#and all my other mental illnesses and trauma

[quitblamingnarcissism]

"I was abused by a narcissist. I now regularly have suicidal thoughts. I now have unique trauma that very few people could even come close to understanding. I now struggle to understand right and wrong because it was never taught to me in an accurate way. I now regularly worry that I'm destined to become just like my abuser. I now struggle to form connections with people because my trauma scares them away. I now developed a unique ability to read other people because I needed it in order to survive the abuse I suffered. I now struggle to stand up for myself because of my trauma. I now feel the need to be the best at everything I do because I worry that I won't be able to handle the consequences if I fail to live up to that."

You just perfectly described how it feels to be a narcissist.

I get it. In a society that demonizes mentally ill people and gives abusive neurotypical people a free pass, it makes sense that you'd want people to see your abuser as the one who's mentally ill and not you. It's so much easier to find support as a "victim of narcissistic abuse" than as a narcissist. So it can be tempting to want to believe that it's your abuser who's the narcissist and not you.

But it doesn't work that way. All you're doing is contributing to the stigma against people just like you.

[thecreelhouse]

accident prone

part one - cold-blooded and drifting away

Paring: Steve Harrington x fem!OC - Francesca “Frankie” Amato

Summary: five years after leaving Hawkins, Steve is still searching for answers on how to manage the pain the Upside Down permanently left him with. What’s only meant to be a mundane trip to the coffee shop and yet another doctor appointment turns into more thanks to shaky hands and unfortunate yet perfect timing, giving him hope, for the first time in a long time.

WC: 8k+

Includes: angst, hurt/comfort, ableism, language, PTSD, discussions of chronic pain/illness and disabilities, brief mentions of comorbidities, brief mentions of medical gaslighting, etc.

series playlist ⋮ masterlist 

tether - chvrches

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“will we ever get away from this place? / it’s an image that’s burned on my chest / for a moment you need me to stay / cold-blooded and drifting away”

A/N: I touched on this more in the masterlist, but basically, this is a HC I’ve had since ST3. After all of the physical/mental trauma Steve’s endured, I imagine he’d end up with some sort of chronic pain disorder/illness/disability. May is Fibromyalgia Awareness Month, so I feel now’s a good time to share this. This will be 3 parts, and more Steve centric. This was easier to write with an OC than reader, so I hope y’all will still give this one a chance despite that. There’s not enough disability/chronic pain rep in fics imo— so chronic pain babes, this one’s for you. ♡ (Also s/o to @stevenose for the help, feedback, and encouragement!)

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It’s another brutally beautiful winter morning in Chicago, and that means it’s another morning Steve dreads leaving bed. Not the common, casual dread most folks talk about when coming back to work after a long weekend off. Or how people dread meeting their significant other’s parents, when they really mean they’re just nervous.

Steve feels dread deeply on the days he needs to get up, but can’t find the energy, or motivation, or a two for one special of both. There’s a certain way his stomach turns over and drops with this kind of dread, and it makes his aching joints just hurt more.

It’s simple, really— Steve hadn’t been himself since 1983. It’s not surprising for anyone from Hawkins to not be themselves for a while now. For Steve Harrington, though, it’s been rough, to say the least. 

It began with nightmares. His mind started taking on massive amounts of a very specific type of trauma no one should ever face, especially not as many times as he had. He was awake more often than asleep in the beginning, terrified to shut his eyes and find himself back in the tunnels with the demodogs, or trapped far, far below Starcourt Mall, struggling for his life, relying on a child to save both him and Robin. 

Steve didn’t even want to acknowledge the events of 1986, leading up to Hawkins transforming into hell on earth as the Upside Down bled into the sleepy little midwestern town. He refused to talk about it, or even think about it while he was conscious. 

Now, it’s 1991, and the world continues to spin; people Steve graduated with were getting married, having babies, starting their own families… things he quietly longed for, even after confessing to Nancy that’s what he wanted with her. 

Years later, Steve still regrets confessing anything to her. He’s happy she’s happy, with Jonathan, both of them career driven and building their life together with some sort of plan.

He’s happy for them, really, he is.

 But Steve still longs to find someone to share a life with— a normal, long, happy life. And he’s tried, but there’s always some shitty excuse to stop things before they start with someone new. He never expects anyone he first meets to be The One, nor would he just settle; Steve wants that dream with someone who clicks perfectly with him, someone who doesn’t shame him for the mental anguish and physical pain he’s been burdened with from the trauma. He wouldn’t want that with someone who wouldn’t want to understand him, and love him unconditionally, while he returns that love to someone he truly adores.

 Robin tried setting Steve up for blind dates, introducing him to new people, but he slowly lost interest in the process of getting to know someone. What was the point if everyone left the first night they slept together, and he had a nightmare? Or the moment something triggers a flashback, he’s left grounding himself alone. And when his joints lock up, or the haze in his mind gets too thick, he’s seen as a burden. 

A liability. 

Unworthy of love for something out of his control.

 Why bother with any of this if it would just waste Steve’s time and energy in the end?

“No, Rob, I don’t want their number.” Steve grumbles into his scarf, turning another set up down as he’s dragging his feet along the sidewalk. He and Robin make the trek a few blocks away from their apartment to a nearby coffee shop. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he’s shivering and shaking, despite being bundled up. “This shit’s just draining any enjoyment I had in a social life.”

“Steve, the only social life you have is seeing doctors regularly.” Robin bluntly points out, and shrugs off the side eye Steve throws her way. She’s not excessively bundled up the way her best friend is, nor is she violently shivering. “Dude, you could’ve stayed home, I would’ve grabbed your coffee.”

