#acl surgery tw

[destielmemenews]

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[arlana-likes-to-write]

Hi friends!

My surgery was today and it went really well. The pain is manageable but I'm doing good.

Onto my road to recovery. If anyone has questions about it and or the recovery process let me know and I'll be more than happy to answer them.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: so. this wasn’t a fic i planned on writing but kind of needed to, in order to just process some shit. i had the same thyroid surgery a couple of years ago, but only had half of it out at the time. i recently had a little bit of a scare that there was something going on with the remaining half (there wasn’t, i’m all good!!) but i sat down ready to write a different andrei fic and this one came out instead 😬 it’s kind of funny, because i wanted to post an andrei fic on the one year anniversary of posting that first andrei fic and it weirdly worked out that this fic is an opposite of that first one - andrei taking care of reader as opposed to her taking care of him after the acl injury. anyway, stupidly long note over and just one final thing: i have been so grateful and blessed by all the love for my hockey fics this past year and i’m looking forward to writing more fun fics for you guys 🤍

word count: 6.6k

tw: cancer mention, surgery mention, incisions and scarring mention

summary: when you have a medical scare, it’s andrei’s turn to take care of you

You manage to keep your emotions under control and locked away until you get home and Andrei’s head pops up over the back of the couch, television remote in hand, smile on his face as he asks, “how was your day?”

The words are barely out of his mouth before you’re bursting into hysterical tears, sobs wracking your entire body. Your bag slips off your shoulder and lands on the floor with a thump and you can’t see Andrei’s face fall in fear through your tears. But a second later, his arms are strong around your body, his chest solid under your cheek as he crushes you in a hug.

You’re grateful for it, for his solid presence, because the second he touches you, your knees buckle and he’s the only thing keeping you standing.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Andrei’s voice is thick with fear, one large hand stroking the back of your head. His voice shakes when he asks, “did someone die?”

You manage a shake of your head against his chest, breath hiccuping out of your chest. Your lungs feel tight and you’re pretty sure you’re not getting enough oxygen in on your shaky, shallow breaths. Andrei pulls back slightly and cradles your face in his hands, fingers gripping just slightly too tight. The pressure grounds you and even though you’re still sobbing, your breathing feels easier.

“Solnyshka, please, what’s happening?” Andrei studies you with worried eyes, his accent stronger than usual. His thumbs swipe over your cheeks, like windshield wipers getting rid of your tears. “You’re scaring me.”

“D-doctor called,” you manage to choke out and Andrei’s grip on your face gets tighter. Your stomach swirls with nausea and you’re afraid that you might vomit on him.

Andrei mutters a curse under his breath, your reaction isn’t for good news.

You raise a shaky hand to your mouth and press your fingertips against your lips, muffling your voice as you choke out a fragmented sentence, “b-biopsy was, um, it’s - they said. Oh fuck, um, c-cancer.”

The word hangs in the air between your bodies, dropped like a bomb.

Andrei’s eyes go wide and he stares at you, jaw going slack. “Fuck,” he grits out the curse and you press the heels of your palms into your eye sockets, hard, until you see little white starbursts.

One of his hands slides down the side of your jaw until his thumb is right over the lump just above your collarbone, the cause of your tears. He’d been the one to notice it months ago, pressing a kiss to your skin and mumbling that something felt off. You’d brushed him off, like an idiot, thinking it was nothing until he had mentioned it again a few weeks later, noting that it was bigger. Twice more he had to comment on it before you went to your doctor, starting down a path of blood draws, ultrasounds, CT scans, and most recently, a biopsy.

You feel like an idiot for waiting so long.

Andrei’s lips meet your forehead, a warm kiss stabilizing you. He mumbles something against your skin and wraps his arms around you again in a tight hug. You lean heavily against him, mind going a mile a minute, your doctor’s words ringing in your ears. Without realizing it, Andrei gently ushers you up to your room, helping you strip off your clothes and turning on the shower for you. You blink at him and he cups your cheek.

“Shower,” he says, voice hoarse. “Clean the day off, yes? Then we figure it out. Together.”

You nod, wiping at the tears still sliding down your cheeks. “Please don’t leave?” Your voice cracks. You don’t think you can be alone with your thoughts right now. “Just…just tell me about something. Anything.”

“Okay,” he nods and leans against the countertop, arms crossed over his stomach. He’s quiet for a few moments while you get situated in the shower, hot water running over your face. You splutter out the water when it fills your mouth and tears well up in your eyes again. Andrei’s eyes study you as he slowly begins to tell you about practice, clearly trying to remember each and every little detail that he can to try and distract you.

It sort of works, drawing a faint laugh when he tells you about Pyotr’s latest adventure in the crease, but also your brain can’t stop thinking about the c-word. It’s a constant loop in your brain - “I’m sorry, the biopsy was positive for malignant cells. Thyroid cancer. I’m scheduling you for an appointment in two days to discuss the plan going forward.”

Without you really participating, still in a daze, Andrei turns the shower off and bundles you in a towel, rubbing his hands up and down you arms to get some warmth in your body. He guides you into the bedroom and quickly helps you into sweats, bundling you up under the covers before climbing in next to you and pulling you close so your chest is flush against his.

“You’re shaking,” he comments, squeezing you tightly. Your head is tucked under his chin, nose pressed against his neck.

“She didn’t say,” you mumble, cutting yourself off. “What if it’s - what if it’s bad?”

Andrei shakes his head above you and his fingertips draw nonsense patterns on your back. “It won’t be,” he says firmly.

“But what if it is?” You press him in a shaky voice. “What if I’m like, just -“

“Stop,” he says shortly, interrupting your spiral. You shut your mouth with a little snap. “When do you see doctor again?”

“Two days,” you reply. “The first appointment, eight in the morning.”

Normally your doctor is booked up weeks in advance. The fact that she’s squeezing you in last minute only makes your heart beat faster, nausea churn in your stomach. It must be bad, for her to make sure you get in quickly. If it weren’t, wouldn’t she just let you schedule a normal appointment?

Andrei’s talking, but you don’t hear him over your spiralling thoughts. “Sorry,” you tap on his chest, drawing his attention. “I wasn’t- what were you saying?”

He kisses the crown of your head. “You can have breakfast before? I’ll take you for coffee before we go to the appointment. Is the office near that coffee shop you like?”

“You - wait,” you’re still not really processing what he’s saying, too hung up on cancercancercancer.

“Breakfast before your appointment,” Andrei repeats. His legs tangle with yours.

“You don’t have to -“ you start to say, shaking your head. He doesn’t need to be burdened with your medical stuff now.

Andrei interrupts you with a little pat to your ass. “I’m coming with you, final. No arguing, solnyshka,” his cheek rests against your head and you can feel his hands tremble a little against your back.

“Okay,” you murmur. “No arguing. But you might be late for practice…I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

The thought of going to your appointment alone is terrifying though and you’re grateful that Andrei offered, that you didn’t have to ask. Because you wouldn’t have asked, not when you know he’s busy and distracted with the season. Not when you’re an adult and should be able to handle this on your own.

“Leave to me,” he says. “I’ll handle, okay? Just try to relax now and then we’ll have dinner.”

“I can’t eat,” you reply immediately, your stomach lurches violently. The thought of food is enough to have you ready to rush for the toilet. Frankly, you’re surprised you haven’t already vomited from the sheer anxiety of the situation.

“Then you can watch me eat,” Andrei jokes, surprising a weak giggle from you. You can feel his cheek move against the top of your head with a smile and allow yourself to focus on the steady beat of his heart under your cheek until you fall into a fitful, unsatisfying sleep.

The next day drags and speeds by and before you know it, you’re waking up at 4:30 in the morning on the day of your appointment. You try to stay quiet on your side of the bed, so you don’t wake Andrei up - there was a game last night and he’d gotten home late - but he’s more attuned to you than you realized. His hand slides over your hip, squeezing gently.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into the dark. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

His eyes are still shut and his voice is low and hoarse with sleep, but Andrei’s lips curl up in a sleepy, lazy smile. “Didn’t wake me,” he mumbles into the pillow as his hand finds yours. You lace your fingers with his, feeling the ridges of his knuckles with the pads of your fingers. “Don’t want you nervous alone.”

“Thanks,” you manage to choke out the word around the lump of emotion lodged in your throat. Andrei tugs on your hand and you slide closer to him, letting him tuck you under his arm and bury his face in your neck.

“Sleep again. Alarm is set,” his breath is warm on your skin and his arm is a heavy, reassuring weight over your stomach. You close your eyes and let yourself mimic Andrei’s slow, steady breathing. It’s not easy and your brain continues whirling a mile a minute, thinking about the lump on your neck, the possible treatment, possible long term effects. You just wish you knew already how bad it is.

Andrei grunts next to you, blowing little pieces of hair from your face. “Stop thinking, solnyshka. You’re going to start a fire with all your thoughts,” he kisses your shoulder and pulls you closer, crushing you against his side so tightly it’s almost hard to breathe. You focus on the weight of his arm and the heat of his body until you can feel your heartbeat slow down.

