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thesewordsareallihavetogive · 2 years

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ch. 3: A Safe Place to Land - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x nurse!reader

Summary: 5k words. After an unexpected breakup with her long-term boyfriend, y/n had one goal: to keep her head down and finish her travel nursing contract as soon as possible. That was until Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw derailed her plan entirely. Just as y/n finished picking up the pieces of her broken heart, Rooster came along and showed y/n what it’s like to be loved again–if only she’ll let him in.

Warnings: so much is going on, buckle up y’all. descriptions of injury, medical situations, references to a shitty ex, fluffy domestic tingz, references to ~s*xual activities~ (but no actual smut), alcohol mention, violence/assault mention, guys being dudes, & cursing

a/n: hi hi hi!! once again–thank you guys so much for the feedback & support! i love hearing what you have to say & i’m so glad you’re enjoying this series with me 🥰 i took total creative liberty w developing coyote’s character in this chapter ngl. this man did not get enough screen time so i may or may not have modeled his personality after his wonderful actor, greg tarzan davis (beloved). sorry not sorry. enjoy y’all!

series master list | master list

The front desk staff at the base emergency room became pretty familiar with a certain lieutenant over the next few weeks. Rooster made a habit of dropping by the ER after trainings a couple times a week when he knew y/n was on shift. On the third time he came in in less than two weeks, the triage receptionist rolled her eyes.

“Let me guess, Bradshaw for nurse y/n?”

“Yes ma’am,” the pilot grinned widely.

y/n was almost always busy and had her hands full with patients, but she always made time for Bradley.

“What is it this time, Rooster?” y/n asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“I got a paper cut while passing out training schedules to the new students,” he groaned. His puppy dog face was pathetic and y/n was so glad he was never in a position where he’d have to lie for this job. He was a terrible liar.

y/n rolled her eyes and playfully swatted his arm with her clipboard. The butterflies awoke again at the thought that Rooster went out of his way just to see her. She was careful not to be too unprofessional at work, but she couldn’t help but walk the line with Rooster.

y/n was certain Bradley started stubbing his toes on purpose in the hanger so he’d have an excuse to come in. After the second time she refused to make sure his big toe was okay, she banned him from visiting for inconsequential injuries. That didn’t mean he stopped visiting altogether though.

On Rooster’s days off or the rare occasion he had a longer lunch break, he met y/n during her break. His favorite part about visiting her at the ER was the stolen kisses they shared behind the cover of vending machines.

The random visits weren’t one-sided. y/n suddenly took an interest in exploring the unrestricted zones on base and was ‘surprised’ when she bumped into her favorite aviator. There were downsides to venturing outside of the hospital while on base though. After the third time y/n got a glimpse of her ex from afar, she told Rooster she’d rather hang out at either of their houses rather than walk around base together. She didn’t tell him exactly why, but the aviator wasn’t blind. Bradley saw the way she tensed when a specific aircraft carrier team was in the vicinity and it bothered him that y/n’s ex still managed to get under her skin.

On the other hand, Rooster couldn’t complain too much. The trade-off meant that he and y/n spent far more time together off base, where they could both let loose. In the comfort of each other's homes, they didn’t have to stifle laughter or sneak kisses–which might’ve been Rooster’s favorite part of the arrangement.

For the first time in a long time, Rooster looked forward to going home. He was so used to sitting in silence by himself, nursing a beer while a baseball game droned on in the background. Now, his nights were often filled with dumb jokes, dancing in the kitchen, and having y/n sleep over at his house.

Rooster even passed on going out with the squadron to The Hard Deck a few times with the promise of spending his nights with y/n.

“Rooster, if you’re going to ditch us for a girl, you could at least introduce her to us,” Fanboy complained after Rooster declined a second invitation to The Hard Deck in less than two weeks.

“Maybe I will,” Rooster smiled, clapping his friend on the back before leaving the base.

It was totally an accident. Coyote was talking to an aviator from a different squadron between the F/A 18Fs that were parked just off the taxiway. He didn’t realize the particular jet he was closest to had been flown very recently, so when he casually rested his arm on one of the rear engines he was unpleasantly surprised by the burning sensation searing his arm.

That’s how Coyote found himself in the emergency room with a spunky nurse tending to his wound. He winced as she assisted him in running his arm under cool water. After gently patting his wound dry, she cleaned her own hands again. The nurse reviewed Coyote’s chart and led him back to the exam table to bandage his arm.

“You fighter pilots are so clumsy,” y/n chastised as she pulled out burn ointment and bandage supplies. She mostly said it for her own amusement, but Coyote gladly took it as bait and ran with it.

“Oh yeah? Who else do you know that can burn themselves on a jet engine?” Coyote teased, puffing out his chest. y/n snorted and focused her attention back on the aviator’s wound.

“I’m afraid that’s confidential patient information, Lieutenant Machado.” Between the painkillers Coyote took on his way to the hospital and y/n’s gentle touch, the ointment spread over his wound didn’t hurt nearly as much as he thought it would.

“Lieutenant Machado?” Coyote tsked at y/n’s use of his official title. “Miss me with that formal shit, homegirl. Call me Coyote,” he grinned, waving his eyebrows with a mischievous glint in his eyes. This time around, y/n was able to piece together by herself that Coyote was her patient’s call sign. With a raised eyebrow she met the pilot’s eyes once she finished securing his bandage.

“Homegirl, huh?” The interaction was rather amusing to y/n, especially since Coyote wasn’t trying to make a move on her like all her other patients did. All of their lewd comments fell on deaf ears, especially after y/n met Bradley.

“Yes ma’am,” Coyote said with a friendly smile. y/n rolled her eyes playfully but returned the smile with one of her own before reciting aftercare instructions. When she left Coyote at the discharge desk, she had a moment to breathe in between patients. She checked her phone and saw a text from Bradley.

5:01 p.m. How does dinner and a movie at my place tonight sound? I’ll cook :) - Rooster 🐓

5:33 p.m. That sounds great! I’ll make sure the fire department is on stand-by - y/n

5:34 p.m. Haha, very funny. - Rooster 🐓

y/n smiled to herself and pocketed her phone as she made her way towards her next patient’s room. The prospect of spending the evening with Rooster after a 12-hour shift was enough to power her through the final 2 hours.

After a brief stop home to shower and change out of her scrubs, y/n showed up at Rooster’s door with a six-pack of their favorite beer. When Bradley opened the door, y/n was greeted with a sheepish smile and a burning smell wafting out from the kitchen. y/n gave him a pointed look before she handed over the beer and stood on her tiptoes to give him a peck on the lips.

While Rooster placed the beers in the fridge, y/n glanced around the kitchen. She noted the smoky aroma and recently dismantled fire alarm, but most of all, the charred remnants of something in a casserole dish sitting on the stove caught her attention. Rooster quietly watched y/n take in the surroundings and scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“‘Good with my hands’, my ass,” y/n teased, giving the aviator the side-eye. Bradley’s nerves were suddenly gone and a mischievous grin spread across his face as he moved to stand right in front of y/n.

“Baby, you know first hand that I’m very good with my hands,” Rooster’s grin spread wider across his face while he looked down at y/n, towering over her. y/n concealed a heavy swallow–Rooster’s comment reminded her of some fun memories they made the other night.

“Hush, Bradley,” y/n said and swatted his chest. The pink tinge on y/n’s cheeks was enough of a victory for Bradley.

The pair flitted around the kitchen and worked on resolving their dinner, or lack thereof, issue. Rooster opened the window and turned on the ceiling fan before working on repairing the fire alarm. The tall bastard hardly needed a step stool to reach it. y/n took it upon herself to call in a Chinese take-out order.

“Get me some shrimp lo mein, please. And some spring rolls. And some General Tso’s chicken,” Rooster requested, focused intently on the tiny screws holding up the fire alarm.

“Are we feeding the Navy or just you, Brad?” y/n teased. Rooster rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at y/n.