 Steve’s shaking his head, but Robin can’t tell if it’s from the cold or if it’s his response to her. “Doc said I gotta “keep my joints movin’”. Easy for him to say.” Steve flatly points out.

“Yeah, maybe, but I am proud of you for getting out of bed. I know that hasn’t been easy.” Robin has been one of the very few people in Steve’s life who has held space and empathy for him and his pain. She tries helping more than he lets her, but he feels bad. It’s Steve’s battle to fight, not hers. Robin has already had her fair share of trauma, she doesn’t need to try to juggle any more flashbacks or nightmares outside of her own.

 “Thanks, Robin.” He’s quiet, but sincere. It really does help, even a little, to hear words of encouragement. Because without those, his own mind is just on a constant cycle of negative self-talk. It’s something he’s still working on in therapy.

 If Steve was being honest, there was a lot he was working on in therapy.

 It wasn’t long after that the two of them arrived at the coffee shop, groaning in unison when they realize the line was all the way to the door. There’s just enough room for them to squeeze right at the end, directly by the doorway. Steve keeps his scarf up against his face, shivering each time someone exits the cafe.

 “When’s your appointment?” Robin asks, unable to take her eyes off the massive line of customers.

 Steve, unfazed, replies, “Three hours from now. I planned for this, don’t worry.”

Robin finally turns around, shooting him a puzzling glance. “You plan your doctor visits around getting coffee?”

“… You don’t?”

“I see my doctor, like, once a year, maybe.” Robin shrugs.

 “Must be nice.” He grumbles, burying his face further into the fuzzy warmth of the scarf. 

Robin winces before giving a soft, “Sorry.”

A loud conversation at the front of the line grabs Steve’s attention, wondering what the commotion was about.

“Isn’t today your day off? The hell are you doing here?” One barista asks the customer, who he can’t see beyond the crowd behind her.

Another barista barks a laugh, occupied with the macchiato they’re making. “She can’t make coffee to save her life.”

“I can! It’s just… not good.” The stranger admits, response growing quiet towards the end in embarrassment.

The playful tones make it obvious they greet each other like this often. Something about the banter brings a tiny smile to Steve’s face.

 “Usual, I guess? You’re sick if you say yes.”

 “Why is it socially unacceptable to enjoy a fresh iced coffee in the middle of winter?” Steve chuckles to himself at the comment. “And yes, Cade, with extra sprinkles, pleaaaase.”

 “Yeah, yeah, get outta here, ‘Key. You owe me that Dinosaur Jr. tape, better bring it next time, or I’m charging you real life, adult dollars.”

Walking out of the line, she makes her way over to the opposite end of the counter to wait for her order, shooting Cade one quick smile. “No Monopoly money? Dang.”

 Steve’s gaze lands on her, eyes clinging onto the sight before him with no intention of peeling back. She has to be close to his age, but he immediately notices the cane she’s using, moving in time with her feet while walking. He’s in awe of the casually cool aura she seems to radiate, despite being mostly bundled up in layers, hiding any defining features besides the cane and a worn jacket, countless patches and pins covering most of its surface.

Robin snaps her fingers in front of Steve’s face. “Quit being rude.”

 “I- huh? I’m not!” He retorts in a hushed tone. The line moves up a bit, and Steve’s grateful to be heading towards the warmth, and away from the frigid cold by the door. 

“You were staring, dingus.” 

“I wasn’t trying to,” Steve’s face flushes red, but it blends in with his winter wind-dusted cheeks. The bonus of the scarf still pressed against his face helps, too. “I just- I never see anyone our age using mobility aids.” He tries sneaking another glance at the woman, but Robin steps in front of Steve’s line of vision. 

“Quit it. I know you mean well, but I know how much you hate when people stare when you’ve got your knee brace on.”

 Steve didn’t think of it like that; he squeezes his eyes shut as he nods with embarrassment. “Right. Shit. Yeah. Got it.”

“Thanks, Rhi, I owe you too.” The stranger’s voice floats above the chatter amongst others, not with volume, but a distinct warmth and sincerity. Then, voice turning up, she shouts towards the cash register, “I’ll get your tape tomorrow, Cade, promise!”

 The line moves up, and Robin steps back in to move, too. Steve can’t help peering over again, and the timing is perfectly unfortunate; the woman only makes it about two steps before her hand violently jerks, sending the coffee flying forward forward and onto the tiled floor. 

The room doesn’t fall completely silent, but it does settle into hushed voices, with some concerned onlookers, but mostly nosy and judgmental. Steve doesn’t miss the way some people in line feel the need to say something, like it’s their business. As if these strangers know her. 

“She deserves it for being so obnoxious.”

Steve feels his jaw set, immediately bothered by the unnecessary comment.

She’s frozen for a moment, staring down at the mess, pooling around her boots. One of the baristas, Rhi, calls out to the back for someone to take over before rushing over to the scene.

 “Hey, you okay?” Rhi asks her, to which she nods silently, carefully bending down with the help of her cane for balance while pulling napkins out of her pocket, trying to sop up the puddle of iced coffee. Rhi throws the towel down that was in her back pocket before reaching for one of the napkin dispensers on a nearby table.

 “What the hell is she using a cane for anyway? She can bend her knees just fine.”

 Steve’s fists clench in his pockets, and somehow Robin can still notice that; she’s reaching out to touch his coat-shielded arm, almost holding him back as she whispers “Steve, hey, don’t.” He bites his tongue, wondering how ignorant people can be when it comes to any of this; it’s always those who are able bodied who act like a disabled person’s struggle is an inconvenience to their own lives. Makes them feel high and mighty, like they themselves are invincible. 

