thinking about alina starkov who was raised in an orphanage with a cruel mother figure and elder children who beat them frequently, always tired, always hungry, never knowing why. growing up a shell of who she should have been. dragged into a war and falling in love with her best friend who she never thought she was good enough for. being torn away from him and dragged into another conflict she had no part in. being handed a power she never wanted and denying it because she wanted to be the person she knew. but accepting it anyway and letting the boy she loved go, embracing her strength and feeling alive for the first time ever. finding a place for herself amongst the grisha and loving the person she was becoming and her new friends. but then it's torn away again: she sees the boy she loves and he insults her, she breaks down only to be told by someone who's only ever been cruel to her that the person who she has complicated feelings for is lying to her. she runs, finds the boy she loves and makes him promise to kill her if she's found again. her power is taken from her again, all because she showed mercy and she is literally a puppet on see-through strings, but in the end, it is that mercy that rewards her. she overthows his control on her and runs with the boy she loves, but she is haunted by the people she left behind to die and once again becomes a shell as she stops using her power. she's haunted in her own mind and is found again, bitten by a monster and drugged and taken as a prisoner. her own friend had betrayed her and she is being threatened to find yet another mythical animal. she is saved but she has to kill this creature and take another amplifier. the boy she loves looks at her like a monster. she is still haunted, even in the daylight, by the same monster that tried to control her. but she is still in war and she steps up to lead her people, faces their insults, watches the boy she loves turn away from her, accepts a marriage proposal to someone she knows she doesn't love and feels herself starting to slip into something darker but she is too tired to fight it. there is another war, she loses. she gives her life to kill their enemy, but she is pulled away before she can. she is placed under yet another cruel man's hold and is propped up as a saint under his word while she feels herself weakening day by day. but her friends fight for her and she calls a new, darker power to escape. the boy she loves is distant and she cannot show him how much she loves him without admitting that she will have to lose him soon. she renews her marriage proposal with a prince who has his mind taken over by her enemy and tries to kill her. she watches the man who manipulated and lied to and enslaved her in her own mind telling her that he will take everyone she loves. she fights against him, falls in love knowing it will not last, sits amongst her friends wondering who will survive. she goes to war and she has to kill the boy she has loved her entire life. her power is torn from her, the only thing she ever had completely to herself, the thing that gave her life. it is given to others and she watches them do what she was not allowed to and the boy she loves returns to her, but both of them are mourning now and will be, forever. she watches her own body burn beside a monster and finds it fitting. she leaves, she hides from the world, she finds time to heal. she looks into the eyes of someone who detested her once, someone she loves now. someone who calls the shape of a dragon, who can summon from every order. she looks at a queen crowned, glorious and brimming with unseen power, and thinks of the universe and the greed of men—of what was taken from her and of what was granted to another.
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How would Farmer Sans handle hearing that MC was sick? Maybe they usually meet up a certain time while managing their morning chores and they’re just.. not there, only for him to later find that they’re bedridden
"hey, pumpkin."
The sound of Sans' voice, regardless of how soft it was, made you panic.
You sat bolt upright from your spot curled into the couch, jolting out of your strange fever dream. A cooling pack fell off your head, and a blanket you didn’t remember grabbing slipped from your shoulders to your lap.
Immediately, you could tell that you weren’t on your home couch. You didn’t recognise the blanket someone had tucked you under. You weren’t cold, you couldn’t smell the usual mix of dust and gradually fading damp - in fact, there were many wonderful scents mingling in the warm air, soup and tea and a sweet bread aroma that made your stomach rumble.
It certainly wasn’t where you expected to wake up, after you fell asleep in front of the dodgy TV once the painkillers finally kicked in. This was someone else’s couch. And after a few bleary moments, you recognised it all.
... It was Sans’ couch. You were in his house.
You looked up a little to see the man himself, as handsome as ever, leaning over the back of the sofa and looking at you. A gentle flicker of relief passed over his face.
“rise and shine,” he said, voice as warm as the room. “how’re you feelin’?”
Huh?
...
Your eyes widened. "S-Sans!?"
Bad decision. At such a sudden vocalisation, your body decided that was the perfect moment to send you into a horrendous coughing fit that made the inside of your throat feel like someone had gone at it with sandpaper.
Sans just put a big gentle hand on your back, letting you work through it, quiet as you hacked your lungs up.
Eventually the coughing eased off; once you had control of your body again, you turned your gaze back to him.
"Y-you...” Your cheeks were starting to burn. “why am I...?"
