with. You know, make her feel special, like she’s only girl in the room and all that.”

He presses his forehead against yours, reaching for your spoon to eat some of the ice cream with you. You swat his hand away, which he pouts at.

“It was still a good day. Tsumiki said she loves me.”

“I thought you were kidding about that. Did you really not know that we love you?”

“We?”

“Y/N. You know I love you right?”

You shrug your shoulders, staring at his blue eyes. He cups your face in his hands, squishing your face.

“As smart as you are, you’re really stupid sometimes you know that? How could I not love my wife?”

“You’re stupid.”

You pick up your phone, shooting a text underneath your desk.

you: satoru.

lanky ass mf: yes, oh beloved wife of mine?

you: sleep in the sewage, you gutter rat.

you: I forgot my white coat and my badge at home, can you pLS PLS PLS DROP IT OFF AT THE OFFICE I NEED IT

lanky ass mf: first you call me a gutter rat and then ask me for a favor?

lanky ass mf: no I love you? no light of my life, king of my heart, body, and soul?

you: I will skin you where you stand. PLS JUST BRING WHAT I ASKED

lanky ass mf: ask nicely and i’ll drop it off on the way to work.

you: oh beloved, dear old husband of mine. everyday, my love for you grows exponentially. if you could please spare me some kindness out of your cold, pitiful heart of yours and bring me my white coat in my badge, it would be much appreciated sweet thing

lanky ass mf: i’ll ignore the insult that you threw in there and bring it over in ten, oh lovely wife of mine.

you: ty satoru :DDD

lanky ass mf: ur welcome, sexy :’)

you: wanted: y/n l/n wanted for the vicious, gruesome murder of satoru gojo.

“lanky ass mf disliked your message”

You set down your phone, burying your head in your hands. The practice had been busier as of late, a viral bug passing around all of your patients. And on top of that, you had left your white coat and your badge - which you needed to round - at home. You can feel the tension headache setting in your forehead, bringing your fingers to your temple to soothe it down.

Tsumiki had a field trip today. Satoru dropped her off bright and early but she forgot her permission slip at home. You had to rush over to the school, nearly running onto the school bus to get Tsumiki’s slip in on time.

As promised, Satoru prances in twenty minutes later, your whitecoat and badge in his right hand and a bouquet of tulips in his left hand.

Asshole. You had framed a photo of Satoru, Megumi, and Tsumiki from your birthday and placed it on your desk. The three of them planned a surprise dinner for your birthday and you loved the pictures so much you just had to frame one for your office.

The problem was that ever since then, all your coworkers could talk about is how handsome your husband was. WIth his white hair, sparkling blue eyes - all they could go on about was how beautiful he looked and how cute your kids were. Multiple of them had asked you how he was in bed, which you ignored. Obviously.

You had mentioned it to Satoru in passing, which you’re sure prompted the tulips in his hand. And you know that egomaniac was about to have a field day.

He comes to your side, not missing the shining smiles on your coworkers faces, as he places the tulips in front of you. He beckons you to stand up, holding your white coat open for you to pull your arms in.

You give him a glare as you pull it on and Satoru clips your badge to the pocket.

“I hate you, Satoru Gojo.”

“I love you, sweet pea.”

You can hear your coworkers cooing quietly behind you, walking up to dote on Satoru for bringing you flowers. You can feel him drinking up the attention, giving everyone charming smiles as he secures his arm around your waist.

“Imagine if I told them all you had a girlfriend when you married me.” you whisper in his ear.

He frowns, prodding his fingers into your forehead.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me.”

Satoru places the flowers at the head of your desk, dropping a glass box filled with the noodles you had last night for dinner. He leans over the counter, whispering at you as you fill out the charts for the day.

“Take a break for lunch later and eat this. I’m tired of you coming home hangry and taking it out on me.”

You take the box from him, rolling your eyes before shooting him a smile.

“Thank you, Toru. I appreciate it.”

He smiles at your words, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead before running out of the office. Asshole.

You look down at the tupperware, a sticky note pressed on top.

eat up silly wife - satoru <3

You take the post-it off, pressing it against the frame holding the picture.

“Why did your parents want to meet us again?”

You and Satoru are currently standing on the porch of his parents house, dressed up for the occasion. Satoru’s wearing a buttoned up white shirt, rolled up to his forearms again. He’s wearing a light green tie, intending to match the green, silk dress you had decided to wear.

He asked you to look your best, because he was going to ask his parents for something really important. He said bringing you would be his best bet, so that they feel more inclined to say yes at the perfect sight of the two of you.

“I thought your parents were in Bali. Did they come back early?”

“Yeah. They hated the animals so they came back.”

“The what?”