What a hard lesson that’ll be for them to learn, Steve thinks. 

If life doesn’t disable someone, through accident or injury or a bad hand of cards dealt, lying in wait, it’s age that usually changes everything. To this day, it still shocks Steve that people just don’t get it.

Or maybe, they just don’t want to.

 “Great, now we’re gonna have to wait even longer.”

The woman is kneeling on the floor, cane leaning against a table while she does her best to clean what’s in reach from the spot she ended up in; her hands continue to tremble, jerking involuntarily every so often. Tears well up in her eyes while shaking her head silently. 

 “Hey, it’s okay, I got this, babes.” Rhi continues soaking up napkins with the coffee; she tries consoling her friend before realizing how many people were staring. “Hey, haven’t your mothers taught you to mind your business?!” 

Some customers scoff, others leave, but not before spitting rotten comments at the pair of them. The rest in line have common sense to mind their business, going back to talking amongst themselves.

”Well, at least the line’s shorter.” Robin murmurs, trying to look on the bright side. Steve wants to go over and help, but he’s torn; he doesn’t want to come across as if he’s pitying her, or trying to be a good guy for some kind of backwards recognition. He just knows how it feels when a health ailment gets in the way of your daily routine, and he really knows how hard it is to go without coffee when you’re looking forward to it.

 “Great job, Rhi, you drove half the morning out.” An older woman scolds her from behind the counter while she's scurrying to catch up on orders. Rhi looks furious, but holds herself back from challenging the unnecessary comment further. 

“Hey, I’ll make ya’ a new one, on the house,” Rhi offers. “Don’t listen to her, Cade and I would rather you be comfortable than deal with those assholes. Bet they actually make and like their shitty coffee, too. They’ll be back.”

 Laughing softly, her friend sniffles, wiping her eyes, “Can I mop or something in return? You don’t need extra work ‘cause of me.” Rhi shakes her head, linking arms with her as she rises to her feet, pulling the woman up, too.

Rhi throws a thumb over to an empty nearby seat, “You just chill here, I got this under control, no sweat.” She gives her a quick side hug before hurrying to the back to grab cleaning supplies. Steve hears an audible sigh; the woman sounds defeated for the day, and it’s only 9 in the morning.

 It’s a sign of defeat and fatigue Steve knows all too well, but he pushes down the desire to talk to her, knowing this isn’t the time. Plus, what would he even say as an introduction? 

Hey, I’m Steve, and I’m disabled, too—

 He shakes the thought from his mind, embarrassed he’d even think that was appropriate at all. He’s bummed that the first time he runs into someone else his age that’s disabled, is truly at a perfectly unfortunate moment in time.

 When it’s Steve’s turn to order, he pushes every thought involving the stranger to the back of his mind.

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If Steve had a dollar every time someone ignorantly told him, “You’re too young to be in pain like that!”, he’d certainly have enough money by now for a better treatment plan. This is one of the very few things in life he wished his parents would actually help with; it’s not the easiest to juggle several jobs and still barely get by, with the bonus of always playing “catch up or drown” with medical bills.

It’s even more of a challenge to keep up with medical bills when jobs constantly let him go for the very few sick days he has to take, and it leaves him wondering, “Doesn’t the ADA protect against that kind of discriminatory shit?” except he never has the energy to research it.

Every doctor visit is the same routine; arrive with a list of symptoms, turning from nuisances to roadblocks in his quality of life. Telling them what he’s been feeling, or what he’s become numb to, physically and mentally. Or that the cons of his medications have started to outweigh the pros; it’s a struggle trying to find a combination when you need several kinds of medication, and it’s even more of a pain in the ass to change even just one, restarting the process all over again.

When one of the countless doctors he saw finally believed his pain, he was left with what a lot of medical professionals believe to be a last ditch diagnosis: Fibromyalgia.

Steve felt validated, for the first time since seeking help years after the traumatic events that plagued Hawkins for so long. He also felt lost, because what the fuck was fibromyalgia? Any time he’s heard anyone talk about it, it was mainly in judgment and criticism; even with the most life-altering of fibromyalgia cases, the majority of able-bodied people and doctors considered it to be a phony condition.

It’s been six months since his diagnosis, and Steve still feels just as lost and clueless since day one. It doesn’t matter how many packets and pamphlets the doctor gives him with handy information on what his chronic pain is, or what he can try as treatment, because nothing seems to work. Taking different vitamins and medications, trying physical therapy, trying out yoga— because everyone seems to think that one’s a cure— if you’ve mentioned it, he’s tried it. 

There’s still no clear answer on where or how it starts; genetics, trauma, depression, sickness triggering something more long term? No one, no medical professional, or his own fruitless research with late nights at the library, can give a solid answer.

As time has flowed forward, all of the years of serious damage and injury from Hawkins and all its demons, supernatural and human, he wouldn’t be surprised if the trauma theory was true. His parents are fine (at least, on the surface, but they’ve got too much pride to ever say otherwise), so cross genetics out. Depression? Yeah, no shit Steve’s depressed.

 Refer back to answer 1.

It’s a never ending cycle, and now that he’s aware of it, Steve is constantly wondering if this is how the rest of his life will be. Waiting rooms and lab work that tells him nothing about his pain? Humiliation with every doctor he sees, who tells him it’s not that bad, as if they live in his own damn body and know. Making a choice between using the last of a paycheck on another co-pay for another dismissive specialist, or on the medication he’s been on to help him at least live some kind of life, knocking some symptoms or comorbidities off the list.