“you weren’t answerin’ the phone. i got worried.” As he spoke, you kept messing with your shirt, nervously pulling it down over yourself. “came to check on you, an’ you were totally out of it, could barely answer me. i had to go work, but figured i should bring you somewhere me an’ pap can keep an eye on you.”
... Oh no. You put your hands over your face, slowly getting quieter and quieter as the situation dawned on you. “Y-you really didn’t need to...”
“course we did. ain’t safe for you to be so sick all on yer own.”
This was a nightmare. Now, on top of being sick, you were absolutely mortified at Sans seeing you in this state. Tired, achy, sweaty... you were dressed in a stained old shirt and pyjama pants, visibly unshowered and pretty much as ungroomed as one could get. You distinctly remembered throwing stuff on your floor before you fell asleep, too weak to get up and go put it in the garbage - empty blister packs and used, crumpled tissues. Did he see all your dirty trash when he came to find you?
You wanted to melt into the couch. He had seen you delirious and ill, at your absolute greasiest and grossest. Stars, what did he think of you now?
“I-I’ve been out for hours?” you asked.
“mhm.”
Your whole world was coming down around your ears. Why couldn’t Sans have just let you die at home, where no one would see your shame?
“you didn't tell me you were sick,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear. There was a strangely... sullen edge to his tone?
Your face was on fire. You had already intruded so much on him and his brother’s kindness over the last few weeks. Sans had repaired your stove and water pipes, bought you fresh food from the farm, helped fix a leak in the roof, not to mention when you asked him to stay the night like you were a frightened baby. Now here you were; being sick and disgusting right in the middle of his house.
Before he could say anything else, you pushed the blanket off you, swinging your legs over the side of the couch and scrambling to your feet.
“I-I should get home,” you said, hoarse.
Immediately, Sans’ brows raised. You didn't look at him for long, walking unsteadily and trying your best to concentrate on not tipping over.
“I’m so sorry to intrude. I’ll just-”
... Your feet went out from underneath you.
You squeaked, loudly - but Sans didn’t care, he scooped you up like you didn’t weigh a thing. To him, you probably didn’t weigh a thing. You could feel his massive strength through his clothes, and you immediately knew that if he wanted to, he could’ve thrown you straight into the air like a child.
You couldn’t tell if it was the height that was dizzying, how close your face was to his, or if you were just way weaker right now than you realised. But immediately your hands balled in his shirt.
"... easy," he murmured, one arm under your thighs. "i don't bite."
... Your face filled with so much heat it felt as if the tips of your ears were going to set alight. You tried to say something, but when you opened your mouth, literally nothing came out. Not a sound. All you could do was hold on to his shoulders.
Sans’ voice became normal again, jokingly stern. “sorry. not goin’ anywhere on my watch, pet. you need to rest. look at you - yer burnin' up.”
Your whole body had tensed up. But not out of fear. You just stared into his eyelights.
He very gently sat you back down onto the couch, putting the cold pack into your hands. “you stay right there, ok? i’ll getcha some soup. it should be ready by now.”
"O-ok," you helplessly replied.
Sans moved away, disappearing into the kitchen.
...
There wasn't much else you could do, but lay down and put the cooling pack back on your head... trying to figure out how to make your heart slow down.
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thinking about Eddie, who because of the upsidedown was in a coma for effectively the rest of '86. When he woke up he had to re-learn a lot of shit, since even after he could open his eyes and sit up, moving was still hard.
Steve and Robin go with him to all of his PT appointments as he works on moving and standing up, but not walking yet. The therapist overhears him complaining to Steve about how he misses writing, since his hands are too shaky for the words to be legible.
She tells him that if he wants to write better he should practice more, and maybe pick something else up that requires small, repetitive movements, like sewing or crocheting.
Eddie is about to open his mouth to say that sewing might be a good idea, because he can work on putting his old patches onto the new vest that the kids bought him as a "we're glad you're not dead present", when Robin comes back from the bathroom and pipes up that she has some crocheting stuff from when she and Steve tried to learn together a few years back, and that's the end of that conversation.
crocheting is his least favorite part of the night, even if Robin and Steve are patient and let him pick the movie in the background and don't get frustrated when he drops the hook between the couch cushions for the thirtieth time in an hour.
Eventually he gets the hang of it, but--out of spite--refuses to make anything other than a very long line with his yarn, telling Steve and Robin he's going to strangle them with it when he's done, because crocheting "is literally the least metal thing in the world."
He stops threatening to strangle Robin after she makes him a little bat.
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