An old ‘80s album played in the background and a candle that y/n was 90% sure was left by the last tenant burned as the pair debated which movie they should watch. Their discussion about whether or not Shrek 2 was an appropriate date night film was tabled when the doorbell rang. Rooster beat y/n to the door and handed the deliveryman cash before y/n could pull out her wallet. Chivalrous asshole.

They settled on watching Ferris Bueller's Day Off after eating. Halfway into the movie, y/n fell asleep with her head on Rooster’s shoulder. He didn’t mind at all, of course; after y/n worked two 12-hour days in a row, Rooster was surprised she agreed to come over in the first place. By the end of the movie, y/n was completely cuddled against Bradley’s side, with her legs tucked against his and her arm draped over his abdomen.

Rooster smiled softly and gently traced invisible patterns on y/n’s exposed skin. Though they’d kissed and held hands countless times, physical intimacy was hard for y/n. She was still guarded in some ways after her breakup–hesitance to cuddle was unfortunately one of those ways. The pair had only cuddled a few times in their six weeks of seeing each other, all of which occurred after hooking up.

Bradley sat on the couch with y/n against him long after the movie ended, simply content to have her by his side. With y/n in his arms, his house felt like a home. Being in the Navy meant that Rooster always had something to die for. Now? He had something to live for. That realization scared the shit out of him.

Rooster cursed the hands on the analog clock as the time ticked closer to midnight. The gentle rise and fall of y/n’s chest brought him a peace he hadn’t felt in years. Freezing time to stay on the couch with y/n by his side sounded like a pretty good idea to Bradley at that moment.

But, the lieutenant had an early morning training session ahead of him. From past experience after nights out partying, Rooster knew that if he wasn’t asleep sooner rather than later, his 6:00 a.m. alarm would be especially brutal. With a resigned sigh, Rooster moved to wake y/n up. Softly rubbing her shoulder didn’t seem to be doing the trick, so he resorted to planting gentle kisses on her forehead instead. Once y/n’s eyes fluttered open and she let out a groan in protest, Rooster knew she was awake enough.

“Honey, I gotta get you home. We both have work in the morning,” Rooster whispered with a bittersweet smile as he watched y/n stretch her arms and rub the sleep from her eyes.

“Roos…” y/n whined and flopped her head back against the couch. Despite having washboard abs and rock-hard muscles, Bradley made a damn good pillow. Hearing y/n near moan her new nickname for him did things to Rooster. His willpower was weakening by the minute.

y/n stood from the couch with a huff and gathered her things. She slung her purse over one shoulder and held one of Rooster’s hoodies that she claimed after a midnight tryst in Rooster’s bronco. She was halfway to the front door before she noticed Rooster was behind her.

“Why are you following me, hot shot? You have training tomorrow morning,” y/n yawned around her words and gently punched his bicep for emphasis. Rooster took her fist and kissed the back of it, before entwining their fingers together.

“I’m driving you home,” he said, as if it was obvious. y/n’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She drove herself to Rooster’s house, she didn’t see any reason that she wouldn’t be able to drive herself home. Bradley playfully rolled his eyes as he watched the metaphorical cogs spinning behind y/n’s tired eyes. She was stubborn as hell, but that was one of the things he liked about her.

“You can hardly keep your eyes open and are yawning every 10 seconds. I’m not letting you drive like that,” the pilot said firmly, though his tone was tender. y/n would’ve typically taken that as a challenge, but before she could argue back Rooster cut her off.

“Or, you could just spend the night here,” he suggested, waving his eyebrows with a grin.

“Ha, nice try, Bradshaw,” y/n snorted but accepted the ride. He was right about her being on the verge of falling asleep standing up, but she wasn’t going to admit defeat that easily.

Rooster followed y/n out to the driveway and opened the passenger door for her. “What a gentleman,” she cooed and accepted his steadying hand as she climbed up into the vehicle. y/n nearly fell asleep again in the short ride to her house. Bradley pulled y/n from her sleepy haze by gently rubbing his thumb along her inner thigh–his hand had been resting there during the entire drive and his resolve was growing impossibly thin.

“What time do you want me to pick you up in the morning?” Rooster asked and cleared his throat. Sleep was starting to pull at his tired eyelids too. y/n shot him a quizzical look and muttered a soft “huh?” in between yawns.

“For work tomorrow morning. I’m leaving you stranded without a car, so the least I can do is give you a ride to the hospital,” Rooster spoke lowly and squeezed y/n’s hand. Maybe it was her tired brain fog or the way y/n got caught up in Bradley’s moonlight-illuminated features that caused her to pause and simply stare at the man before her. The ridiculously handsome, intelligent, funny, but most of all kind and considerate man before her.

y/n leaned forward wordlessly and delivered a tender kiss on Bradley’s lips. Unlike the passionate kisses they shared during their trips to the beach or in secrecy at work, this kiss was sweet and slow and perfect.

“I’ll see you at 6:40, lieutenant,” y/n whispered against Rooster’s lips once she pulled away. y/n left him with a final peck and a soft “goodnight, Roos,” before sliding out of the car. Bradley sat in the driveway for a few minutes until he was sure y/n made it inside okay before heading back towards his own house. Sleep came easy that night for both of them, especially with the promise of seeing each other again in the morning.

Sure enough, Rooster showed up at y/n’s front door at 6:40 a.m. the following morning with two hot coffees in hand.

The Hard Deck was just as lively as y/n remembered it being when she and Rooster entered with their hands intertwined. Oldies music pumped out from the vintage jukebox, making the bar feel like a walk-in time capsule. y/n might’ve actually believed she was right back in the ‘80s if it weren’t for the significant portion of female sailors and pilots in the bar.

Penny smiled from across the bar to Rooster and y/n. She was busy tending to the patrons–especially since Pete “Maverick” Mitchell had her attention–but always made a point to greet Rooster, and now y/n too. His visits to The Hard Deck had become less frequent over the past two months and Penny saw that he had a pretty good reason why.

y/n and Rooster waded through the crowded bar towards a pool table in the back corner. It was hidden behind the countless energetic bodies packed into the bar, but Rooster was sure he could find it if he were blindfolded with how many times he’s hung around it over the years. When people got too close to y/n for Rooster’s comfort, he let go of her hand and wrapped an arm around her waist instead, pulling her closer to his body. She could hold her own, he knew that, but he still felt protective.

Bradley was nervous about bringing y/n to meet his friends. He liked hanging out with them, but they weren’t always conscious of boundaries and were relentlessly nosy. To top it all off, he and y/n still hadn’t put any kind of label on their relationship yet. He was sure their lack of title would draw up its own line of questioning from the aviators.

“We can go if you want,” Rooster spoke against y/n’s ear to be heard over the rowdy crowd. He warned her on the drive over that his friends might be a little overbearing, but she laughed and brushed it off.

“Brad, I’ll be fine,” y/n reassured him for the second time that night. When the pool table and the pilots around it finally came into view, y/n smiled at the sight of a familiar lieutenant.

“Homegirl!” Coyote shouted, drawing the attention of those around him. y/n waved in greeting, amused by Coyote’s especially enthusiastic nature after he had a couple drinks.

“You two know each other?” Rooster asked, confused. y/n’s lips were sealed when she looked up at Rooster. The pair was pretty good at reading each other’s faces–sneaking around the hospital and base hallways made sure of that–so he had a feeling that y/n wasn’t at liberty to tell Rooster exactly how she knew Coyote. His feeling was proved right when Javy loudly told everyone how y/n treated his burn wound in the ER last week.

While Payback, Hangman, and Fanboy busted Coyote’s chops for the umpteenth time for burning himself on a jet engine, y/n gladly accepted the bar stool Phoenix offered to her. The nurse knew some of the group’s call signs from the stories Rooster shared, but she couldn’t attach names to faces yet. Phoenix, however, was a pretty easy guess considering she was the only other woman sitting with the group of Navy men. Brave girl.