The next time you wake up, it’s to an empty bed and the smell of eggs and bacon in the air. You yawn and stretch out, turning your head to see the time on your Hatch. 6:45, a much more reasonable time to be awake.

A pit sits heavy in your stomach and you scrub a hand over your face, swallowing harshly around the lump in your throat. Just over an hour until you really know what you’re dealing with.

You can hear Andrei moving around in the kitchen and with a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed and move on auto-pilot to get ready for the appointment. You take time with your hair and makeup, feeling a little bit better once you start looking like a human again.

“Hi,” you greet Andrei quietly once you head down to the kitchen. He looks up from where he’s scrolling on his phone while eating his first breakfast of eggs and bacon.

“Morning,” he opens one arm for you to come and lean against him. You rest your head on his shoulder and he kisses the top of your head. “Sleep well?”

You lift one shoulder in a shrug and Andrei chuckles a bit. “Snored and drooled all over me,” he teases, “so it was a rhetorical question.”

“I did not!” You protest, a spark of energy flaring while you defend yourself. You push back from Andrei’s side and squint at him, a little pout on your lips.

“Did too,” Andrei grins and when he grabs your chin in his hand to draw you in for a kiss, you know he provoked you on purpose and is happy with the result.

You exhale a scoff through your nose when he pulls back, shit-eating grin still on his face. “Terrible man,” you murmur affectionately.

His grin turns smirky and his hand slides down to rest against the curve of your ass. He pats lightly, a little frisson of heat traveling through your body at the contact. You sigh and lean into him again, not looking forward to leaving the little bubble of your home.

At the coffee shop, you pick at the cinnamon scone Andrei had forced into your hands, crumbs littering the tabletop as you shred it with your fingers. Andrei studies you, chewing on the black plastic straw in his iced white chocolate mocha. You’re startled when he abruptly asks, “where do you want to go this summer?”

Crumbs skitter across the table when your fingers jolt and you blink at him, hands frozen in midair. “What?” You ask, shaking your head and processing. It clicks a second later and you continue, “I…I can’t think about the summer, Drei. I just need to get through today.”

He keeps chewing on the straw and you can’t help but watch his lips as they move. “Solnyshka, when this is over and you’re not going anywhere on vacation, you’ll tell me that we should have planned something,” he smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “So, where do you want to go this summer?”

Tears prickle at your eyes, again, overwhelmed by Andrei’s thoughtfulness. Pausing for time and to make sure your voice isn’t shaky when you do speak, you look down at the massacred scone and brush your fingers together to get rid of the crumbs on your fingers. “Um,” you clear your throat, “I don’t know, really. Nykki and Martin love Mauritius. Maybe there?”

“Whatever you want,” Andrei agrees easily, slurping at his drink. He pushes the napkin with a larger chunk of scone on it towards you. “Eat,” he demands, tone firm.

You take a small bite, just to appease him, but the pastry tastes like sawdust in your mouth.

Andrei holds your hand throughout the entire appointment and you’re grateful for his presence, because you can’t focus on anything your doctor says after ‘stage I papillary thyroid cancer’ and ‘surgery’ and ‘radioactive iodine treatment, just to be sure.’ He squeezes your fingers tighter and tighter as your doctor talks, pointing out something on the black and white images of your ultrasound and CT scan. The blurry blobs could be anything and you honestly have no idea what she’s pointing at.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, blood rushing like you’re underwater, as she explains the surgery you’ll be undergoing. A thyroidectomy to remove your entire thyroid and the cancerous lymph nodes. In and out in the hospital, a straight line cut across your lower throat. A scar unless you’re good with applying Vitamin E oil or Mederma. Possible damage to your vocal cords, but that’s very rare.

“What does your schedule look like in the next month?” She asks, briskly but not unkindly.

You blink at her and shake your head slightly. Andrei looks at you, waiting for an answer. “I, um,” you pause, trying to mentally access your calendar, “I’m open. I just…have to put in the leave time at work.”

“Good,” she says, looking down at the paper calendar on her desktop and running her finger over the boxes, “we’ll schedule your thyroidectomy for a week and a half from today, that’s a lighter day for me. All the pre-op information will be in your portal and we’ll go from there on scheduling the rest of your treatment. Any questions?”

A million.

“No,” you murmur, “um, not right now.”

“Can I stay with her?” Andrei leans forward to ask. “When she has surgery?”

“You can wait in the waiting room while she’s under,” your doctor replies. “And once she’s out of the anaesthesia and discharged, you’ll have to drive her home. She won’t be able to drive for a day or so while the anaesthesia really works out of her system.”

You’re shaking your head. “No, you have work. You have practice and games, someone else will drive me. I’ll ask Nykki…”

“No,” Andrei turns to you with wide brown eyes. “I’ll drive you. I’ll be there, solnyshka.”

You shake your head again, but keep quiet because you don’t want to have a fight with Andrei in front of the doctor. The rest of the appointment is routine scheduling and you leave with your head swimming and a surgery date burned into your brain.

You’re quiet the rest of the day and Andrei doesn’t push you to talk, instead trying to go about your routine as normally as possible. He’s missed practice - “personal reasons” Rod’s quoted as saying on Twitter, but “nothing that will prevent him from playing tomorrow.”

The next week and a half feels like a blur - you’re distracted and anxious with Andrei playing three games in seven days, two of them on the road, taking him away from you. He’s back the day before your surgery and doesn’t say anything when you greet him at the door with a tight hug and cling to him for the rest of the night, your stomach growling since you can’t eat, both from the anxiety and the pre-surgical requirements.

“Are you sure about missing the game tomorrow?” You ask later, when it’s dark and you’re buried under the blankets. “I feel -“

“Don’t feel bad,” Andrei rubs small circles over your back. “I made decision. Rod understands. You are more important than the game and the boys promised to win for you.”

A soft giggle escapes into the air and some of your guilt along with it. You hate that Andrei’s missing the game, hate that he’s missing it for you. You hate that everyone seems to know your personal business too, but you know Andrei had needed to talk about what you’re going through too.

His other hand moves up to your scalp and scratches gently, tension seeping from your shoulders. “Get some sleep,” he kisses your cheek. “Early day tomorrow.”

“I love you,” you whisper. “So much.”

Andrei has to practically manhandle you into the car in the morning, making sure you’re dressed comfortably and warm. Your head rests against the window as he drives. “I’ll pick up some groceries while you’re napping,” he says, brushing his thumb over your knee. “Anything you want specific?”

“Butterscotch pudding,” you ask hopefully, smiling a little. You try not to eat a ton of processed foods, but you figure post-surgery you’ll indulge.

“On it,” Andrei grins at you, dimple popping. He looks calm, which reassures you. Once he parks and you enter the hospital, everything speeds up and slows down. Andrei helps you fill out paperwork while you change into the hospital gown and grippy socks.

You fold up your clothes neatly and put them in the little duffle bag you brought along. Andrei catches sight of the pile and raises an eyebrow, “are you not wearing underwear?”

Your cheeks heat up with a flush and you hold the gown shut behind you. “No,” you hiss, “I’m not allowed to. Don’t even start with me.”

“I wasn’t going to,” his smile is a little too sneaky and you try to climb onto the bed in a way that doesn’t leave your entire ass exposed. You fail miserably, if the little wolf-whistle Andrei lets out is any indication.

“I hate you,” you mutter, pulling the sheet up around your legs. You’re both quiet while the nurse comes around to make sure all your paperwork is filled out and signed. Andrei immediately reaches for your hand when the nurse puts the IV line in your other hand - “for the anesthesia, later,” she explains - knowing that you hate needles more than anything.

And then there’s nothing to do but wait.

Andrei’s sitting on the edge of the bed, texting and reading out the messages that the guys are directing to you. “Jarvy,” he says, wincing at the screen, “wants to know if you get to keep your thyroid once it’s removed.”

“Uh, no,” you reply flatly, face screwing up in disgust at the thought of it. “I hate this.”

His hand lands on your knee and rubs it through the sheet. “It will be over before you know it,” he soothes you. “In meantime, Skjeisy says you can join me and him in the cool scar club.”

Your hand subconsciously lifts to your throat, fingers wrapping around it loosely, and you blow out a breath, puffing up your cheeks. “Not a club I really wanted to join,” you say wryly.

You scroll through Twitter absently, a pit of guilt settling low in your stomach when you see the Tweet from the Canes’ account that Andrei’s missing tonight’s game for personal reasons. Your thumb hovers over the tweet, ready to tap on it and read the replies, when Andrei plucks the device from your hands. “Hey!” You protest, reaching for your phone. Andrei pulls it out of your reach.

“No more social media,” he says, tucking your phone in the back pocket of his jeans for safe keeping. With his other hand, he digs a little envelope out of his front pocket. “I forgot, yesterday, to give this to you. But mom sent this and I was supposed to give it to you before surgery,” he settles the little envelope in your hands and you look at it curiously.