Today, Steve’s in a waiting room where the fluorescent lights are too damn bright, pushing him onto the brink of a migraine. It’s quiet, which he’s grateful for, but he wonders if that has anything to do with the doctor, if they’re really any good, or he’s excluded from a local secret everyone else is in on. 

The room is relatively plain; fake plants, small tables with outdated magazines, a handful of health PSA posters are scattered along the walls, and the chairs are much more uncomfortable than they appear.

Steve basks in the silence, at the very least; usually waiting rooms are too noisy, and it sets off his fight or flight instinct. That’s one he still has to get to the bottom of, but he had to push off therapy for a while with his tight budget. It was that, or skip this appointment he waited months to get in for.

That blissful silence doesn’t last long, of course, knowing Steve Harrington’s shit luck. With a swing of the office entrance’s glass door, the little bell dings, along with the clunky sound of shoes, faint against the basic carpet lining the floor. His head tilts up, and to his surprise, it’s someone that’s not decades older than him.

“Kid, what did I tell ya’ about those cursed platform boots?” A voice scolds from behind the receptionist’s desk, where this person is leaning against the counter, elbows on the surface, head in hands with a soft giggle.

Wait—

“Dad, my outfit begged for these boots today. Told me it’d die without ‘em.”

“Yeah, and one of these days, you’re gonna croak with those death shoes on.”

Steve can’t help the small, amused smile that graces his face, recognizing the woman from the coffee shop earlier.

“Kiddo, you still gotta sign in.” The receptionist pushes the clipboard towards her, not sounding annoyed, more so familiar with her presence.

“You better be saving all of these, Betty. Someday those autographs will be worth something.”

“Yeah, just as much as my 3 hour old coffee.” Betty teases; she’s an older woman, grey and silver hair in a perm that frames her face. Steve can tell the banter and chit-chat is a normal occurrence.

“Yeah, well, you enjoy that coffee, Bets. I dropped mine in the coffee shop and was too embarrassed to let them make me a new one.” She rolls her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “It had those cute, crystal-lookin’, sugary, sprinkles too.”

Steve felt bad, remembering how flustered she seemed. He couldn’t help replaying this morning’s accident over and over in his head again. The end of her conversation with Betty floats over Steve’s head as he’s lost in his thoughts.

Spinning around, the woman’s eyes land on Steve immediately, confidently striding over in platform boots, cane working in tandem with her steps. She keep a respectful distance, one chair over and across from Steve. 

Steve blushes, realizing he’s finally seeing her face completely as she smiles at him; it’s not filled by forced positivity, not like the ones all the healthier and able bodied folks give him. It’s warm and familiar, like sunshine on his skin; no pity, no fake empathy, none of that shit. 

The contrast of her smile against her outfit, one that resembles something at the crossroads of 90s grunge and cute and cozy, with a hint of mall goth somewhere in her style, is something he admires. Her wild, black hair is tied into a messy side braid, hanging over her shoulder, with a thick, blonde streak interwoven in the braid.

“There’s never anyone in here that’s younger than 30. It’s kinda nice to see someone my age.” She admits in awe, then backtrack while her face falls. “I- not that it’s nice to see— oh my god, you’re probably not even chronically ill, I’m just assuming like a jerk. I’m so sorry.”

Steve’s unsure where to begin, but he returns the same warm smile back her way, hoping it offers reassurance. “Don’t apologize, I- yeah. I am, actually. It’s… kinda nice to see someone my age too, for once.”

“Lemme guess, you get told all the time you’re too young for this shit.”

“Kid, language.” Betty scolds, but she waves a hand at her, unfazed. “You better have a quarter for the swear jar, kiddo.” Betty closes the little glass partition, clearing her throat loudly.

“Right, introductions would be helpful, I guess,” She extends a hand out towards Steve, “Name’s Frankie Amato. Or, well, Francesca,” She cringes at her full name. “But everyone calls me Frankie.”

That explains why one of her friends at the shop called her ‘Key’ earlier, Steve realizes.

 Steve takes a moment to reach back, observing all of Frankie’s tattoos and painted black nails, jelly and beaded bracelets colliding on her wrists. He shakes her hand, the contact pulling himself out of his daze, “I- I’m Steve, Steve Harrington. Sorry, didn’t mean to stare, you just— ”

“Oh, it’s okay, I know I dress like someone who tripped into their closet and left the house with whatever ended up in the outfit that day.” Steve snorts at the joke directed towards herself. 

“It looks… cool.” Cool? Seriously, Steve? What is this, middle school? “ I- words. It’s. You- You look really cool.”

She stifles her giggles lazily, coming out as a snort, “Brain fog, huh?”

It shocks him to hear someone his age use the term. “How’d you know?”

“It’s like staring into a mirror right now, except you’re dressed way nicer than me.” She jokes, nodding to his cozy cable knit sweater, and Steve shakes his head, even though he’s smiling.

“Nah, no way, I’m still kinda dressing how I did in high school.”

“Oh, you think I dressed normal in high school? I was even more mismatched than this.” Frankie enthusiastically gets up with the support of her cane, twirling to show off today’s outfit. Her overall ambience is a kind Steve had never seen exude from anyone else before.

Tripping over her own feet, she yelps, losing the grip on the cane before losing her balance. Instead of hitting the floor, though, Steve catches her awkwardly, lunging out of his chair with his arms planked out in front of him. The rapid movement and odd position are doing no favors to his already irritated joints, but he wasn’t going to just let her fall over like that.