When the boys were finished making fun of Coyote, Rooster introduced y/n to the group. He started with Phoenix and Bob, moved onto Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote, then reluctantly finished with Hangman.

“So, Rooter has a hen?” Hangman said with a cocky smile. The man oozed confidence, which was pretty typical of the Navy men y/n met while working at the base hospital. His smirk was mischievous, maybe even flirty, but y/n saw right through him and read him like a book. Rooster smirked to himself as he watched y/n politely smile. She was totally psychoanalyzing the bastard.

The night went smoothly, especially after y/n and Rooster both had a beer or two in them to loosen up. The laughs were loud and their smiles were wide as the aviators shared stories from their various deployments and missions–the details that weren’t classified, anyway. Eventually, the conversation devolved into a pissing contest about who could do the trickiest in-air maneuvers, who completed the most precarious missions, and who was the best aviator. y/n was biased, of course, so she sat back and watched with a smile as the pilots debated animatedly.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Bob spoke up, much to everyone’s surprise. Bob told y/n in between conversations earlier that his sister was a nurse and they briefly discussed their common ground before they were pulled in opposite directions.

“I bet y/n probably has more hand-to-hand combat experience than all of us combined,” Bob joked in response to the recent discussion about which pilot was a better fighter. y/n let out a chuckle before clinking her beer bottle against Bob’s with a knowing glint in her eye.

“What does he mean by that, homegirl?” Coyote was the first to speak up once the group of aviators focused their attention on y/n. They were a little lost, not quite sure what to make of Bob’s comment. y/n sighed and took a swig of beer, managing to keep a soft smile on her face through her next words.

“I’ve been working in hospitals for about eight years now, so I’ve had my fair share of aggressive patients,” y/n answered simply with a shrug. She subconsciously pulled a piece of hair from behind her ear to cover a scar she’d received from a particularly violent patient. Bradley watched y/n intently through the whole exchange and his heart ached when he noticed the small faded scar.

Rooster’s jaw clenched when he thought about anyone putting their hands on y/n, especially the patients she cared for. Despite the simmering rage brewing inside him, the aviator’s touch was gentle as he rubbed soothing circles on y/n’s hip where his hand had been resting. When Rooster looked at her again, seemingly lost in his thoughts, y/n squeezed his hand under the table and sent him a reassuring smile.

The group of aviators knew their jobs were dangerous–the understanding that each time they took off into the air might be their last served as motivation to push harder and take risks. The possibility of life-threatening injuries and death were simply an occupational hazard. The decorated pilots were so immersed in their own line of work that they often forgot about what work looked like for people on the ground, much less civilians. y/n sitting in front of them casually mentioning she’d been assaulted on more than one occasion while at work was almost humbling for them.

After a brief moment of silence, Fanboy realized the group of aviators hadn’t really shut up about themselves the entire night, so he asked y/n more about her work. The nurse absolutely lit up at the opportunity to talk about her job. Sure, she had some not-so-pleasant experiences while on the clock, but the good outweighed the bad by far. y/n went on animatedly about how she got into nursing, the different units she worked in over the years, and how she decided the ER was where she belonged. y/n didn’t have quite the travel stories that the naval aviators did, but she did have an impressive travel nursing resume–13 cities in the span of 4 years, to be exact.

y/n also treated them to some of her grossest case stories. The grimaces and groans from the macho pilots made her laugh and only spurred her on further. When she was certain her face might crack in two from smiling and laughing at their disgusted reactions, Hangman changed the subject. The blonde aviator hoped to spare himself from another horrifying open fracture or maggot-infested wound story. He did get a kick out of the baby-mama-drama stories though.

“I think y/n deserves a call sign,” Hangman grinned. He was slightly buzzed at this point, but fully cognizant of his words. y/n barely finished her half-assed protest about it not being necessary before Phoenix piped up with a name idea.

“How about ‘Patches’, since she’s always fixing you bozos up,” Phoenix said, shooting pointed looks to Rooster and Coyote in particular. The two of them grinned while the group mulled over the nickname. Nothing better came up, so Patches it was.

“Doesn’t Patches sound like a cat’s name?” y/n wrinkled her nose as she pondered the name. She wasn’t strongly opposed to it, per se, but it was definitely… unique.

“Maybe, but you’re stuck with it now, babe,” Rooster said, pressing a kiss to y/n’s forehead.

Conversation flowed easily within the squadron. It was more like a chaotic overlapping of two or more discussions at a time, but y/n appreciated it nonetheless. She had moved around quite a bit in the past several years, so it was tough to make friends, much less keep up with a large group. Rooster relished how y/n relaxed into his side and leaned her head against his shoulder. PDA was tough for her given her rocky romantic history and guardedness, so his heart swelled at the small gesture.

Unfortunately, the peace only lasted for so long. A few of the aviators clocked a burning stare being sent their way from across the bar.

“Why is Captain Richards staring at us?” Payback asked with all the discreteness a tipsy Navy man could muster. Most of the squadron didn’t know who the higher ranking officer was personally, but there were murmurs around the base of the decorated Captain and how he ran a tight ship—literally. After all, the only thing that spreads faster than STDs in the barracks was rumors.

A few of the aviators did know Ethan Richards from their abundant time spent on aircraft carriers, much to y/n’s chagrin. She glanced over her shoulder and visibly stiffened when her eyes locked with her ex’s. The bastard had the audacity to smirk at y/n. Something about Ethan’s nonchalance and cockiness lit a fire under y/n’s ass. She was tired of covering for him. She owed him nothing.

“-because he’s an ass.”

“-because he’s my ex.” Rooster and y/n answered at the same time. Bradley sounded agitated, but it didn’t spread to his face. For a terrible liar, he had a decent poker face. y/n on the other hand answered with a flat tone but smirked at Rooster’s remark.

Payback and Phoenix both choked on their beers and the rest of the group dropped their jaws in shock. Hangman was impressed, judging by the smirk that spread across his face. He took a break from toying with the toothpick between his lips to mutter “Damn, Patches.”

Rooster’s hardened face and y/n’s annoyed look wordlessly let the squadron know that it was in their best interest not to ask any questions. y/n thought she’d be bothered or upset when she saw Ethan for the first time in almost a month, but she felt oddly grounded. She suspected her confidence was sourced from the brooding aviator next to her. Rooster put on a tough guy act—hell, it was second nature to him now after all his time in the navy—but y/n was slowly learning how he ticked. Over time, she figured out that he was just an extremely guarded and protective teddy bear. Her teddy bear.

Rooster and y/n took a break from drinking at the table top and moved towards the squadron’s long abandoned game of pool. y/n told Bradley she didn’t know how to play when he handed her a cue stick; whether or not that was true was beside the point when Rooster moved behind her and started ‘teaching’ her. y/n couldn’t remember whose benefit her white lie was for once Bradley’s chest was pressed against her back and they leaned over the pool table, but she couldn’t have cared less. He helped her line up a perfect shot and sure enough, she hit a three-in-one.

Goosebumps erupted on y/n’s neck when Bradley whispered pointers and tips into her ear throughout the game, his breath hot on her neck. y/n shivered and looked up to see Rooster grinning. The bastard knew exactly the effect he had on y/n. Later on in the game, it became very apparent that y/n bluffed about her lack of pool skills. The game was fair, but y/n was mopping the floor with Rooster, especially after he showed her his tricks.

An excruciating hour of pining, not-so-innocent touching, and innuendos passed while Bradley sobered up to drive y/n home. His fellow aviators left the bar one by one during the pool game, each one making sure to say goodbye to y/n before they left. Hangman even managed to pull y/n into a side hug, not that she minded. The wink and devious grin Jake sent Rooster’s way earned him a subtle jab to the ribs from y/n. Oops.

After three games, Rooster and y/n had worn themselves out and were ready to leave. When y/n looked back towards the spot she’d seen Ethan before, he was nowhere to be found—just how she liked him. By the end of the night, y/n beat Bradley 2 to 1 in their unofficial pool tournament. Rooster tried to tease y/n by saying he let her win, but she wasn’t having it.