Opening the flap, you tilt the contents out onto the palm of your hand - a little gold medallion on a chain. You hold it up to your face and see the tiny icon embossed into the gold. “Who is this?” You ask, rubbing your thumb over the image.

“Saint Anastasia,” Andrei replies, “she was a healer, I think. Mama wanted to make sure you were protected.”

Elena’s gesture of love and concern hits you like a punch to the stomach and you startle both yourself and Andrei by bursting out into ugly, loud sobs. Your face crumples and fingers tighten around the chain.

Andrei lets out a noise of distress that you can barely hear over your crying and rush of blood in your ears. His arms wrap around your upper body and you bury your face in his chest, getting tears and snot everywhere. “It’s okay,” he whispers in your ear, stroking a hand over your hair. “Hey, stop crying, nurses are going to think something is wrong. Shh.”

“I just really love your mom,” you wail into his chest, muffled by his shirt.

Andrei keeps shushing you, alternating with trying to comfort you. You sniffle and pull back, wiping at your face with the back of your wrist. “Better?” Andrei asks, cupping your chin. His lips are drawn down in a concerned frown.

“A little, yeah,” you nod, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping one arm around them. You hold your other hand up, the little pendant dangling from its chain in between your faces. “Can you keep this safe for me?”

He nods and lets you clasp the chain around his neck. The little pendant falls into place against his chest, dwarfed next to his giant cross. You smooth your fingertips over the icon and his cross, lingering for a few heartbeats over the warm metals. Andrei’s hand comes up to cover yours and he squeezes your fingers. “You are going to be perfect, solnyshka,” he mumbles, lifting your hand to his mouth to kiss your fingertips.

“Okay, kids,” your nurse, a cheerful older woman named Monica, appears at the foot of your bed, drawing yours and Andrei’s attention, “one more kiss and then I’m whisking you off to the best sleep of your life.”

Andrei squeezes your fingers again and presses a soft kiss against your lips, mumbling, “see you soon.”

You press your fingers into his chest, digging your nails into the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling like you’re going to hold on and not let go. With a shaky sigh, you release him and manage a brave little smile, “don’t forget my butterscotch pudding.”

He nods, laughing under his breath, and then Monica’s helping you get settled back on the bed and Andrei steps off to the side while a whole little team appears to transport you to the operating room. You twist your fingers together anxiously, stomach turning, and turn on the bed so you can keep looking at Andrei until you’re completely out of the pre-op ward. He catches your eye and winks, waving a little and tapping his other hand over his chest, where your icon hangs next to his cross.

“He’s a real cutie,” Monica comments idly, drawing your attention once the swinging doors are shut behind your little parade and Andrei’s out of sight.

“Oh,” you hum faintly, “he really is. I don’t deserve him, honestly.”

“Now, I’m sure that’s not true,” she keeps chatting as you get situated on the operating table, climbing awkwardly from your bed, trying to keep the gown closed over your ass. “You’re just as cute, even more, I’d say.”

“Thanks,” you laugh a little, the compliment warming the icy block of nerves lodged in your chest. Once you’re laid out on the table, you run a hand over your sternum, breathing deeply.

The surgeon comes in and offers you a warm smile, “I promise, I’m really good at this.”

You’re thrown off a little by the statement and he nods, clearly pleased with himself. “I find that patients always want me to be a little cocky,” he continues, sitting down on a wheeling stool next to the table you’re on. “We’ll be done before you know it and you’ll wake up feeling extremely well-rested.”

“As long as you’ve got the skill to back up your words,” you say, surprisingly reassured a bit by his no-nonsense manner.

Monica pats your hand and grins, “he does. Now, count back from ten and you’ll be back with that sweetheart of yours in no time.”

Your lips curl up briefly and you angle your head away when you feel the little tug on the IV in your hand indicating that the anesthesia is getting attached and started. In your head, you start the count at ten, nine, eight —

“Oh, looks like she’s coming around,” a voice breaks through the dark haziness surrounding you and you try to blink, but your body feels too heavy.

There’s a warm pressure on your hand and you twitch your fingers against it. A little shiver works its way through your body, you’re freezing.

The warmth on your hand moves up your arm - a hand stroking against your skin. “Whenever you’re ready,” the familiar accent washes over you, “I can’t wait to see those eyes, solnyshka.”

A hum forms in the back of your throat and that’s a mistake because it hurts and you let yourself fall back asleep to avoid the pain.

The next time you wake up, the bright lights of the hospital almost force you to close your eyes again. You grumble wordlessly and the noise draws Andrei’s attention from where he’s sitting in a chair next to your bed, scrolling on his phone. He looks over at you and his face immediately breaks out into a wide, dimpled smile.

“Hey,” he greets you, scooting the chair closer and reaching for your hands. His are still warm against your cold ones and it’s nice when his thumb brushes over the backs of your knuckles. “How do you feel?”

Before answering, you take stock of your body and you’re surprised to find that you feel pretty good beyond the pain in your throat. That feels like you’re swallowing knives. “‘M okay,” you manage to mumble quietly, wincing at the stretch of your skin. “C’n I have water?”

“Da,” Andrei pours water into a little plastic cup and hands it to you, plunking a straw in the water. You take a sip and it feels so good going down, the cold water soothing the burning. You sigh happily and sink back into the pillows.

“How’d it go?” You ask, rolling your head so your cheek is resting on your shoulder and you can see Andrei better. Your voice scratches out of your throat, raspy and hoarse like you’d just smoked a pack of cigarettes.

“Surgeon says perfect,” Andrei grins, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. “You did so good, solnyshka.”

His fingers never stop stroking yours and you melt at the contact, glad his the first face you saw when you woke up. “Wonder how bad the scar is,” you mutter, resisting the urge to touch your lower neck, where the skin feels tight and battered. “Can I see?”

Andrei’s hesitation and slight frown before he says, “maybe not best idea right now,” tells you all you need to know.

“Oh my god,” your eyes go wide, panic starting to claw at your chest. “He botched me! I’m botched, it’s a horrible scar, right?”

“No, no!” Andrei shakes his head frantically. “Not botched! It just, with the glue, there’s no stitches. But you can see all the blood. It looks worse than it is, the surgeon said.”

“But it looks really bad,” you confirm and before Andrei can say anything, Monica appears behind his shoulder.

“Look at you, awake and ready to go,” she smiles, effectively cutting off any discussion about your neck, and asking how you feel while filling out your chart. You answer as honestly as you can, voice growing more hoarse the longer you talk. “Well, everything looks really good. We’re going to keep you here for a few more hours and then, if everything keeps looking good, you’ll be back home before dinner time.”

You and Andrei chime a simultaneous ‘thank you’ as she leaves.

“Give me my phone,” you demand and Andrei shakes his head.

“No way,” he taps the back of your hand. “I’ll be your secretary. You’re just going to get upset if you look.”

“I won’t!” You counter petulantly, poking your lower lip out. “I just want to see.”

“When we get home,” he promises and you scowl at him. He effortlessly changes the subject, showing you a picture of Gigi that Martin had apparently sent earlier. You smile at your favorite puppy, swallowing often to try and ease the sharp pain. It doesn’t do much other than intensify the pain and you start to regret it, closing your eyes for another nap.

By the time you’re cleared for discharge, the pain meds have worn off completely and your neck hurts, a dark mood clouding your head. Andrei is patient with you, helping you change back into your sweats and zip-up. You protest the wheelchair an orderly brings around, but you’re told it’s hospital policy and you slump into the seat, crossing your arms over your chest. Andrei runs his hand over the crown of your head as he walks next to you, carrying your empty duffel bag.

Instead of driving his Lamborghini, your Toyota Rav is waiting at the curb and you smile. “Oh thank god,” you mutter and Andrei laughs.

“Didn’t think you’d want to get down low in my car,” he explains, holding out a hand to help you stand and then climb up into the passenger seat. He left a blanket in the car for you too and you take the opportunity to cover yourself up with it while he goes around the front of the car. You wave at the orderly through the window and Andrei starts the car.

“You thought right,” you yawn. It’s a fast drive home and you’re grateful for that, because all you want to do is rinse off and lay down. Considering you’d been under anesthesia for a couple of hours, you’re exhausted. You’re so tired, you forget to flip down the visor mirror to look at your incision.

Once you’re home, Andrei bundles you into the house, one hand solid against your lower back as he guides you up the front path. “I know you want to shower,” Andrei says, “but remember the doctor said not to get the glue wet for twenty four hours.”

You whine, cranky and desperate for a shower. “I want all the gross hospital feeling off of me, Drei,” you pout, toeing off your sneakers and crossing your arms.

He drops your tote next to your sneakers and raises an eyebrow. “I know, you can get in the bath and I’ll wash your hair. We’ll be careful with your neck, okay ?”

Your neck feels stiff and your throat is still sore, but you nod, just wanting to take your Tylenol and relax. When you shuffle further into the house, you spot bouquets of flowers on the kitchen island and gasp. “What are those?” You whisper hoarsely, tears prickling at your eyes.