Frankie laughs, as if she wasn’t a foot away from cracking her head on the concrete underneath the thin, corporate-esque carpet. Steve’s so perplexed by her entire character, but he’s curious, wants to learn more. 

“Are you okay?” Steve’s asking as he guides her into the chair next to her. She’s laughing, face flushing with embarrassment. 

“Are you? I’m so sorry for that. Got a little too excited, I guess.”

“Or, it’s those damn boots.” A booming, yet mellow voice comes from the doorway leading into the doctor’s office. A tall, burly man with olive toned skin, and a scruffy salt and pepper beard with hair to match, holds the door open while giving her a look. “Francesca, quit trying to make that poor boy dance with you.”

“I was not—”

“Steve Harrington?” The doctor comes over to them, shaking Steve’s hand. He introduces himself formally with his name, following up with, “Dr. Amato. It’s nice to meet you.”

Before today, Steve knew the doctor’s name, but he’s just making the connection now that Frankie and his new doctor are related.

What a small world.

“He’s a stick in the mud, but you’re in good hands, promise.” Frankie murmurs, and her father rolls his eyes. 

“What, did you forget I’m right here? I can hear you.” Dr. Amato deadpans. “Also, that’s biased of you to say, you’re my child.”

Steve’s honestly amused by the lighthearted banter between the father and daughter duo, that for a moment, he forgets why he’s even in this office to begin with.

“Don’t you have a job to do?” She shoots back, but there’s no venom in her tone. The teasing banter seems to be something she has with everyone she’s close with.

 Her father narrows his eyes at her before turning back to Steve, waving his hand back towards the office door. “C’mon back, we’ve got a lot to cover from the files I could get from your previous doctor.” He doesn’t say it like Steve’s a burden, rather it sounds like the doctor actually wants to comb through the younger man’s medical history and help where he can.

As the two men head back into the office, Frankie settles into her chair, kicking her feet up and over the chair beside her before flipping through a crumpled magazine. Steve can hear Betty slide the partition open and scold her, “Kid, get your damn boots off the chair.”

 “Oooh, that’s a quarter for the swear jar, Bets!”

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 For once, Steve’s leaving a doctor’s office with hope. Genuine, solid hope. This isn’t like the false hope most doctors gave, if any at all. “There’s studies saying a cure’s not too far off.” and “This should be what helps, but if it’s not working for you, you must be doing something wrong.” That kind of medical gaslighting bullshit he’s unfortunately so used to by now.

Dr. Amato kept things honest, telling Steve whoever said a cure was on the horizon was a terrible liar, and doctors shouldn’t ever produce false hope like that. He told Steve he was doing everything right, and that sometimes, unfortunately, you can do everything right— physical therapy, a good night’s sleep, medication, eating well, drinking water, even caving in and finally trying yoga (which Steve loathes now)— and your body can still work against you.

 “It might take some time, a long time, but if you’re willing to keep trying and work with what we’ve got, we might be able to find some kind of relief from your pain. It won’t be perfect, and studies are too new for fibromyalgia to determine cures yet, but with what I’ve learned from fibromyalgia patients over the years, every single body is different.”

 Hearing that was already refreshing. Finally, a doctor understood that treatment for invisible disabilities like Steve’s weren’t easily helped with a generic, one size fits all, treatment plan.

 “It’s a lot of trial and error, and that can be exhausting, as you already know. But getting to the root of the cause is crucial, I think. And judging off of your medical history, and what you’ve shared from what you’ve endured in Hawkins, I’d say a lot of it is both a physical and mental response to trauma. If you’re ready to face that, I believe you can find your way in time. Regardless, your pain is incredibly real. Anyone in the medical field who says fibro isn’t real is a quack.”

 Steve wasn’t leaving with any solid answers, but this was the most reassured he felt for his future and well being in… well, ever, honestly.

 After setting up a follow-up appointment with Betty, Steve begins to leave the office, when a light tug on his sleeve stops him in his tracks. Turning around, he locks eyes with Frankie, wearing that warm smile that feels like sunshine all over again to him.

 “Steve, can I talk to you quick?” She asks softly, and Steve nods before he’s pulled into the hallway, closing the door behind them. “I’m sorry if I came off strong earlier. If that, like, totally didn’t scare you off, I was wondering maybe if you’d wanna hang out sometime?” Her words begin to turn into a nervous ramble as she finishes. 

Steve smiles, but can’t think of a proper response. Damn brain fog. Just say yes, idiot.

 “That was probably uncalled for, huh? I’m sorry—”

 “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I- I’d like to hang out too.” Steve answers sincerely.

“Yeah? Okay, cool.” She smirks as the last word leaves her lips, silently teasing him. Frankie’s digging through her messenger bag, hoping to find a pen and some paper, even an old receipt would work; nothing of the sort comes up, so she pulls out her pencil eyeliner, waving it between her fingers. “Can I? It washes off easily, I promise.”

Steve’s brows furrow for a moment before he gets it, “Oh, yeah, no problem, that works.” He hopes he’s not coming off as too eager, but he truly is looking forward to hanging out with someone who just… gets it.

Awkwardly, Frankie takes Steve’s hand into her own, writing her phone number with the eyeliner on the back of his hand. As she scribble the digits, three things stand out to him.

The way she holds his hand is soft, but certain. Any awkwardness she had at first is shaken off while she finishes writing.

She’s got fingerless gloves on now, which he’s always found them funny; what’s the point of a glove if it doesn’t cover everything?

The tips of her fingers are tinged more pale than her skin tone. Her hands, even with the warm fabric, are fucking freezing.