“Take that back, Bradshaw!” y/n lightly shoved Rooster’s arm, her jaw dropped in offense.

“Okay, okay, damn! You won fair and square, Patches.”

y/n paused to think as they walked towards Rooster’s bronco in the parking lot.

“Patches totally sounds like a cat name,” y/n decided with a pout. Rooster led them towards the parked car with y/n’s hand in his own.

“I think it’s perfect for you. Since you’re cuddly. But also sometimes a bit of an assho-“

“Rooster!” y/n exclaimed, on the verge of delivering another swat to his arm.

“I’m kidding, baby. I like the call sign, but I like you even more,” Bradley stopped them in the middle of the parking lot to wrap his arms around y/n’s waist and press a kiss to her lips. y/n hummed contentedly and gave up the argument.

“We can’t tell anyone about this conversation. It’ll fuck up my scary ER nurse reputation,” y/n stated, sticking out her pinky for Rooster to wrap his own around.

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

a/n: it's my AU and i'll do what i want to (to the tune of Lesley Gore's "It's My Party"

lmk what y'all think!! xx

#rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun: maverick #bradley bradshaw #nurse!reader #rooster x y/n #bradley bradshaw x y/n #a safe place to land #tw: alcohol mention #tw: description of injury #tw: medical situation #tw: violence mention #tw: assault mention

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magic-is-something-we-create · 3 months

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cw: medical discussion (not personal, just interesting research)

i am once again researching real life horrific diseases/symptoms for writing reasons. last time it was TSEs (transmissible spongiform encephalopathy aka chronic wasting disease, mad cow disease, scrapie, etc.) for Whispers. now it's necrosis (gangrene) for Goddess-Touched

and like. ive researched necrosis before as one of the symptoms of the bubonic plague for a research project in middle school. and im starting to realize that willingly exposing myself to uncensored images of That at 13 may be why im completely unfazed writing and seeing things that make other people nauseous

#IF ZOMBIE-LIKE BODY HORROR BOTHERS YOU. DONT LOOK UP NECROSIS.#the wikipedia page for necrosis in general has one fairly tame photo of necrosis caused by a brown recluse bite #the page for GANGRENOUS necrosis has full on photos of real life necrotized feet all over the first few paragraphs #and their description for what it looks like is Extremely accurate. quote ''resembling mummified tissue''#braindumps.txt #medical #cw medical #tw medical

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cuddly-vamp · 15 days

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SHSGSGSG FUCK my breasts are still tender and I'm waiting for my damn period, I always wait and sometimes it just never shows up, curse of irregular cycles much.

On a more serious note, my cycles have been like this for years. Irregular, either not showing up for months or lasting for months, and with no explanation for it. We've tried hormone counts (I think that's what they're called), birth control (which I had to stop taking because I would become aggressive, it's a genetic thing because my mom and sister have that too), and it's like.. Fuck when will this end? And when it comes it's super heavy too, painful as shit. There's definitely something wrong but I dunno what.

#txt #cw menstruation #menstruation #cw descriptive menstruation #tw medical #< just in case for the medical tag #cw medical #vent post #yeah this a vent

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dr-extinguisher · 10 months

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EXPERIMENT LOGS #001

(TW/CW:: DESCRIPTIONS OF GORE, MEDICAL DESCRIPTIONS??, TORTURE, MEDICAL INACCURACIES LOL)

GO TO READ MORE IF YOU CAN HANDLE THESE! STAY SAFE <3

[The sound of static crackles as a video started to play, Dr.Extinguisher shows on the film, the camera quality is poor, the room he's in is dark and you can barely tell most of the mans features. Finally, after a few moments of shuffling around the man spesks.]

THE DOCTOR IS IN FOLKS!!! HELLO HELLO AND WELCOME TO MY EXPERIMENT LOGS!! I AM DOCTOR EXTINGUISHER!

[The deranged mans voice stuck in a constant shout. His googles reflecting the camera on them.]

HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF YOU CARBONATED SOMEONES BLOOD?? WELL FEAR NOT! I HAVE COME UP WITH AN EXPERIMENT TO LOG THIS MOMENT!

[He flicks on a light the footage grainy, showing some civilian in blood stained, grimey paper scrubs shorts chest exposed with a dotted line down the middlf.]

OF COURSE TODAYS SPECIMEN! DON'T WORRY ABOUT THEM! IT'LL ONLY HURT AN ACCEPTABLE AMOUNT!!

[Extinguisher laughs madly, stopping at a moments notice. Reaching for medical gloves, he stretches them on over his hands. He grabs a scalpel from his instrument table, approaching the body and pushing the blade into the person's chest who after awhile of him following the line snaps awake. Clearly, not numbed the person starts screaming.

In response, he grabs a damp rag shoving it over the person's mouth till they stop moving, not dead but simply unconscious.]

AHA... SORRY FOR THE DIFFICULTIES FOLKS!! THE SPECIEM WAS JUST A BIT ROWDY!

[ He barks out before continuing with the incision, the snapping and breaking of tissue and muscle sounding in the video, finishing down the line he sighs. Clearly pleased with his work, he puts his scalpel down, he pulls back the flesh and turns back the camera]

NOW I WILL BEGIN TO CUT INTO THE RIBS!!

[He picks up a bone saw from the table, cutting into the civilians ribcage and snapping off ribs to reach their heart, he grins madly at the visible organ]

PERFECT!! NOW WE CAN FINALLY BEGIN THIS. I HAVE ALREADY PREPARED THE INJECTION AND WILL BE EMPTYING IT INTO THE VEINS!!

[He pushes the needle into the vein, injecting the contents inside. He puts the needle back on the table, walking over to the camera]

ALLOW ME TO SEW THEM UP AND WE WILL CONT--

[The camera cuts to him in the future]

AS I HAVE NOTICED, THE SPECIEM HAS BEEN VERY SICK, COMPLAINING OF PAINS, IT ALSO APPEARS TO BE ITCHING MUCH MORE. I WILL KEEP YOU UPDATED.

[The camera cuts off, the static blaring as the film cuts once more to Dr.Extinguisher, further in the future clearly, the man was walking outside in the dark, a trash bag slung over his shoulder]

HELLO... IN CONCLUSION OF THIS EXPERIMENT, YOU DIE IF YOUR BLOOD IS CARBONATED!! I ONLY WISH I CAUGHT THE PROCESS ON THE LOGS!! OH WELL... I WON'T GET ARRESTED FOR NOW!!

[The man barks out a cruel laugh, he adjusts the trash bag over his shoulder]

WELL... I SUPPOSE THIS CONCLUDES THE EXPERIMENT LOG... I DON'T MIND SUGGESTIONS FOR FUTURE EXPERIMENTS! GOODBYE, FOR NOW.

[He covers the camera by pushing the lens into his chest, the film finally stops]

#tw medical #tw gore descriptions #tw torture #medical inaccuracies #lol #phighting #phighting rp #phighting oc #phighting!#rp account #// RRAAA IDK IF I LIKE THIS OR NOT BUT HERE ..#// He's just a goober !!#DR.EXTINGUISHER'S EXPERIMENT LOGS

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coffee-bat · 2 years

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train sketches of some men i adore

#kinda messy bc i was in a v uncomfortable position sorry #tf2 #team fortress 2 #engineer #demoman #medic #heavy #burly beast #heavymedic #doodle #my art #shitpost #scars tw #blood tw (only if you zoom in)#suggestive (?)#bottom left in reference to the description of das gutenkutteharen(???) bc it destroys me

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 1 year

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Update the Letter Board!

(Disclaimer: only one of the characters in this story belongs to me. You can find more information about Azalea here. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob she and Murdock work for, go here. Caliban will only be mentioned, but my boy still deserves credit. So, for more information about Caliban, go here. Murdock/Murderplier belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, but if you’re interested in my personal headcanons on him, go here.)