“Oh, right,” Andrei laughs. “Special deliveries for my girl. The team sent and your office, Neci and Nykki. My parents, your parents, Geno.”

Tears slip down your cheeks and you feel overwhelmed with love. You wipe at your eyes with the heels of your palms and turn to Andrei for a hug. He embraces you easily and you shake your head. “I didn’t want everyone to know,” your throat hurts more when you cry.

“Only the important people,” he says. “Everyone loves you, solnyshka.”

The reminder of how many people are supporting you makes you think of Elena’s gift and you pull back from Andrei’s chest. “Can I have my necklace back now?” You ask in a shaky voice.

“Of course,” he unclasps the thin chain from his neck and hooks it around yours, pleased to see that the chain doesn’t touch your glued over incision. He taps the pendant with the tip of his finger and kisses your temple.

After an unsatisfying bath and a glance in the mirror that shows the dark rings under your eyes and the gruesome looking wound on your neck, you’re more or less clean and you build a nest of blankets and pillows on your bed, tucking yourself into the middle of it all. You have to sleep sitting up or partially reclined for the first night and it’s not your favorite way to sleep, so you prop a bunch of pillows around your head and hope that works. Andrei brings you a butterscotch pudding and climbs onto his side of the bed so you can watch the game.

“My neck looks awful,” you blurt, unable to stop thinking about it.

“It doesn’t,” Andrei replies. “Just for now with the blood and glue.”

“The scar is going to be so obvious in pictures,” you poke at the pudding with your spoon.

“You look badass,” Andrei rolls onto his side and grins at you. “Like a warrior.”

You scowl at him, feeling like he’s making fun of you even though you know he’s completely serious. You jab at the pudding again, suddenly nauseous. “I wish this was it,” you mutter, still raspy and hoarse and you’re really hoping it’s just temporary and that the surgeon didn’t actually fuck up your vocal cords. “But I still have the radiation and then who knows…”

“One day at a time,” Andrei knocks your foot with his. “That’s what you said to me, right? Every time I’ve been recovering, it’s one day at a time.”

He’s right, for each and every one of his injuries, you had been preaching taking recovery one day at a time. You suppose it’s time to practice what you preach now. Still, your anxiety ratchets up every time you think about the c-word, darkness and worst case scenarios dancing in your head. You twist your fingers around a piece of hair, fidgeting as you mind spins.

Andrei’s hand snakes over your thigh, rubbing gently at the soft fabric of your sweats. He rests his chin just above your knee and says, “hey, look at me.” It feels weird when he talks, chin bouncing on your leg, but you look down at him.

“Hm?” You chew at your lower lip.

“One day at a time,” he repeats firmly, refusing to break eye contact with you. When you nod and he’s satisfied, he presses a kiss to your knee and rolls back onto his back. “Who do you think scores first?” He gestures to the TV, trying to lighten the mood in the room.

You play along, wanting to avoid the pain and the scary future for now. Scooping out a bite of pudding and sticking the spoon in your mouth, you hum around the dessert before teasing, “oh, it’s definitely going to be Pyotr.”

Life goes pretty much back to normal over the next few days, you’re back at work and Andrei hits the road with the team. The glue over your incision flakes off and while the cut is a vivid, angry-looking red, it’s a clean, straight line only about three inches long. You’re obsessive about applying Mederma and Vitamin E oil to help the scar fade as quickly as possible. Your voice is still a little raspy, but it’s getting better slowly.

By the end of the week, you’re working up the courage to call your doctor to schedule your radiation therapy session. It’s a terrifying thought and your hands shake every time you think about it. But Andrei had sent a text this morning, reminding you to make the call. And you don’t want to let him down, not after how supportive he’s been. So, you stare down at the contact information for your doctor’s office, wishing you could, like, use the Force to make the call.

Startling you, the phone begins to vibrate on the table, the same contact information you had been looking at flashing on the screen.

“Holy shit,” you mutter to yourself, blinking stupidly at the phone and swiping at the last second to accept the call. “Hello?”

It’s your doctor, making a personal call, the smile evident in her voice. Within minutes, you’re sobbing with relief as she tells you they ran additional tests on the tissue taken from your neck and while the initial thought and course of action had been to have radiation therapy, the surgeon was confident he had gotten all the cancerous tissue out of your neck.

“You’re cancer-free,” she tells you cheerfully. “I love making these calls.”

“Really?” You manage to squeak out the word around your tears.

“Really. You’ll have to be on a synthetic thyroid pill for the rest of your life and see me every four to six months for blood tests and evaluations,” she explains, “but I am very confident that the malignancy is gone and you won’t need radiation therapy.”

The rest of the conversation passes in a blur and you’re pretty sure the only thing you manage to say is a repeated ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’ before the call ends.

You sit on the couch, shell-shocked, gripping the little icon hanging around your neck.

That’s where Andrei finds you when he gets back from morning skate, tears dripping down your cheeks. Before he can ask, you catch his eyes and beam, “cancer free.”

Andrei lets out an unintelligible, strangled noise of joy and rushes to the couch, swinging you up in his arms and holding you to his chest in a bruising hug. He murmurs in Russian in your ear and you can feel his shoulders shake a little. “I love you,” he murmurs, while you cling to him, “I love you so much, solnyshka. So much.”

His arms are tight around your back and you hook your legs around his waist, not wanting to let go any time soon. Your face is buried in his neck and you’re not sure if his skin is damp from his shower or your tears, but you can’t stop crying.

“Did you book Mauritius?” You laugh wetly into Andrei’s shoulder.

Andrei’s laugh startles out of his chest, echoing around the living room and vibrating through your whole body. It’s your favorite sound in the whole world and you can’t wait to keep hearing it for a long time.

[dustyphantom]

Champions and their Scars headcanons

TW: Mention of self-harm below the cut

Lance:

Lots of scars from getting scratched (and sometimes bit) by pokémon, especially on his back/arms

Also has a few burn scars from his pokémon

Has a large scar on the right side of his ribcage where he got clipped by his Dragonite's hyper beam.

Has a slightly crooked nose from it being broken in a fight.

Has scars on his lip and brow, also from being punched.

Steven:

Most of his injuries are internal

Has broken his ankles several times whilst hiking

Has a titanium hip

Has some scars on his hands/fingers from touching things that he didn't realize were sharp/hot

Has a fake tooth, lost it when his metang accidentally hit him in the face.

Has mild arthritis in his knees and ankles

Wallace:

Top surgery scars, horizontal incisions

SH scars on his thighs

Has some scars on his feet and ankles from coral and sharp objects in the water (also from getting bit by things in the water)

Has a slight nick on his left brow from a fight

Has a scar on the back of his head from fainting after standing up too quickly

Cynthia:

Lots of little nicks from her garchomp

Has a few big ones too, the most prominent being across her lower back and on her left bicep

Had surgery to fix a fractured wrist.

Faint scar on her lip from a fight

Blind in her left eye after an incident with a wild gabite

Alder

Lots of little scars, mostly on his forearms and lower legs from his nomadic lifestyle

Bite scar on his left thigh

Has burn scars on his right shoulder and back from his Volcarona

Scar across his abdomen and back from getting gored by a bouffalant

Iris

Some small scars from her pokémon and picking at scabs

Large burn scar that covers most of her back from when she was caught in a fire

Scar on her cheek from her haxorus turning too quickly

Has a chipped tooth

Diantha

Has a scar on the underside of her chin from when she slammed it into a windowsill as a child

Had surgery to fix a broken foot

Lost one of her pinky toes due to frostbite from her Aurorus

Has some scars on her forearms from being nicked by attacks

Leon

Has some burn scars on his torso from his Charizard

Had surgery on both knees to fix his ACLs (not simultaneously)

Scars on his forearms and legs from flying debris during the Eternatus incident

Large scar on his right thigh from getting cut by his aegislash

Geeta

Had surgery when she broke her hand in 5 places.

A few small scars on her lower abdomen from a hysterectomy.

Scars on her right arm and leg from getting clipped by her Glimmora's power gem.

[wosoragebaiter69]

sometimes it’s hard

leila ouahabi x fem!reader

request: here & here

A/N: leila is one of my fav players, like i don’t support city but i’ll always support bae ☺️(also i made reader english.. i don’t like england but for the sake of this story)

TW: swearing, women’s footballs worst injury (too painful to say after Sammy K)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I lined up in the tunnel, ready to play against Manchester City. The game means nothing but it was a friendly set up between 2 different clubs. To learn more playing styles what not. This meant though, that I’m playing against my secret girlfriend. Who also happens to be lining up with some of my England teammates. I share a quick glance with her before walking out.

After all offical motions are done, the on-field players get in position ready for kick-off. I can’t help but feel something off, in the pit of my stomach, but ignore it attempting to move on with the game that’s just started.