They weren’t cold when he shook her hand earlier. “Your hands are cold,” He murmurs, kicking himself mentally for how blunt and invasive he must sound. Pulling away, she snaps the cap back onto the eyeliner, giving a lazy smile.

“The Windy City ain’t too kind to those of us with Raynaud’s,” The shrug Frankie gives plays off how much the winters here affect the disorder, and how much of an inconvenience it is to one’s daily routine. “I should really use full gloves, but they make it hard to grip stuff sometimes… I mean, I guess the cold does too, but I’d rather be cold— Jesus, I never shut up.”

“If it helps, once I get to know someone well enough, I never shut up, either.” Steve hopes the poke at himself eases her concern, and judging by the smile she gives him, he thinks it does.

“Well, I look forward to not shutting up with you, hopefully soon.” Frankie teases, reaching for the door. Looking back at him, she says with sincerity, “Get home safe, Steve.” 

Before she can head back inside the office, Steve gives a nod and a warm smile, hoping it’s at least a fraction as warm and sunny as her own.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Robin!” Steve pushes the apartment door open, rushing in with excitement. “Robin, guess what, hey, guess, just guess—“

She looks up from the magazine she’s leafing through, sitting sideways on the recliner with her legs hanging over. Her eyes are wide with shock at his energy.

“You won a million dollars?”

“What? No. I mean, shit, I wish. But no.” He ends up on the couch, sighing happily to be sprawled out after a long day. If joints could cry, they’d probably be crying tears of joy right now. “Remember the girl from earlier? At the coffee shop?”

Robin nods, “Yeah, what about her?”

“Get this— her dad’s the new doctor I’m seeing, and she happened to come in when I was in the waiting room.” Lazily setting the scene, he plunges into his usual rambling. “We got to talking before my appointment, and she— her name’s Frankie— anyway, she’s just… she’s so cool, Rob. I- I don’t think I’ve met anyone like her. And Dr. Amato is really nice, like… kinda like Hopper, if he was nicer… and a doctor.”

“Hey, don’t talk shit on Hopper—“

“I’m not! I- don’t distract me,” Steve grumbles. “Anyway, it was weirdly… refreshing? Like he didn’t sugarcoat anything, or try telling me there’s a ‘cure on the horizon’, or some shit like that. But he wasn’t a dick, either. I don’t think I’ve met a doctor with that much empathy yet. And it wasn’t any of that bullshit about taking up yoga—“

“Why does everyone seem to think that works?” He’s been suggested this so many times, even Robin’s beginning to get annoyed for him.

Steve snorts, “Wish I fuckin’ knew.” Then he quiets down a bit, emotions hitting him. “I don’t think any doctor’s been this understanding, or validated my pain like this. He even said it’s common to still be in pain even if you do everything right… he- he told me it’s not my fault. Being sick isn’t my fault.”

There’s a pause, because Steve’s not sure if he’s even believing the words leaving his mouth, not after being gaslit by medical professionals for so long. 

Robin throws the magazine aside to sit next to her best friend, throwing an arm over his shoulders for a side hug. “Of course it’s not your fault, you never asked for any of this.” She takes notice of the tears building in his eyes as he tries rubbing them away. “Even if you didn’t try everything out there, it’s not your fault. No one should have to suffer the way you have.”

“Especially everyone back h—“

Steve stops himself, still coming to terms that Hawkins is gone. Everyone in the group is safe, living better lives wherever they ended up on the map after the disastrous effects of the Upside Down bleeding into the real world.

“It’s cool, I get what you’re saying.” Robin tries to move the conversation forward before Steve can get hung up on the dismal facts. “Everyone in our group has damage one way or another… none of us deserved that.”

With a sigh, Steve nods before continuing, “He wants me to come back in a month, gave me some options for treatment to look into, see what works, what doesn’t, but he wants to find out why something might not work. Not just brush it off and move onto something just as useless. I really, really don’t want to get my hopes up yet, but it feels so validating to not be treated like a lost cause.”

“None of us are lost causes, ‘specially not you, Dingus.” Robin looks down and notices the eyeliner on Steve’s hand that you left behind. “What’d you get on your hand?”

“Huh?” He looks down, “Oh! That’s Frankie’s number! That—“ The digits are smudged. Some he can slightly make out, but the majority are swept away into a black, blotchy stain on his skin. “Shit. It was her number…”

“Eyeliner? Rookie mistake.”

“Hey, she couldn’t find a pen, or paper.”

“And she didn’t go back into the office for some?”

Steve’s dig back fades away as he wonders the same thing. The pair were right outside of the office. Why didn’t either of them—

Oh. Right.

“Probably brain fog… least for me it was. I couldn’t even think to reply when she asked about hanging out.”

“So call the d—“

“No. That’d be weird. So fucking weird. And wouldn’t it be against the hippo thing?”

“The what?”

“You know, the oath that doctors take, or whatever.”

“Oh my god, Steve, the Hippocratic oath?”

“Yeah! Close enough.”

“Not even, but I’ll give you this one today.”

Steve groans, sinking further into the couch. “I finally meet someone who fucking gets it, and lose their number immediately. She’s gonna think I’m avoiding her.”

The two are silent for a beat, until Robin gets an idea. “One of Frankie’s friends mentioned something about her owing him a Dinosaur Jr. tape, when we were getting coffee this morning.”

“Robin, what the hell do dinosaurs have anything to do with this?”

“No, the band, not the— oh my god,” Robin puts her head in her hands, sighing loudly before she continues, “My point is, there’s a record store next door to the coffee shop. Maybe she works there.”

Steve’s face lights up, but he stops his excitement, “Isn’t that also weird? Just… showing up where she works?” 