(Trigger Warnings: snakes, descriptions of pain/injury, blood, descriptions of medical procedure, syringes/needles, IV treatment/equipment, poison/venom/toxic chemicals, mentions of illegal business, slight mentions of eating/drinking, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Snakes were typically very hard to read. Personalities varied from breed to breed, of course, but reptiles in general just couldn’t really express themselves the same way dogs or cats could. Aside from that, it was impossible for a cold-blooded creature to get warm-fuzzies.

One could logically assume that a domestic serpent only tolerated its owner; that at most, it’d come to recognize said owner as some strange creature that provided food and shelter for whatever reason.

Well, logic didn’t seem to apply to Cuddles.

The scarlet kingsnake was slithering up her driftwood perch. She lightly bobbed her head as she tried to lean up towards her owner. Azalea chuckled, lowering her hand into the small enclosure, allowing the snake to eagerly curl around her wrist.

“Seriously? Your cage has been moved around so much tonight, and you still don’t want some alone time yet?” Azalea, who had just barely returned her pet’s terrarium to its usual place on top of her dresser, asked. The question was sarcastic, but she hadn’t worded it unkindly.

Cuddles’ only response was to steadily advance along her owner’s arm. She soon came to rest her head on Azalea’s shoulder while the end of her thin tail looped around Azalea’s wrist like an organic bracelet. Azalea smiled, using her free hand to gently run a finger along the serpent’s glossy scales.

She already knew snakes were more intelligent than they were typically given credit for, so Cuddles’ curiosity and willingness to be handled hadn’t been too surprising. No, what had really caught her off-guard was the fact that Cuddles seemed to get actual separation-anxiety on occasion.

Aftertaste followed a perfectly reasonable schedule, but Azalea often stayed in the restaurant hours after closing time (alright, she was technically spending that time beneath the building rather than inside it, but the point still stood). A hitwoman’s work was never quite finished: jobs needed to be discussed, targets needed to be tracked, poisons needed to be studied and mixed and slipped into seemingly-innocent treats. . .

Since being a contract-killer wasn’t the same as being an irresponsible pet-owner, Azalea found herself transporting Cuddles’ terrarium back and forth between her house and her subway-tunnel-den on a semi-regular basis.

Azalea exited her bedroom and ventured downstairs, holding one arm steady for Cuddles. She soon arrived in her kitchen, where washed her hands before searching through the cupboards. She found a shiny kettle, which she filled with water and set on top of the stove.

It was late, but Azalea was feeling restless. She’d adjusted to the odd, random hours that came with The Pentas Family’s business. She’d learned how to shake off shock like a normal person would a Sunday Morning Hangover. She’d grown familiar with not exactly having peace-of-mind, due to the plans, names, locations, codes, everything she needed to keep memorized for her work.

In any case, tea had proven itself a surprisingly effective quick-fix. (Then again, maybe that was just an old instinct.)

The water would take some time to boil, so Azalea was about to move to the living room, weighing the benefits of putting a movie on. But she quickly found herself frozen in place.

Her backyard was spacious, and most of that space was taken up by her greenhouse—why buy plant-based poisons when you could just grow and harvest them yourself?—but the kitchen window was wide enough for Azalea to see past it. And as her gaze passed by that window, she caught something out of the corner of her eye.

The houses in this neighborhood were separated by personal fences. Beyond each of those fences, a weed-choked alleyway was commonly used as a shortcut, whether on foot. . .or by car.

Azalea watched as a lone vehicle quietly crept through the alley. The sun had set hours ago, so the machine was partially camouflaged by shadows. Neither its head-lights nor tail-lights were glowing; not a good sign. The fact that the car’s windows were tinted didn’t bode well, either.

Especially when it slowed to a stop right outside her fence.

The driver-side door popped open, and a tall figure climbed out. Due to the distance and lack of light, Azalea couldn’t make out any details other than the black clothing the figure was dressed in. The figure approached the fence’s gate, then paused. Paranoia began festering in Azalea’s stomach as she realized that the lock on that gate was probably getting picked right now.

Azalea turned, silently rushing through the living room and up the staircase. She returned to her bedroom, where she gently pried Cuddles from her arm and deposited her back into the terrarium. The snake didn’t resist, but her beady little eyes shone with a surprising amount of worry.

Azalea then went across the hall to her office. She tugged a chair away from her mahogany desk before dropping to her knees. This house wasn’t connected to the abandoned subway tunnels like Aftertaste and so many other buildings in the city were, but it’d still come with a small crawlspace hidden beneath the carpet of this particular room. Hell, Azalea had found the compartment in question purely by accident.

And upon that discovery, she’d done what anyone would do: cleaned it up and used it to stash things that most people would be better off not knowing about. (Now, you could claim that, when faced with a surprise crawlspace, you’d either just ignore it or cut it off via replacing the office carpet. But then your parents would’ve raised a frickin’ liar.)

Azalea combed through rows of neatly-stacked, unassuming boxes that awaited her. She fished out a container made of purple-stained wood and opened it up. In its top half, six syringes were kept in place by velcro strips while six glass vials were carefully nestled in slots on the bottom half.

. . .Well, five syringes and vials right now, as Azalea took the sixth of both sets into her hands. She expertly pulled back the syringe’s plunger and inserted the needle into the vial’s rubber stopper, drawing out the clear, innocent-looking liquid inside.

Azalea’s work didn’t just involve killing—sometimes she was tasked with interrogations and the like. And no matter what kind of assignment she focused on, self-defense was always a must. Thus, she made a habit to collect toxins that, while not fatal, still promised a bad time to whoever’s system they ended up in.

Now armed with a dosage of platypus venom, Azalea surged back downstairs. She glanced out the kitchen window, making sure to stand in a way that wouldn’t let her be seen from the other side. And then she found herself suddenly halting yet again.

As she’d predicted, the fence gate was now hanging open, and the figure was slowly but surely trekking through her backyard. He’d grown closer, clearly intent on entering Azalea’s house.

In fact, he was now close enough for Azalea to see a head of raven hair that was almost shoulder-length. She also discovered a pair of circular, black-tinted glasses on his face. Along with a brass pendant hanging from a simple chain around his neck. . .

Azalea’s fear vanished, quickly being replaced by confusion and frustration. She slunk across the kitchen and into the laundry room. She approached her house’s back door, unlocked it, and wrenched it open to whisper-yell, “Murdock?!”

Upon hearing his name, Murdock startled badly, staggering back a little. Despite his spectacles, Azalea could tell he was making eye-contact. A few seconds passed before he awkwardly nodded and resumed his march.

Azalea raised an eyebrow, stepping aside to let her surprise guest in. “You nearly gave me a heart-attack! If you needed to stop by, you could’ve at least texted me earlier!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Murdock muttered, clearly as exasperated as he was shaken-up. “I had to get here quickly. Couldn’t waste any time sending a message.”

One part of Azalea felt a bit relieved, but that only lasted a few seconds. She knew right away that something was very wrong.

Sure, Murdock was a hitman, and an unexpected visit from a hitman typically wasn’t a sign of anything good. But Murdock was also someone Azalea was familiar with. They’d worked together numerous times; hell, he was the reason she and Caliban had found new lives in The Pentas Family. Aside from that, one of this mob’s laws specifically condemned the act of betrayal.

No, Azalea knew that she wasn’t in any danger. . .

Murdock was doubled-over, breathing heavily as he trudged across the threshold. His body language was anxious, distressed. Almost like that of an injured animal.

“What’s going on?” She questioned as she closed the door behind Murdock.

“I-I need your help, Aza,” Murdock proclaimed in a low pitch. He had a naturally deep voice, but this was different. His tone was hoarse, and his words were labored. “I need some medicine. I can’t afford to go to the hospital.”

It was then that Azalea noticed three things.

The first was that Murdock wasn’t wearing his leather gloves. (He took them off when he wasn’t focusing on mob business, but he was still decked out in the rest of the attire that he always wore while on the clock.)