With Leila and I both being defenders, we both don’t usually cross paths often, so that’s good. The game is going pretty smoothly for Barça, 3 goals in the first 45, Leila has stopped quite a fair amount of our attacks on goal. Which is not surprising considering she knows the playing style having been on this team and playing with the Spanish players.

It’s in the 63rd minute, I’m attempting to stop my national teammate Lauren Hemp from scoring when I feel a rip through my knee. It immediately crumples underneath me and I groan, trying to hold back tears.

I make out Lauren kicking the ball away nearing my side immediately.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?” I can hear the worry in her tone.

“Hempo… I think it’s my ACL, please. I can’t continue.” I open my eyes and more people crowd around me. Chloe and Alex are also here, along with Alexia and Lucy.

“Hey, the medics are coming to assess you. Then they’ll take you off yeah?” Lucy speaks. I nod, I only want one person and she isn’t here.

“Can someone get Leila? Please.” All the girls look confused at the request but call her over nonetheless.

She comes rushing immediately, and I watch as she gets on her knees next to me. She arrives just before the medics and lifts my head up against her lap.

“It’ll be ok amor, I’ve got you. If this injury is what you think it is, I’ll be there for you ok?” Tears well in my eyes and I cry into her shorts, missing the exchanges between the other players.

The medics look at my knee.

“Can we feel it? We do suspect it’s the ACL and we’ll need scans.” I nod and they prob around as I flinch, my breath hitching.

“Yeah. we’re going to have to get you on a stretcher and off the pitch immediately. Then straight to hospital.”

“Ok.” Is all I meekly mumble, as I’m lifted up.

“Leila?” I ask, voice cracking.

“Si?”

“After the game, will you see me?” She looks heartbroken for me.

“Of course cariño. I’ll be by your side always.”

- - - - -

I’m in the hospital, the scans have come back with my worst fear coming true. It means I know I won’t be playing for months. If it doesn’t go smoothly then I’ll end up having more problems, like Alexia. It’s hard, for anybody.

I’m kicked out of my thoughts when Leila comes in, freshly showered and in Man City gear.

“Hey.” She says softly, placing her lips gently on mine. “How bad is it?” I sigh.

“Fucking ACL, I’m out for a hefty bit now.” I don’t even have the strength to cry anymore, I’m so exhausted.

“I’m so sorry, when’s the surgery?”

“Tomorrow, they’re keeping me here overnight.” She nods.

“So will I.” My brain freezes.

“No Leila, you can’t. You have to get proper sleep.” I try and argue, but to no avail.

“I told you I’d be by your side did I not? So I will be. After surgery, you could always come back to Manchester with me until you need to start the rehab.”

“You’d allow me to?”

“Of course cariño, anything for my favourite girl.” I smile leaning over the hospital bed rail, placing my head against her chest.

“Te amo.”

“Te amo mucho.”

- - - - -

After the surgery, we end up telling both of our teams about the relationship, and decide not to tell the fans because from the interaction they saw on the pitch… they know anyways.

People had surprised reactions but were happy otherwise. I end up going with Leila to Manchester, and to spend a long time with her in my hometown is the best thing to come around from this injury.

[dearstvckyx]

brother!hughes when their sister gets injured during her sport (tw: mentions of Hospital, Broken Bone, Blood, Surgery)

Quinn Hughes sport: Volleyball injury: sprained wrist

- Quinn would immediately try to get on the court to be at his sister's side, the concern etched on his face. He'd watch as the coach & medical examine her wrist, and after seeing the pain on his little sisters face Quinn finally forces his way on to the court with the rest of the Hughes family in tow.

- Quinn would sit with his sister in the emergency room and would be trying to comfort her.

- And as a professional athlete, Quinn would understand the physical and emotional impact of an injury on his sister. Mentally he’s praying to whoever is there that his sister’s injury is not career ending.

- After waiting a few hours, it is confirmed that Quinns sister has only just sprained her wrist. Relived that it’s nothing serious Quinn hugs his sister and whispers to her, “told you, you’d be okay”

- And even though his sister can still use her right hand/arm Quinn, being the older sibling he is, makes sure that he never has to lift a finger while recovering.

Jack Hughes sport: basketball injury: torn acl

- Jack would immediately rush to his sister's side as soon as he sees the injury occur and the scream/cry his little sister let out.

- He would be visibly worried, but trying not to show it to not worry his baby sister.

- He would reassure her that she’ll be okay. Jack would be the one to ride with her to the hospital with their family following in Quinns car behind the ambulance.

- When the dr tells the Hughes family what is going on with the 2nd youngest Hughes and what her injury exactly is.

- Upon hearing this Jack would instantly grab his sister hand at the same time trying to calm her breathing.

- Jack, being the most energetic Hughes Kid that he is, is hyping his little sister up before her surgey.

- After surgery and after being cleared to go home, Jack would attend her follow-up appointments, keen to understand the process of her recovery.

- He would make a point to spend more time with her during her recovery, using it as a chance to bond and keep her spirits high.

- He is also there when she makes her return to playing for UMICH. Jack is definitely the main person cheering for her.

Luke Hughes sport: soccer injury: broken nose

- Luke would initially be in shock, everything slowing down as he watched his sister fall to the ground with a bleeding nose.

- He would quickly snap out of it and rush onto the field, pushing through everyone. His closest friends (Ethan, Dylan and Jacob) following behind him.

- As soon as Luke gets into the front of the crowd, he takes in the severity of the injury. His little sister, on her knees, head in her hands, blood all over her jersey and shorts as well as in her hands and over her face.

- Luke has never seen so much blood before and was in shocked. And as soon and he hears a scream cry from his sister, Luke is on his knees by her side rubbing her back and trying to calm her down

- Himself and Ethan would help her get back to her feet and walk her into the locker room where medics are waiting for her.

- He'd try to continue comforting her in his awkward yet sincere way, assuring her that she’ll be okay. Thanks to help of Dylan And Jacob words, she slowly calms down.

- The lead medic would let everyone know that he can break her nose back into place but it will bleed more and she would have to go to the emergency room.

- He'd ask Ethan to call his parents and Dylan to call their brothers, as they are all in New Jersey waiting for the Hughes bowl. And of course both boys are already on the phone with them.

- In the hospital, Luke would be pacing outside the examination room, unable to sit still, wishing he could be in there after his sisters sniffles.

- Once everything has settled down, he'd be extra protective of his sister, making sure she's comfortable and has everything she needs. He’d immediately face time their parents, talking to them and letting them know that the youngest Hughes is okay.

- Even some Devils & Canucks players showing up and say Hi or “Hope you feel better”

The Masterlist Here

[alaskan-wallflower]

Do you have any more sad Sodapop headcanons? Everytime I see yours I agree with them! Thanks!

Ooh sure!! (tw for brief mentions of s/h

Like I’ve said, Soda is uber insecure about his looks-he feels like he’s only good for his looks

If he notices one thing “wrong” (a pimple or smth) he fixates on it and in his head it’s a much more visible “fault” than it really is

He’s kinda insecure about not having the same amount of muscles as Darry (side bc but darry worked HARD to get those muscles so he always tells Soda to not compare apples and oranges because he can do the same thing if he works hard enough)

He has asthma BAD-like he was hospitalized once because he was playing at recess and some kid threw dirt at him and he started convulsing

When he tore his ACL at the rodeo he was genuinely depressed-I don’t remember who said this but credits to them, but they said that Soda’s leg never healed properly since ACL surgery is expensive as fuck so it never healed correctly and he has a permanent little limp

When his parents died, he cooped himself up in his room for weeks. Like he didn’t come out except to go to the bathroom and shower.

Part of him is really jealous that Steve may be able to get out of Tulsa and actually graduate because he knows he’s stuck there for life while Steve is smarter so he actually has a chance

He won’t admit it but he dreads the day Steve graduates

When Sandy broke things off with him and wrote that letter to him he ended up copping himself up in his room by himself again and Darry got really concerned

During that time he ended up cutting himself on purpose-as soon as he realized what he did he tried to patch it up and he told Darry right away. He doesn’t do it again

He won’t admit it but the reason he clings so tight to Pony at night is because he’s terrified Pony might run away or that he might do something to himself and the thought alone makes Soda bawl at night

That’s also one of the primary reasons he doesn’t move back into his own room

Hope these are alr-

[bcolfanfic]

has clearly been hurt horribly in a lot of different ways and both john and gale's minds are pretty much just alternating volumes of fuckfuckfuckwhathefuckwhatthefuck. can't get him to say much of anything, he's just crying and freaking out and it's. a mess. they do end up texting josie bc in the panic think maybe a familiar face that's not a big grown man would be less scary.

might be too angsty but how do they come to these conclusions

putting this below a read more line bc its. dark. same TWs apply from the big long wyatt backstory post. human trafficking/sa- dead dove do not eat, he went through hell. also slight gore tw but you can fast scroll past the first paragraph to avoid that!

obv not all wounds are physical, but he also has. a lot of physical wounds. in the lead up to things in the house going haywire and the guy setting the fire he got a lot crueler towards him, and very nearly killed him before he realized the fire would be less suspicious. wyatt's bruised up all over everywhere, fucked up his ACL which he ends up needing surgery for, has rope wounds some of which are infected and really nasty looking. not to mention the consequences of having to get himself out of a burning house. (he got more hurt by the smoke and didn't suffer a ton of burns because of the path he managed to get outta there on, another small miracle all things considered)

they don't know what *actually happened*/that he was in a house being trafficked for. quite some time. wyatt does not want to talk about it, is traumatized and scared out of his mind and doesn't say anything even close to detailed about it for over a week, or tbh longer. but when he's at the buck's house he starts screaming when they're trying to get him to sit on the couch bc it /hurts/. they can tell from the body language that he's in pain and are like shitfuckokay, okay sorry kiddo, i'm sorry, and get him laying on his side instead. are both sitting on the floor by the couch and wyatt is looking at both of them terrified and they. put two and two together as best as they can with such limited information. (gale since he works in education prob had to do a number of warning sign type trainings about both sa and trafficking)

they're kinda panicking because they know they need to get him to a hospital but are scared that if they scare him much more he is going to pass out. john real soft asks if it would be okay if josie came, and he doesn't say anything but he doesn't say no either so. they take that as enough of an answer to try it.