Satoru reaches forward, ringing the doorbell. The door is opened immediately, the servants answering the door. You wave hello to them all, making your way to the garden where Satoru was leading you.

His hand is clasped in yours, firmly, as he leads you to the back gazebo. He takes you to the direct center, where the two of you had first made your deal, and turns to face you.

“So.”

“My parents aren’t here.”

“I gathered that.”

“Don’t talk back.”

He reaches towards the back of the gazebo, pulling out a plastic box. In the box, there’s a matching corsage and boutonniere, pink flowers surrounded by baby’s breath. You take the box in your hand, meeting his gaze.

“You never got to have your moment. Figured I’d give it to you now.”

You smile, opening the plastic box. Satoru takes the corsage out first, securing it against your wrist. He lifts your hand, pressing a kiss against your knuckles as he does so. You avoid the blood rushing to your cheeks as you take the rest of the flowers out of the box.

You pin the boutonniere against his shirt, smiling at him. You’re unsure when Tsumiki and Megumi joined you, but the flash of Tsumiki’s camera catches you off guard. You give the two of them a smile and they run off hand in hand, leaving the two of you alone again.

“Like it?”

“Love it. They’re very pretty, Satoru. Thank you.”

He reaches back, pulling out a little juke box. He presses play, Ed Sheeran’s Thinking Out Loud playing out of the speaker.

“Did you really pick this song?”

“You wanted your moment. That includes dancing to a cheesy, Ed Sheeran song.”

“You could have left that part out.”

He grabs your hands, placing them around his neck as he secures his own around your waist.

“Nope. Giving you the most authentic, real moment I can.”

The two of you sway, laughing into each other's neck as the song goes on. The song transitions, Taylor Swift’s Sweet Nothing blasting out of the little speaker. You press yourself against his chest, the two of you hugging as you dance in the moonlight.

“I’ve got one more thing for you.”

He reaches out, pulling out a little plastic tiara for you. He secures it on top of your head, pressing your hair down.

“I don’t get it.”

“You’re Prom Queen!”

You press yourself against him again, your cheeks burning against his chest.

“You’re stupid, Satoru.”

“You love it.”

You do love it. The tiara, the dancing, him. You love him.

The two of you return to swaying, your faces a few feet away from each others. You stare into his glimmering eyes, smiling at him. He returns your smile, rolling his eyes at your cheesiness.

“You don’t have a crown.”

“Yeah. Figured if I got to be Prom King and you didn’t during high school, then you get to be Prom Queen right now and I don’t. Even it out.”

“Boo.”

“It’s okay. I know I’m the king of your heart anyways.”

You feel your chest clench, his words sinking into your chest.

“You are.”

“What?”

“The king of my heart. Body and soul, all that cheesy stuff you say.”

“Don’t lead me on. That’s cruel, even for you little lady.”

You stop swaying, bringing your hands down to his.

“I’m being serious. You’re special to me. I was waiting for someone all my life, who made me feel special. That person is you.”

He’s staring into your eyes, the shock spreading across his face.

“You don’t have to feel the same way as me. It’s okay.”

He leans forward, pressing his lips against yours. You’re caught off guard, his hands pulling you closer.

“Toru.”

“Y/N.”

“Do you love me?”

“You’re impossible. I just kissed you.”

“I don’t know. I was a little confused, I guess.”

“I love you, Y/N. You’re my sweet, sweet girl.”

You can feel yourself blushing at his words, trying to fight the doubt settling in your mind.

“Utahime?”

“I thought about what you said. And I realized that the only person who stays by my side is you - through an arranged marriage, two kids I sprung on you, and a literal girlfriend. The right person was you, just took me a second to realize.”

The two of you stand in silence, the lights flickering above you.

“Satoru?”

“Yes, sweet girl?”

“Can you kiss me again?”

He’s all too happy to oblige. He lifts you up, slotting his mouth against yours again. You can feel his hands shaking against your face, his lips desperately pressed around yours.

“Calm down. I’m right here.”

“Cut me some slack. I’ve been waiting to kiss my wife for months now.”

You feel Tsumiki and Megumi return to your side, the two of them sporting cheeky grins at the two of you. Megumi presses something into the small of you hand and you feel for it in your fingers realizing what it was.

A ring.

“Toru.”

“Yes, sweet girl?”

He’s cradling your face and you can’t help but feel like this was going to be the happiest moment of your life. Your face in his hands, your kids hugging you against your legs, smiling at each other.

You hold the ring out, balancing it between your fingers.

“Marry me?”

You slip the ring onto his finger, the two of you walking out of the garden hand in hand like you did the first time.

part two based on enchanted linked here

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

1K notes · View notes