“Maybe a little, but it’s better than guessing numbers, or ditching her, or trying to ask your damn doctor—“

“Okay, okay, okay!” He huffs. “You’re right. I should go tomorrow, maybe before work.”

“Uh… that’s the other thing—“

Steve’s heart sinks; he already knows what’s coming. It’s happened enough where he can spot the pattern from a mile away.

“They called, huh? Told you to pass the message along? Cowards. Can’t even fuckin’ fire me in person.”

“I tried bringing up the ADA to them, but they gave me some bullshit about the decision to let you go wasn’t related to your health.”

“I worked there for barely a month, and never took a day off.” When this happens, Steve’s on the fence between rage and depression, and right now, he’s angry, rightfully so. “I asked for a goddamn chair to rest between helping customers. That’s all I asked for. I did my job, I was nice, I— This is so fucking… so… so,”  Steve can’t even find the words for how angry he is, fists clenching, nails digging into his palms while he screams internally. 

“Steve, you’re worth so much more than being treated this way. You know that, right?”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees while he runs his hands through his hair, letting his head hang low as his throat tightens with the threat of crying. 

“I appreciate you trying to fight it, but employers only get a slap on the wrist for discrimination, if that. Half the time, nothing is investigated. It’s so fucked. Can’t even keep a shitty retail job just for requesting an accommodation.”

“They’ve got a lotta’ nerve for a shitty grocery store.”

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me.” He tries joking it off, but it’s useless. “Like, it’s no loss to get fired from some stupid retail job, but Christ…” Steve picks his head up a bit, mouth still covered by his hands. It’s muffled, nearly missed when he mutters, “I’m so fucking tired, Rob.” His voice wavers, cracks, “I’m so goddamn tired of this.”

Robin knows nothing she says can make him feel better, not right now. She just uses the arm still around his shoulders to give a comforting squeeze, a tiny sign Steve isn’t alone.

At this point, Steve will take any empathy from anyone he can get.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The next morning, Steve wakes up with nothing but fatigue pushing him deeper into his bed, despite sleeping for nine hours. He was already struggling in a flare up, but then remembers he lost another job, and it just weighs heavy on his already shit mood.

Does this ever get any better?

He should be happy he was finally heard out by a doctor. He should be glad his best friend defends him. He should be excited he met Frankie, someone who understands first hand how hard it is to exist with a chronic illness.

Instead, Steve just feels numb inside. Outside, everything hurts. He knows he should get up, eat something, start the job search all over again. He also knows if he pushes himself too hard, he’s down for the next several days.

There’s no winning when you’re always sick.

The more time separates Steve from the traumatic life he had back in Hawkins, the more he finds himself wondering if any of this is worth growing from. Sure, everyone in the party had long lasting PTSD— that alone could be debilitating— but no one else ended up with an illness considered fake by most of the world. Even chronic pains and ailments anyone else were left with weren’t as baffling as Steve’s battle with fibromyalgia.

Days like today make Steve feel like sinking into the mattress, and disappearing forever. He talks about it in therapy, and it helps, for a moment. Then when he’s mistreated for his health condition, something out of his control, he feels useless.

Back in Hawkins, Steve was able to at least look out for everyone. Protect his friends. He’d do anything for them if it meant keeping them happy, or safe, preferably both. He put himself last, always. There’s never any regret over taking care of others first, but if he knew it would’ve led to the deterioration of his health, maybe he’d have been a little more selfish and put himself first where necessary.

Jesus, I wish therapy wasn’t at the end of the week.

Rolling over into the pillow face first, he groans, remembering he wanted to stop at the record store, in hopes Frankie would be working and give her number out once more. And he does. He does want to go, he wants to see her, wants to get her number so they could eventually hang out.

Yet Steve can’t find the motivation to get up today. Not even for Frankie. Now, instead of feeling numb, he feels guilt seeping through his heart. Rolling back over to face the wall against his bed, he stares at the sunlight peeking through the blinds, dancing slowly across the wall as time continues on. 

That might be one of the worst parts of being chronically ill— no matter how sick you are, the world never stops spinning, never waits for you to catch up. Time just… continues on. And if Steve was being honest with himself, he’d need years to catch himself up to speed.

Fatigue envelopes him, pulling him back into a deep, weighty sleep.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Winter’s nightfall comes before Steve can wake back up, and when he does, he feels even worse. Resting didn’t help, leaving him just disoriented and somehow more tired. An entire day, wasted to fatigue; just another day that could’ve been used to catch up in life, slipping through his fingers. 

The phone rings, but he can’t get up. He can’t bring himself to roll out of bed, walk a few feet to the phone on his dresser to answer it. So, it rings. And rings. And rings. And rings—

As the shrill sound abruptly stops, Steve allows his eyes to fall shut again, until there’s a knocking on his door. Groaning, he pulls the blankets over himself, murmuring the weakest, “Go away.”

Rather than politely wait and try again, the door is pushed open; Steve pokes his head up, squints as light pours into his room, with Robin standing in the doorway. 

“Oh, shit, wait, do you have a migraine? Fuck, dude, I’m sorry—“ Robin scrambles for the door, about to rush out, but Steve shakes his head, leaning up a bit.

“No, but if I did, I’d kill you right now.” He winces at how miserable he sounds. “Sorry… uh, what’s going on?”

Robin squints around his room, keeping the lights off for his sake, until she finds the phone. She grabs it, grateful the wall jack is long enough to bring the telephone over to him. Setting it down on his nightstand, she replies, “S’for you, Dingus.” Robin leaves it at that before exiting the room, closing the door behind her.