[amarawash]

[ cis woman. she/her ] Welcome to Aurora Bay, AMARA WASHINGTON ! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like JASMIN SAVOY BROWN . You must be the TWENTY-EIGHT year old HIGH SCHOOL SOCCER COACH . Word is you’re ASTUTE but can also be a bit TACTLESS and your favorite song is WILDFLOWER BY BILLIE EILLISH . I also heard you’ll be staying in CRYSTAL COVE . I’m sure you’ll love it!

pinterest. - navigation. ( tw. injury & mention of drug abuse.)

THE BASICS.

NAME : amara garnette washington. AGE : twenty-eight. BIRTHDAY : may 30th. HOMETOWN : aurora bay, ca. CURRENT RESIDENCE : fisher cove. SEXUALITY : homoromantic. FAMILY : unnamed mother & father.

PERSONALITY.

+TRAITS : astute, dauntless, & maverick. -TRAITS : frivolous, perverse, & tactless . LIKES : soccer, traveling, working out, trader joes, 80's nostalgia, sports in general, mocktails . DISLIKES : ab high soccer team (yawn), wasted potential, old trophies, more tba (like i know there's way more but i can't think rn) .

APPERANCE.

Hair : brown & shoulder length. Eye : brown. Body Build : athletic. Height : 5' 7''. Scar/Markings : scar on right knee from surgery. Piercing : n/a. (gonna get some tho.) Tattoos : n/a.

BIO.

( tw. injury & mention of drug abuse.)

At the age of five, with cleats strapped onto her feet, she stepped onto the soccer field for the first time. Chasing after the ball surrounded by a horde of children her age, all of them driven by the same goal. Her first attempt at scoring resulted in the ball landing in her own goal, but the cheers that erupted from the bleachers and the field awakened something within her. Her passion for the sport began shortly after that incident. By the age of ten, her parents had enrolled her not only in a community league but also in a private travel league. She spent countless hours and days on turfed fields, practicing with that little black and white ball that had become the center of her life. As she entered high school, the question gradually shifted from whether the girl had the potential to go pro to when she would go pro. She became a breath of fresh air for recruiters and the youngest member on the Aurora Bay's varsity soccer team. Eventually even taking the title as captain her junior year. With excellent grades and exceptional technique, Amara found herself in Florida after graduating. Her plan was to stay there for the next four years and earn a degree in sports and fitness. However, by the time her junior year came around, she had already been scouted. At the young age of twenty-one, she signed a six-year contract worth $1 million with The Kansas City Currents. With her exceptional skills, she had hopes of extending the contract after winning numerous awards, such as Rookie of the Year and MVP. However, in her sixth year, everything changed when she suffered a life-altering injury on the field - a torn ACL. She recalls the day vividly, looking up at the screen and seeing herself lying on the ground, tears in her eyes while clutching her right leg. She remembers her teammates surrounding her and a stretcher being brought onto the field to take her away. The end of her career seemed to flash before her eyes. She attempted to expedite her recovery, but pushing herself beyond the advised limits ended up causing more harm than good. When she realized she was relying on medication more than necessary, she understood that she needed assistance. She returned home to Aurora Bay, CA a year later, with only half of the money she had originally signed for. Her parents welcomed her back with open arms, but the long-term effects of losing the one thing she had ever loved had lasting damage. Amara has been in town now a little over a year and currently resides in Crystal Cove Condominiums. She's currently the soccer coach for Aurora Bay High School.

HEADCANNONS.

- was def homeschooled up until high school . - was in a out of state rehab prior to coming back to AB. - HATES the fact that she was determined unfit to return to the league and finish her contract. - runs the high school soccer team as if it's the military. -more tba.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

old teammates / coworkers / friends / exes / hook-ups / gym rat buddies / confidents / neighbors / i'm open to everything and anything, and always down to plot out future plots.

TAKEN CONNECTIONS.

tba.

[icarusredwings]

Oh god which one?

Lol okay FOREST LORE

Starting from the top to the bottom.

Tw! Abuse, cancer, near death experiences :)

My scars:

Back of my skull has a 2 inch scar and dent because my father threw me off a balcony when I still had a soft head as a baby. Idk how i'm alive. <6 months old

There's a scar near my ear from god knows what. It's about 1 cm long. Who knows.

My heart surgery scar! My second biggest one is currently sitting at 3 inches! Got this bad boy at 19

There's a scar under my chest line that's about an inch long that I got from falling down the stairs with my porcelain baby doll at 2 years old. Fun fact! The glass shard was an inch away from my heart! (Idk how im alive)

My cancer scar!! It's on my arm and is about 3 and a half inches long, making it my biggest scar. It's fully scar tissue and is very squishy. I was 6 :)

Theres a 1 cm scar on my wrist from feral cat rescue. Somewhere between 12-14? Ive worked rescue for 10 years so i have a lot of those.

Got a scar from my big boy at 16 just before he passed away. I begged god for it to scar so I could have a piece of him forever. It's the one and only time he's ever answered my prayers. It's 2 inches between my thumb and pointer finger.

8. On the same hand there is a Dot directly on my wrist that is a scar (checked by doctors) I apparently have had it since I came home from the hospital (I stayed 2 months after birth due to complications including Ecoli. Where I got that idk)

9. My next one I got when I was 4 and I tore my ACL. It's about a centermeter on my knee

10. The next one I have is on my foot. It's 3 inches and very light by now. It happened when I was 9. My mom told me not to walk barefoot on unstable brick because it will cut me. I didn't litsen. Had to walk funny with a gash to her and tell her she was right..

Not sure if they count but I have a lot of streach marks too from both fat gain and muscle loss, the extra skin moving in different ways. I used to be able to lift 230 deadweight when I was 17 but my disability took over and laughed in my face.

This being said, scars are beautiful, I hope you all enjoyed his old blokes stories

OH.. and uhm... litsen to your mother when she says not to go out barefoot..

@smoresasaur Kinda funny that ive been dead 11 times and have 10 scars... Life is such a funny thing.

scars in fiction: I got this trying to save my lover from an assassin- but tragically, I was too late. now I carry the mark of my failure with me always, and I can never forget~

scars in real life: so I was trying to open macaroni sauce with a paring knife

[seattlesgracehq]

Welcome to Seattle, Emerson Shepherd!! Please send your blog in or contact the main within 48hrs!  

** Please do not start interactions until your account is sent in and your follow is posted!! Once your follow is posted your characters’ info will be added to the main, and after that point you are free to interact!

Character Name: Emerson Shepherd

Age: 19

Pronouns: she/they

Occupation: Barista at Seattle Grace. 

Parents: Amelia Shepherd.

FaceClaim: Talia Ryder

Birthday: October 15th

** FOR OCs ONLY** Does your character have playable (18+) children/family members? If so, please list them here so we can adjust the masterlist accordingly: nah.

Required for all child applications - tw: injury, surgery.

Growing up, Emerson was always rather quiet, they liked to keep to themselves and unlike her mother was pretty shy. It wasn’t until the fifth grade when she found her passions in writing and soccer. They’ve always been on the softer side, someone with a good group of friends but not the most popular. When she was sixteen, Emerson tore her ACL at a soccer tournament, the surgery went fine but playing soccer wasn’t really the same. In the summers they’ll play for fun but nothing more than that.With average grades, school wasn’t her favourite and luckily she graduated high-school alright, but has no interest in college. Of course, they aren’t looking to be a barista forever but for now it gives them something to do.

As well as using she/they pronouns, they also identify as bisexual.

[cityofdreamsrp]

PREPARE FOR LANDING, LAURA!

CONGRATULATIONS, CHRISTEN PRESS! YOU’VE MADE IT TO THE CITY WHERE DREAMS ARE MADE OF!