The second was that Murdock’s left hand was clamped around the wrist of his right, shakily keeping it in a lowered position.

The third was that the back of Murdock’s right hand was adorned by a dull, reddish-purple splotch. As well as a pair of very distinct puncture wounds. They were small (snake fangs were typically thin, after all) but they’d been stretched out due to the obvious swelling in Murdock’s skin.

And just like that, the syringe clattered to the floor.

“Oh my God! Hold still, hold still—!” Azalea reached out to tug at Murdock’s black overcoat. She easily pulled the first sleeve off of the hitman’s left arm, but she had to carefully maneuver his right arm out of the second sleeve. The overcoat was left in a crumpled heap on the floor as Azalea put a hand on the small of Murdock’s back, walking him through the kitchen and over to the living room.

“What was it?” She demanded. “What bit you?”

“A diamondback,” Murdock croaked, making an obvious effort to not lean on Azalea for support.

(Rattlesnakes weren’t exactly aquatic creatures, but, like many things, they were more competent at swimming than your mental health would be prepared for. While their preferred habitats were desert areas, they could still be found in seaside environments like the Cove Port Inlets.)

“How much time has passed since it happened?”

“Erm. . .almost twenty minutes, I think.”

“You think?” Azalea repeated incredulously.

“Yeah, that’s my best damn guess!” Murdock snarled. “So sorry it’s not a closer estimate. I was more focused on getting here before paralysis set in!”

Azalea couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Good to know the venom isn’t affecting your brain yet.”

She led Murdock to an armchair sat in one corner. “Here, sit down. Move slowly.”

Murdock nodded, turning around and carefully lowering himself onto plush leather.

Azalea ran back to the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers until she found a clean hand towel. She held it under the faucet, soaking it in warm water and lathering it with soap, then hurried back to the living room. She knelt down beside the armchair, rolled up the right sleeve of Murdock’s currant-colored turtleneck. She turned his arm so that his palm was facing the ceiling, then spent a moment scrubbing at the bite wound. Murdock hissed in pain, but he didn’t jerk away.

As soon as Murdock’s hand was a bit more sterile than before, Azalea stood and began jogging away once more. “Don’t move that arm unless I say otherwise!”

She stopped by the laundry room to chuck the towel into an empty hamper, then raced up the staircase and back into her office. Unlike the cabinet she kept in her subway-tunnel-den, the hidden compartment also happened to store a decent quantity of antidotes and specific painkillers.

Considering the nature of her work, Azalea hardly ever found herself having to use this stuff. Then again, being unhinged didn’t automatically disqualify one from having foresight.

Azalea quickly found a larger green box adorned by a small sign, which proclaimed ANTIVENOM in her handwriting. She grabbed it and hurried downstairs, now rushing over to the medicine cabinet in the hallway, where she snatched up another box (this one stark-white), as well as a fresh roll of bandages and some odd-looking, folded-up metallic contraption.

It was a bit miraculous that Azalea didn’t drop anything as she sprinted back to the living room, setting all of the things in her arms onto the coffee table.

She made yet another trip to the kitchen to wash her hands and, for good measure, donned a pair of fresh latex gloves from a container under the sink. Once she returned to the living room, Azalea wasted no time dressing Murdock’s injured hand in a few layers of gauze.

With a series of clicks and snaps, she unfolded the metal object, revealing it to be what looked like a coat stand that was apparently collapsible. She opened the white box and fished out the essentials of an Intravenous Infusion procedure.

Azalea searched through the green box until she found a batch of vials specifically labeled RATTLESNAKE.

She carefully opened up a clean IV bag, pouring vial after vial of antivenom inside until it was full, then hung it on one of the metal racks at the top of the stand. Next, she unwound a long plastic tube and piped one end of it into the valve at the bottom of the IV bag. At the other end of this tube was a cannula: a small, somewhat cone-shaped object that almost resembled one of those toy syringes that could be found in a child’s pretend-doctor set.

Unfortunately for Murdock (well, sort of fortunately, considering his predicament), this was not a toy. Azalea took a clean, slender needle from a little package in the white box and loaded it into the cannula.

As soon as that was done, she produced a purple tourniquet, which she tied around the center of Murdock’s forearm.

“Augh—what’s the pressure-cuff for? We’re not in a goddamn pharmacy!” Murdock sputtered as Azalea adjusted the tourniquet, undoubtedly making it uncomfortably tight.

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you like to handle this? Because it sure doesn’t seem like you’re in a position to!” Azalea snapped. “If I can’t get this right, then you can’t get the antidote. So do yourself a favor and STOP WHINING!”

Soon enough, a long vein visibly bulged under Murdock’s skin. There; that was the place the needle would have to go.

Azalea quickly poured some rubbing alcohol onto a cotton swab, wiping that patch of flesh clean. Then, she took the cannula into her hand, holding it like she would a syringe at a 30-degree angle to the vein.

“Brace yourself. This is gonna hurt,” she warned.

And with that, she pushed the needle into Murdock’s forearm, right below the tourniquet. Murdock sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and grinding his jaw.

A couple seconds passed before Azalea felt something pop against the cannula. She kept it parallel to Murdock’s skin, watching as a few drops of his blood oozed into it. Her hands were a blur as she deftly removed the needle and connected the free end of the IV tube to the cannula.

Little by little, she fed the tube further into the cannula hub. Once a good portion of the tube was very clearly inside Murdock’s forearm, Azalea tore a few pieces from a spool of medical tape to keep the IV attached to him. She then untied the tourniquet and swabbed at the skin around the injection area yet again.

After that, she stood and reached up to the IV bag, twisting at it in order to open its interior valve. The antivenom, now actually having somewhere else to go, quickly flowed through the length of the tube. . .and, obviously, into Murdock.

Azalea quietly took a couple steps back, holding her hands up in a way that suggested the IV set might spontaneously combust.

The hitman shifted in his seat, no doubt feeling the odd sensation of foreign liquid entering his veins. Azalea knew he was still in pain—hell, he would be for the next several days—but he’d be okay. The cure was actively being guided along his bloodstream.

For a moment or two, the pair were frozen in silence, slowly peering back and forth between each other and the antivenom in the tube.

“Is. . .is that all?” Murdock eventually asked. His voice was quieter than it had been earlier, but there was a generous amount of anxiety in his tone. “Is there anything else to do?”

“No,” Azalea replied, shaking her head. “There’s more than one way to deal with a snake-bite, but getting an IV is the most efficient. Recovery’s gonna be rough, but you’ll be fine.”

“A-Alright.” Murdock nodded, some of the tension draining away from his frame.

“Well, I suggest you get comfortable,” Azalea announced. “You’ll need to stay attached to that bag until it’s empty.”

“Let me guess: that’ll take the rest of the night?” Murdock inquired.

“Most likely. And even after that, it’ll still take a while for the venom inside you to be completely neutralized.”

Murdock was only able to shrug halfway before wincing. “That’s fine. Better than being at my place without any treatment.”

“Damn right it is.” Azalea hummed in sarcastic agreement. “You owe me at least half of your next payment.”

“Why?” Murdock asked, although his tone of voice made it clear he already had an idea.

“Because I’ve had to use five vials of antivenom on you, and that stuff is not cheap,” Azalea answered. She picked up the aforementioned empty vials and carried them over to a small recycling bin in the kitchen.

“What if I just found that diamondback and brought it over? You’ve milked snakes before. Plus, you always say antivenoms are kind of like vaccines.” Murdock tilted his head to the side, offering a shit-eating smirk that only lasted a few seconds before his face contorted with discomfort yet again.

“True,” Azalea admitted, “but I doubt I’d have the time to actually make some antivenom afterwards. Considering I’d have to save your ass again.”

“. . .That’s fair, I suppose,” Murdock sighed. “Besides, I can already tell you’d be more concerned about the snake.”

“Yeah, I would,” Azalea snarked. “Because the snake would be an innocent victim of circumstance only trying to defend itself. Meanwhile, you’d just be a moron who screwed around and found out for a second time.”

Murdock huffed at this, but he didn’t really put up an argument. He rested his head against the chair’s back cushion, cringing in irritation. “When I’m up for my next job, we’ll talk,” he murmured.

“Sounds good,” Azalea replied with a nod. With not much else to do, she went about cleaning up the living room.

She threw away the used latex gloves away before strolling outside. Quickly and quietly, she crossed her backyard to close the fence gate, then raced back to the laundry room and locked the back door. The weapon she’d abandoned earlier glinted against artificial light. She carefully plucked it off the floor, carrying it and the antivenom box back upstairs.

The platypus venom was drained back into its vial, the syringe was cleaned, and the boxes Azalea had opened were finally tucked back into the office crawlspace, now lying in wait for another day.

Azalea stopped by her bedroom, instantly feeling a pair of eyes on her, and a smile finally flickered back on her face as she approached Cuddles’ terrarium.

“Sorry for the panic,” Azalea announced, gently gathering up her pet and setting her down around her shoulders. “A friend of mine just made a mistake. Everything’s alright now.”

Cuddles always seemed to know when to live up to her name. She happily began cosplaying as a scarf, rubbing her scaly head against Azalea’s collarbone, barely even flinching when the keening distress call of a boiling kettle stabbed into Azalea’s ears.

Azalea hurried back down to the kitchen, turning off one of the stove’s burners. Steam billowed from the spout while she washed her hands. She then poured herself a cup and fetched a little bag of almond tea from the pantry; clouds of spice colored the hot water as she carried her beverage over to the living room. She immediately noticed how Murdock’s tinted glasses lay askew on the coffee table, suggesting their owner had lightly tossed them onto it.

As expected, Murdock was waiting for her, trying and failing to ignore how the fingers on his injured arm involuntarily twitched. (Despite all the dramatics he was infamous for, even he knew better than to just rip an IV cord out of his arm.)

At the sound of Azalea’s footsteps, Murdock instinctively glanced in her direction. Azalea glanced right back, tilting her head. Unlike just a few minutes ago, she was able to see her guest’s dark brown eyes.

The Pentas Family was exceptionally skilled with secrets. One couldn’t simply talk about underground business, after all. When it came to interactions between the mob’s members, however, the Fight Club rule didn’t always have to apply.

Therefore, anyone who knew Murdock probably also knew about his case of eye-misalignment.

Specifically speaking, Murdock’s right eye was turned to the right, as though he was looking at something sideways without having to move his head. His left eye could shift around in its socket as intended, but his right eye never followed along. This didn’t render Murdock half-blind, despite how traumatic the accident that had shoved it to the side apparently was.

It was also something that Murdock was adamant on not being self-conscious about. His sunglasses were a memento from one of his earliest jobs; that was his reason for constantly wearing them (when he was doing things on the less-than-legal side of the spectrum, at least. He wore a medical eyepatch while keeping up appearances in normal society.)

And for the most part, this was true.

“Comfy?” Azalea asked, heading for the plush sofa that stood adjacent to the armchair. She took a seat on the far side of said sofa, not wanting to crowd the hitman.

“Not exactly,” Murdock answered. His face ever-so-slightly fell at the sight of Cuddles. Azalea couldn’t help but smirk, practically able to hear the Red Touch Yellow rhyme echoing between his ears.

Murdock lightly shook his head, his expression shifting back to a casual one. It was still too late for him to hide the mild panic he’d just felt.

“That’s a shame.” Azalea shifted on the couch cushions, taking a sip of her tea. “So. What’d you do this time?”

Murdock flinched. Despite its blank screen, the television at the head of the living room suddenly seemed very interesting to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means. Don’t tell me you think I’d just believe that a rattlesnake attacked you out of nowhere.”

Murdock rolled his left eye. He was about to petulantly fold his arms across his chest, but the IV tube had other ideas. “Maybe the rattlesnake was being a dick.”

Azalea raised her eyebrows, obviously not convinced.

Murdock let out a melodramatic sigh, clearly not looking forward to explaining himself. “Y’know that loan shark who’s been renting a place uptown?”

“Of course I do,” Azalea replied.

The Pentas Family had eyes and ears all over the Cove Port Inlets. Whenever something—or someone—new came to the city, at least one member of the mob would be aware. That, in turn, would lead to a report to The Boss, who would then bring all of her subordinates up to speed on the matter. New residents were just typical background characters most of the time, but one could never be too careful.

It’d been years since The Boss had claimed the Inlets as Pentas territory. And thanks to reputation, protecting turf wasn’t too difficult. Even so, it wasn’t uncommon for pests to try and set up shop in the community. They didn’t pose much of a threat to the mob’s power, and they weren’t as tricky to deal with as organized groups were, but they were still so. Damn. Annoying.

“I overheard The Boss complaining about him,” Murdock continued. “She’s worried that he’ll start trying to lend to potential clients around here—”

“—and if that happens, our earnings could be damaged when he starts exploiting his borrowers,” Azalea finished, narrowing her eyes in disdain.

(This particular idiot hadn’t exactly tried to weasel his way into a partnership with The Pentas Family, but it was still less than ideal to have him on the loose in the community. Loan sharks in general were just complete scumbags.)

Murdock nodded enthusiastically. “Bingo. Since we can’t really let that happen, I took it upon myself to send the guy a message.”

Azalea blinked, the focus of her annoyance quickly transitioning from the pest to the man who’d dropped by in the middle of the night for pro-bono medical attention. “And that’s where the diamondback came in, huh?”

Murdock flinched, undoubtedly having seen the shift in his accomplice’s expression. He was already the worst kind of adrenaline-junkie; working with The Boss and being paid to kill was just a bonus on top of that. And yet he still wasn’t immune to the humiliation that came with making stupid mistakes.

“. . .Yeah,” he finally stated, his voice tired.

Azalea pointedly raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue his story. Sure, she was still kind of pissed off, but schadenfreude was a natural thing in this line of work (and Murdock was damn well aware of that).

Murdock stayed quiet for a long moment. He glanced around Azalea, probably staring at the calendar hanging on the wall behind her, which was currently displaying a picture of a bouquet of roses just above the word February.

“I went to the department store and bought one of those heart-shaped boxes,” he finally muttered. “I took out the chocolates and. . .well, I remembered you saying something about rattlesnakes nesting in one of the fields by the beach, so. . .”

Azalea clicked her tongue, slowly shaking her head.

“Murdock.” She set her tea on the coffee table in order to start massaging her temples. “Murdock—look, I appreciate you. You’ve done a lot of things to help out Cal and I. You’re one of the most resourceful people I know. But right here, right now. . .you’re an idiot.”

An indignant squawk emerged from Murdock’s throat. He threw up his hands in a lame gesture, gritting his teeth at the stinging sensation of the IV tube’s protest.

“At least I know the message’ll get across!” He argued. “If the snake bit me, then it’ll probably bite the loan shark! So, if he doesn’t die from the bite, then he’ll run off after he gets treatment; and if he’s stupid enough to stick around, then we’ll just bump him off! One way or another, he’ll be out of our hair soon!”

If there was ever a time for a record to suddenly be scratched. . .

Azalea was about to respond with more sarcasm, but stopped short upon hearing this latest statement. Murdock pursed his lips, realizing too late that he probably should’ve just left that part out.

“Let me get this straight,” Azalea pronounced. She rose from the sofa, beginning to pace back and forth on the living room carpet. “You went out into a field to try and catch a snake. A venomous snake, remember. And, somehow, despite not having any equipment—”

“Hey, I found a forked stick before I started looking,” Murdock protested.

Azalea, not to be interrupted, gave the hitman a death glare. “—you actually managed to catch that snake. Then, that snake bit you, because OF COURSE IT DID. . .”