Please make sure to check off the following:

Send us your account within 24 hours of acceptance!

Follow everyone on the blogroll!

Follow our tracked tags, which you can find here!

OPTIONAL: Message us for the link to the OOC blog!

NAME/ALIAS, AGE, TIMEZONE, & PRONOUNS:

Laura, 30, EST, she/her

____________________________________

FIRST CHOICE:

Christen Press

SECOND CHOICE:

Kelley O'Hara

GENDER YOUR FC IDENTIFIES WITH & PRONOUNS:

Female, she/her

AGE AND BIRTHDAY:

34.  December 29, 1988

CAREER:

Athlete, US women’s soccer player

____________________________________

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

Any women’s soccer player

RULES PASSWORD:

REMOVED

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

I personally don’t have any that aren’t on the list.  

____________________________________

OTHER:

Christen’s currently single and not straight.  I’d like to follow her real life ACL injury, if that’s okay.  Please let me know if anyone needs an additional tw tag for any mentions of a surgery or rehabilitation.   

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Kneecap Day 2020

Behold! My take on @brutal-nemesis‘s Kneecap Day 2020! Whooooo here’s to some Patella pain!

[So we’re jumping forward ever so slightly in Parker’s story, but pretty much all you’ll need to know is that they’re in a lab being experimented on because of their regeneration powers. That’s literally it.]

CW: Lab whump/medical whump, NB Whumpee, noncon surgery, detailed surgery, referenced pas lab whump/partial organ removal, restraints, sadistic whumper, ACL surgery 

[Masterlist]

Parker tried to breathe deeply, refocus and center before the cutting started. They were  strapped down to the examination table - again - this time with extra restraints above and below their right knee. 

Dr. Allen had been gracious enough to attach an oxygen mask for this procedure. Really, it was the least that he could do after removing sections of Parker’s lungs. They had to take twice as many breaths to get the same amount of oxygen, and it was impossibly exhausting. Normally, it would only take them a few days to regenerate, but they were still recovering from the last experiment. 

And now they’ll have something else to recover from, too. 

Voices picked up around them and they closed their eyes. Breathe. Just breathe and get through it. You’ll be fine. Just, just get through this. 

“What is the point of this? We already know any tissue will adapt to the host. What is this proving?” 

“It’s proving that if you’re rich enough, you can get whatever you want,” Dr. Allen responded, finishing washing his hands to put on his gloves. Dr. Cait rolled her eyes. 

“We already knew that. So, who’s this new ligament for?” 

Parker could hear the hard soles of Dr. Allen’s shoes come closer, and squeezed their eyes closed tighter. 

Breathing hurt. 

“Some rich man’s son tore his ACL and lost his college baseball spot. Going for the big leagues, apparently. Turns out that daddy’s money really can buy you anything. And an hour’s work is going to buy me a new Maserati and then some.” 

Something cold and wet cleaned their knee, and Parker tried to force themself to relax. They hadn’t pissed off Dr. Allen lately, so he had no reason to go poking around after he was done. Go in, take whatever it is they want today, and close them back up. 

They tried to swallow back their whine at the incision, but a little made its way through. Dr. Allen’s head snapped up to glare at them, and Parker closed their eyes again. 

Breathe. 

They grit their teeth as they felt the skin being peeled back, at the pressure from the clamps that kept it open for the doctors to work. Parker didn’t think that they would ever get used to the feeling of cold air on the wrong side of their skin. 

Parker opened their hand and focused on pressing each individual finger onto the table as hard as they could. Thumb, pointer, middle, ring, pinky. Thumb, pointer, middle, ring-

An instrument they couldn’t see entered the incision and into the joint. It was cold, and it was pressing underneath their kneecap. Their breath hitched, and wheezed slightly on exhale as two more instruments joined the first. 

Breathe, breathe, breathe, you’ll live. You’ll survive this; you always do. Breathe. 

“Dr. Cait, remind me how much information we have about bone regrowth rate?” 

Tears slipped down from their eyes onto their temples. You fucker. You absolute fuck why don’t you lay down on the table and I’ll cut you open. Let’s see how quiet you are then. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“We need to remove this ligament in one piece, and I’m finding it needlessly difficult with the patella in the way,” he said coyly, voice dripping with sarcasm. Parker grit their teeth as Dr. Cait merely rolled her eyes. 

“Sadistic, but at least it’s actual research. We also need material to make a bone graft, so we’ll harvest from there.” 

Dr. Allen pat their thigh twice, and Parker wanted to scream. Fuck you. 

A drill turned on, and they couldn’t help it anymore. They pulled at their restraints, head rolling to the side in a pathetic attempt to get away. They were strapped down too securely, it did nothing but dislodge the oxygen mask. 

“Well,” came Dr. Allen’s voice, along with the sounds of his latex gloves being removed. Parker whimpered and turned their head the other way, staring at the shelving unit that held various medical supplies. “I had assumed that the oxygen supplement would be helpful to M-03, but apparently I was mistaken. Let’s go ahead and put it away.” 

Parker wanted to sob. No, please, I’m sorry, I need that, please don’t, I’m trying- wait! The mask was ungraciously removed from their face and wrapped up. Dr. Allen grabbed their head and set it back to the original position roughly. 

Parker grasped for air, focusing entirely on breathing again. The drill started again, and their chest shook. 

They could feel the vibrations all through their leg, through the table, maybe even the air. It was loud and horrific, bouncing off the tiles and metal of the lab. The feeling made their breath shudder and their throat constrict. It hurt, like thousands of pinpricks clustered together, tearing through them. 

They were trying, they were trying so hard to stay quiet, but each breath had a wheeze, every exhale with a whimper. Something ripped and their back arched as far as it was allowed. 

Parker heard something clang against a metal tray, and they tried to take a deep breath. It was shaky, but it happened. 

“Removed roughly 50% of the right patella, severed the patellar tendon,” Dr. Cait noted aloud for the recorder. “Bone growth of M-03 recorded as 83 μm an hour or roughly 2 mm a day, predicted full regrowth of patella to original size would be 5-6 days. Will keep subject under observation.” 

“Wonderful,” Dr. Allen said, placing the medical tray on a side table. “Let’s get back to getting me my maserati, shall we?” 

Parker took a deep breath. 

Thumb, pointer, ring, middle, pinky.

~

Parker ganggggg  @ghostcomit @lave-e @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @highwaywhump @panic-and-chaos @mnmlover2002 @thehopelessopus

[plz let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag]

[exhxustxd]

ash cruz is here.

basic information:

full name: ashley “ash” cruz

nickname(s): goes by ash

age: 32

date of birth: may 10th

hometown: portland, oregon

current location: taos, new mexico

ethnicity: ashkenazi jewish, dominican

nationality: american

gender: cis woman

pronouns: she/her

orientation: the gayest of them all

occupation: delivery driver by day, bartender by night

living arrangements: renting a small cabin with clyde

language(s) spoken: english, dominican spanish

physical appearance:

face claim: monica raymund

hair color: brown

eye color: dark brown

height: 5′4

build: athletic?

tattoos: a bunch of doodles on on one thigh, a couple small ones on the arms

piercings: none 

clothing style: super casual, sweatpants or ripped jeans and a t-shirt, with the sleeves cut off if warm enough outside 

usual expression: either slightly annoyed, or smirking, there’s no in between

distinguishing characteristics: good lord she’s hot as hell

health:

physical ailments: tore her acl playing soccer in high school, and has had it reconstructed. while it is mostly fine, some days it’s more sore and annoying than others

neurological conditions: anxiety, ptsd

allergies: none that she’s aware of

sleeping habits: has had a lot of trouble with falling asleep lately, but once she’s out, she can be out for a solid twelve

eating habits: whatever is in the fridge, if anything, if not, takeout

exercise habits: loves to bike. mostly terrain and mountain. other than that – a lot of sex.

emotional stability: appears to be around a 7/10, but probably really is at like a 3/10 these days

sociability: very social, which contributes a lot to her work, especially social with the women, you know. also butts into things she has nothing to do with

body temperature: rather warm 

addictions: cigarettes, alcohol, cocaine, pills

drug use: cigarettes when stressed or anxious, which has been a lot lately, but manages to keep it to that normally. some trouble with cocaine and pills, depending on what she feels the need for, but not as bad as the alcohol

alcohol use: excessive, definitely an alcohol abuse disorder at this point

personality:

positive traits: loyal, friendly, persistent, dependable

negative traits: impulsive, stubborn, narrow-minded, reckless

fears: disappointing the people closest to her, being on her own

hobbies: biking, partying and fucking

favorites:

weather: warm and super sunny

color: grey

music: emo rap and sad trap

movies: mostly watches tv-shows, an action drama hits the spot

sport: soccer, duh

beverage: jack and diet

food: pica pollo

animal: quokka

song: bad place – the hunna

family:

father: dominic cruz

mother: alicia cruz

sibling(s): two older sisters, a younger brother

children: –

pet(s): a golden retriever named clyde

family’s financial status: upper class, very well off

extra:

zodiac: taurus

tw: homophobia, conversion therapy, domestic abuse, alcohol abuse, drug abuse

bio:

born and raised in portland, oregon, ash never really fit in with her family very well. 