She paused, as her brain was still attempting to process this. On one hand, Murdock was a contract-killer: he was professional when he needed to be, but he and lapses-in-judgment were still old friends. On the other hand, Murdock was a grown-ass man who should’ve had a few more shreds of common sense than this.

“. . .and you STILL went through with your little message plan? After you were bitten, you decided NOT to let go of the thing that bit you and run far away from it?!”

A little voice in the back of Azalea’s head worried about her eyeballs potentially dropping out of her sockets due to how bewildered her expression was.

“You STILL thought it was a good idea to put it in a box?! Not just that, you drove that box over to a secondary location! You did all that BEFORE you made your way over here for the cure?!”

Murdock’s eyes were also currently the size of dinner plates. Although the movement was subtle, there was no mistaking how he shrank back into the armchair.

He may have clearly been much taller than Azalea, even in a seated position.

He may have had more than enough experience maiming, mutilating, and murdering his fellow humans for money.

He may have known that he’d long-since earned Azalea’s trust (and vice-versa).

But he still knew what Azalea was capable of. And, despite The Pentas Family’s laws, he was still very much aware of that phrase about women being scorned.

“. . .Pretty much,” he eventually murmured.

Azalea blinked, unable to stop herself from reaching up to pinch at the bridge of her nose.

“You can’t say I wasn’t dedicated,” Murdock tried.

“No, I can’t,” Azalea admitted. Before Murdock could start thinking he was off the hook, however, she added, “But I can say that you’re a dumbass sometimes.”

It took no time at all for Murdock’s natural sardonicism to resurface. “I mean, you don’t have to say that, but alright.”

“Have you ever seen that one video of some guy poking and licking a Portuguese Man O’ War?” Azalea inquired.

“You think I live in a place that doesn’t get WiFi?” Murdock snorted. “How couldn’t I have seen that? It was all over the news.”

Azalea nodded, smiling in an exhausted manner. “Good. That means you know.”

Now having been thoroughly thrown out of the loop, Murdock tilted his head to the side. “What exactly do I kn—”

“The clout-chaser in that video is the only reason why what you did tonight doesn’t qualify as the stupidest, most reckless thing I’ve seen since I started working with you!” Azalea swiftly marched across the living room to give Murdock a surprisingly harsh flick to the forehead. “Thank your lucky stars!”

@sammys-magical-au @insane4fandoms @callmegkiddo @neons-trash-blog @ayoreneehere @flamestar456 @inkangeliguess @safe-hayven @dleep-deprivation-idk-jelp @forestcouncil @themarpsimp @slasher-smash @sw33tst4rs @butterboyfly

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goldkirk · 2 years

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Hey in case anyone is struggling with the same thing, here’s something I worked out recently while journaling.

tw for threatening/shaming about dental hygiene, mention of self harm, vaguely mentioned privacy violations, and medical procedure/anesthesia mentions, and me doing a LOT of trauma dumping

I have mental and physical disabilities which I am continually avoiding getting care for and most urgently out of that I’ve had untreated cavities and a root canal that I’ve known about for over a year plus rapidly moving teeth plus impacted wisdom teeth that need to come out, and that’s a problem. I KNOW it’s bad to keep putting it off but I can’t ask for help and I can’t get it done BECAUSE

- I am terrified of what medical people will say and do

- I have zero trust that I won’t feel things while numbed because I always did before after a while

- my sensory issues are so high sometimes I repeatedly gag just while trying to brush my teeth, not even get super far back

- my jaw is prone to pain and strains and partial dislocation and my teeth are prone to feeling wobbly and bruised and I hate both

- I was shamed and guilted and threatened about oral hygiene for a long time

- I was lectured by medical people even after trying to explain that I was so depressed and adhd and scared about that a i wasn’t even sleeping or eating or doing hobbies or doing school/work a lot of the time, so it was really difficult for me to even remember I should do hygiene for teeth because I was forgetting that I even need food or water or time outside of a building and that made me feel even more ashamed

- the one time I went to talk to the endodontist about getting the root canal, he didn’t let me chat, he didn’t take my nerves and guilt seriously, he pressed a cold thing to my teeth until it got to the the root canal one and hurt like crazy—without telling me why he was doing it or warning me it would hurt if I needed a root canal, and didn’t sympathize when I started crying involuntarily after he told me they’d need to do a root canal and I needed to just have better brushing and flossing that was the only answer, and then tossed me out to the front desk and left

- I have to be minimally sedated for the root canal because otherwise I will literally fuck up my vitals and jaw joints guaranteed but I can’t afford even light sedation much less anything useful

- but also, most importantly, what I just realized this week:

I was in hospitals with family members for years watching them get procedures and surgeries and from age 8 onward seeing people helpless and out of their usual minds after surgeries and saying stuff. And I lived in FEAR for SEVERAL years of ever having to get twilight or full sedation not because of needing it or of pain but because I felt that if I woke up from it:

- my mom at least would be there no matter what because that’s how things go it’s what we do

- I didn’t know what my brain would think about after sedation

- I know people talk about things after sedation

- I had a lot of secrets that i felt sure would get me in massive trouble at best and months to years of lectures, “spiritual direction”, and punishments/restrictions at best

- and I felt like there was no protection from me saying something after sedation that implicated me in liking stories I shouldn’t or saying a cuss word or mentioning I knew someone who was lgbt or something about self harming or something about sneaking on the internet in different ways to read the U by Kotex website articles and tumblr and stuff when I was supposed to only have access to school things

- etc etc

So basically, my brain trained for years that “any medical sedation could lead to you not only being helpless but also lead to you ruining your life and doing the emotional and mental equivalent of being murdered and having the only remaining not-miserable things taken away and having everyone disgusted with you and being constantly a target forever after that”

and so on top of the 1) previous painful cavity filling experiences, 2) my complete lack of privacy or autonomy (including preemptive warnings, explanations, or asking if something was okay) during doctor visits till after age 18, 3) uncomfortable scenarios with not being warned about things medically until they were happening partway through a treatment or exam, 4) lots of times seeing family members have scary altered consciousness or bad complications after procedures, 5) being shamed and terrified into hating my own teeth and avoiding dental hygiene from the stress, and 6) being taught I didn’t own my body and it was a threat and a dangerous temptation so I stopped identifying with it and hated having it and tried to just not care about it, I’m actually so conditioned to feel like after-procedure-times are actually a risk to my life and safety that it only makes sense some really desperate versions of me are trying to make sure this doesn’t happen no matter how extra ashamed I get or how much I’m risking dental and other health and how much worse I’m making everything by letting the tooth rot grow.

I don’t know what to DO about this yet, since I haven’t gotten to a place where I can tell or trust any adult or friend enough to ask them to help or anything, and I’m an adult so I HAVE to handle things myself legally, and I can’t even convince myself to get a psychiatrist or a physical therapist or even tell my new PCP anything that’s wrong with me EVEN THOUGH I DID THE NEW PATIENT VISIT SPECIFICALLY SO I COULD START GETTING MEDICAL CARE…

…but I’m going to not allow myself to be angry with myself and I’m going to try to be ready to jump on the chance when I do feel able to take a leap about this and just get it done no matter how much debt I have to add on to my pile

#because I’m told tooth stuf just gets worse the longer you leave it #and stuff gets more expensive #i already can’t afford a root canal or crown #much less the other cavities #much less the wisdom teeth general anesthesia surgery #but it’s going to be worse if I don’t #so I’m working on it #I’ve been shamed enough I don’t need to keep doing it to myself too #if I thought I might die or be rejected or be abandoned because of anesthesia I’d avoid it like a panicked ferret too #need to practice not being mad at that #health #personal #trauma #tw: self harm #tw: medical #I’d be safe with RJ #my brain trusts her because she WAS the only safe truly and she’s always known my secrets #but unfortunately we’re like >2000 miles apart and also wrangling a traumatized adult through medical mazes is not on anyone’s job descript #ion except maybe really dedicated and over-giving therapists lmao

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