her parents were very strict and religious, something ash very early on realized she wanted nothing to do with. however, this would prove to make life very difficult for her at home. especially when ash realized she was gay.

not wanting to pull her punches with her parents and being the rebel that she had become in the household, ash came out to them fairly early on. this resulted in her parents doing everything in their power to get rid of her “lesbian urges”, including abusing her at home and sending her to conversion therapy camp.

ash did really well on the soccer team in high school, and it was looking like she would be offered a college scholarship, but during her senior year, she ruptured her acl and had to undergo surgery, which pretty much took the chance away from her.

while her family easily could have paid for a college education, ash didn’t want to be tied to them more than necessary, so she packed her things and moved to seattle.

she got a job as a bartender, and has been working there since. it works well with her personality, and oftentimes leads to her finding a girl to pickup by the end of her shift – always a nice treat.

trying to cope with the trauma of her teenage years and in an effort to avoid dealing with most things in life, ash got into a bad habit of drinking too much, both at work and on days off, which eventually escalated to abusing drugs sometimes.

six years ago, ash started working for audrey as a delivery driver as well, and there’s nothing ash wouldn’t do for her.

her girlfriend of four years somewhat recently left her due to it, and after her having held ash down for the time they had been together, ash is back to sleeping with anything femme with a pulse, and is spiraling more than ever before, while still trying to get her head back above water on her own.

ash isn’t very selective about who she makes friends with. if you’re nice to her, she’ll be nice to you. while she’s very good at quickly figuring out whether or not you’re worth her time, she will be very slow to judge you and give everyone a fair chance. once you are close with her, she will be very loyal – but she will also expect that back.

ash thrives in chaos. she feels comfortable when everything is falling apart around them and often manages to keep it together in those kinds of environment.

criticism usually bounces right off ash – unless it is coming from an unfair and close place. she really doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her.

ash is not a big fan of change, and would rather have things stay the same for as long as possible.

she’s not particularly good at expressing her emotions, and will put up a front and do what she can to deflect in order to avoid having to deal with it. however, if she does care a lot about you, you will know. she will show it in every other way she can.

ash doesn’t really have much self-control. she goes big or goes home. what the hell is moderation?

[theodore-salazar1]

[ CARLOS MIRANDA, THIRTY FOUR, CIS-MALE ]. who is that walking through lennox? oh, it’s just [ THEO SALAZAR ]. [ HE/HIM ] is originally from [ LOS ANGELES, CA ] and they’re apparently a [ DHAMPIR ]. did you hear they’ve lived here for [ 3 MONTHS ] ? you know, they remind me of [ BURNED CIGARETTES, CALLOUSED HANDS AND BLOODY KNUCKLES, IMPOSTER SYNDROME, LONG DRIVES AT NIGHT ]

{ b a s i c s }

LEGAL NAME: Theodore Salazar

ALIAS: None

GENDER | SPECIES: Cis-Male | Dhampir

AGE: 34

DOB: May 18th, 1987

PLACE OF BIRTH: Los Angeles, CA

NATIONALITY: American

ETHNICITY: Unknown

EDUCATION: High School Diploma; The Culinary Institute of America (incomplete)

OCCUPATION: Bartender @ The Mocking Bird, Odd jobs/Handyman, Boxer/Muay Thai Fighter, Whatever Pays the Bills, (Aspiring) Chef/Restauranteur

LANGUAGES: English (fluent), Spanish (fluent)

RELIGION: Christian

ORIENTATION: Demisexual

DRINK | SMOKE | DRUGS: YES | YES “NO” | YES NO

{ p h y s i c a l  a t t r i b u t e s }

HAIR COLOR: Black

EYE COLOR: Brown

HEIGHT: 6′-1″

TATTOOS: A raven on his right shoulder, alebrije on his chest, three black bands on his left arm, his niece’s birth year on his right radius, one molnija mark on the back of his neck (more on that one later)

PIERCINGS: None

SCARS: On his knuckles from fights/boxing/Muay Thai, right bicep from a car accident, left knee from ACL surgery, on his right eyebrow from a fight

{ p e r s o n a l i t y }

TRAITS

+ level headed, stoic, protective, confident, decisive

- cynical, private, reserved, aloof, resentful

MBTI: ISTJ

ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good/Lawful Neutral

LIKES: Cooking, Muay Thai/Boxing, long drives at night, the beach, music and dancing

DISLIKES: Being late, eating fast food, school, heights, not feeling like he belongs, materialism, social media, guns

GOALS/DREAMS: Taking his niece to college, open his own restaurant

FEARS: Losing his sister, losing his niece, never amounting to anything, meeting his father

{ r e l a t i o n s h i p s }

Pilar Salazar (mother) - estranged;whereabouts unknown;possibly dead

Unknown (father) - whereabouts unknown;possibly dead

Daniela “Dani” Salazar (younger twin sister) - deceased

Marisol Salazar (niece) - alive

Camila Salazar (maternal grandmother) - deceased

{ b i o g r a p h y } tw: murder, child neglect

Theo and Dany never knew their mother very well as she was never around other than nights when they were ready for bed. She worked hard to try and support the family, but she, for the most part, resented having Theo and Dany. Sometimes she didn’t come back at night and they were left to look after each other.

The two were very protective of each other and they were thick as thieves. Theo wasn’t a bad kid, but he wasn’t innocent either. He often times found himself in trouble with authority, but Dany always had his back. Eventually, a teacher suggested he invest his time and energy into an extracurricular activity, like boxing and Muay Thai. 

Theo had an affinity for martial arts, not knowing it was because of his dhampir abilities. He had an opportunity to go professional, but found a love for cooking. He ultimately got into the Culinary Institute of America. As he got ready to leave Los Angeles to move across the country, he and Dany began to drift apart. 

Dany began to disappear like their mother. He saw her sporadically and never got the full story about where she’d been and what she was doing. She always told him she’d tell him later. Eventually, Theo stopped asking. He didn’t even ask her questions when she came back home one time with a child. Theo wasn’t much of an uncle and didn’t have any interest in fulfilling that role, especially as a young college student.

It wasn’t until Theo found his sister murdered that he had to step in to take care of his niece. Theo took his niece to his grandmother, a woman he despised, to take care of her, but she refused. She took the liberty to denounce him, revealing that his father was a Moroi, making him a dhampir. He was shocked and angry to discover that mother and sister were guardians and never told him and never brought him into the fold.

Without any other family members to pass his niece off to, he realized he couldn’t send her into the foster care system. At the age of twenty, he took his niece in to raise her and dropped out of school to start working immediately so he could pay the bills. As he got older, he started to learn more about the supernatural community, although he was in denial about it at first. He also started to notice his own niece’s abilities and realized he had to take her somewhere safe to live. 

Now, he’s found himself in Lennox, taking odd jobs to pay the bills, and raising Marisol like his own daughter. He works almost everyday to pay for tuition to send her to a private school for younger supernatural beings. Meanwhile, he’s trying to get a hold of understanding the supernatural community and what exactly he is.

[victuirs]

        [ cisfemale, she/her, jessica henwick, 23 ] i can't be sure, but i think i just saw CATHERINE SUN drive onto the parkway. don't they know we're not supposed to be driving on that haunted road right now? maybe it has to do with the fact that they're so +PRAGMATIC and -RUTHLESS that makes them feel INDIFFERENT about everything going on. i guess we could also chalk it up to the fact that they're always reminding me of BROKEN MUSIC BOX, SHATTERED MIRRORS, STOLEN PILLS. either way, i hope they get back safely. [ paige, she/her, 18, cst ]

tw     :     bodily injury, language, drug abuse

catherine marie sun is the oldest child and only daughter of real estate agent elizabeth renwick and civil lawyer bennett sun. she has two younger brothers: holden + kieran. bennett and elizabeth were hard on their children, always pushing them to do better. holden became a lawyer like his father, kieran is top of his class in highschool, and catherine was a premier dancer for some fancy ballet company in new york.

this time last year, catherine was on the top of her game. she was up for the lead in the next ballet, until she hurt her knee. in one of the climatic leaps in the show, she tore her acl. the injury was severe, and not only took her out of the show, but required a surgery that would put her out of commision for at least six months. in the company she was in, six months was a lifetime. they gave her a permanent leave of absence, and, off the books, essentially told her to fuck off.

out of a career, the one thing she's wanted since she was a child, catherine returned home to reed, virginia. the grief set in, but the painkillers they gave her for the surgery made everything feel better. she became obsessed with them, but her perfect parents would never allow something like this to come out about their daughter. it was bad enough she ruined her career. so she keeps it a secret, her craving for anything to give her a fix, and her willingness to go down dark paths to get it.