Steve sighs, picking the handset off the receiver with an unenthusiastic, “Hello?”

“Bad day, huh?”

He immediately recognizes Frankie’s voice, perking up a little as he sits up further. 

“How’d you get my number?”

“Robin gave it to me, she stopped by the shop earlier. Told me all about the eyeliner smudging off— I’m so sorry, that was such a dumb idea.”

At first, he smiles faintly, but curiosity gets the best of him. “Okay… why was Robin there? I— I swear, I didn’t ask her to— I was going to come by, but it’s been a hard day—”

“Steve, it’s all good. You don’t owe me an explanation, or anything. I’m glad she told me, though.”

“…. What else did she tell you?”

She giggles softly, “That you two saw me fling my coffee like a damn frisbee yesterday morning, and that you were planning on stopping in, but when I told her you never came by, so she figured you had a bad pain day. Y’know, she seems like a great best friend.”

Steve falls back onto the pillows, phone pressed against the side of his head while he runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, she is—“

“Damn right I am.”

Steve jumps at the sound of Robin’s voice cutting in from another phone in the apartment. “Robin! Get off the— hang up!” Frankie’s laughing hysterically on her end of the call, listening to Steve sigh dramatically as a click! sounds out, signaling Robin finally leaving the line. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, I needed the laugh,” Her voice settles into a deflated tone, but only for a moment, leaving Steve curious, but he doesn’t pry. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Heart pumping wildly at the simple question, Steve answers truthfully before he can filter himself, “Well, nothing, now that I lost my job.” He cringes at himself, about to apologize for being so blunt, but she speaks first.

“Good! I— well— okay, not good about being fired, that fucking blows, but,” Steve’s unsure who is better at rambling and word vomiting, Frankie or him, but she’s on a roll. “We’re hiring, y’know. And by we, I mean me, ‘cause I’m the only one left running this place and reallyyyyy can’t do it alone.”

“Wh—“ A scoff of a laugh escapes him. “I don’t think I’d be the right person for that.”

“Why not? You listen to music?”

“Well, yeah, but,” Steve’s dizzy from how fast this conversation is moving. “I- I don’t know a whole lot, I just like whatever’s on the radio, sometimes other stuff, but— you barely know me. Why are you offering me a job?”

“Steve, I’m not offering you a job. You gotta have an interview first, duh.” Frankie’s teasing is lighthearted, playful, and keeps a smile on his face despite feeling confused about everything. “Look, no pressure, but if you’re interested, I’ll be there tomorrow. Or if you just wanna hang out, that’s cool too— unless you don’t wanna hang out, that’s totally fine—“

Steve breathily laughs, “Frankie,” into the phone, bringing her rambling to a halt. “I’ll be there.”

“Oh, okay,” He can hear her smile over the phone through her nervous giggle. “Okay, cool. See you tomorrow, Steve.”

“See you t— wait!” An idea pops into his head. “Don’t get coffee tomorrow.”

“Huh? Why not?” Then it hits her, “Oh, dude, don’t— you don’t have to—“

“Too bad, I remembered your order anyway.” He blushes at his own admission, wondering if it comes off creepy.

She still laughs, just as genuine as every other time Steve’s heard so far. “Yeah, we’re definitely alike if your brain fog fucks everything up except remembering someone’s coffee order. I’ll just have to memorize yours eventually, too. G’night, Steve.”

His cheeks hurt from smiling so wide for the first time all day, “Night, Frankie.”

The first time he’s felt something outside of guilt or numbness all day, and it’s all thanks to her.

… And thanks to Robin, being the nosy best friend she is, but he won’t admit that and let it get to her head.

[sadsongsandwaltzes]

I am not a psychologist so I have no clue if this is just my own crackpot theory or what. And my apologies if I’m speaking out of my ass here.

We were not made for a fallen world. We were made for Eden. Since we have to live in this world corrupted by sin, the brain does what it has to in order to survive.

A toddler doesn’t know what “hot” means, until one day you warn the child not to touch a plate because it’s “hot,” they touch anyways, they feel the sting, and now they understand what “hot” means. The brain, now acknowledging this is something that can be a threat, has an immediate response to “hot.” Anytime someone says “hot,” we immediately recoil and make sure we don’t touch whatever is believed to be hot. The brain is simply trying to survive.

I think there’s a similar thing happening with trauma response. It’s the brain doing the same thing, but to such an extreme degree that it’s almost impossible to function. If someone survives a near fatal car crash, they may panic when they go near a car. Why? Because the brain has learned this thing to be an immediate and serious threat. The brain is now trained to fear and recoil. If you lived in a war zone and learned to sleep with one eye open so to speak, the brain is now trained to sense danger at every turn, especially when you’re in such a vulnerable state as sleep. You’re living in a constant state of anxiety because you expect a fatal threat. It’s why sudden noises and movements can trigger anxiety.

The brain is doing what it does. It adapts to perceived threats for survival. This heightened state of anxiety is deemed necessary by the brain, but we were not made to live in such a state. We cant. So the brain is, ironically, slowly killing itself. The brain is rewired and burned out and always looking for that next serious threat. It’s always reminding us that the threat looms. It’s where the subconscious lives. It’s why there’s constant anxiety, why there’s nightmares.

Of course, this can be exacerbated if the trauma is accompanied by severe grief or guilt.

This brings me to my point. If you would not tell someone to just pray the cancer away, I don’t think you can tell them to just pray the trauma away. We’re talking about a real physiological problem happening.

I think grief and guilt can be assuaged by the gospel. But the brain’s inner working itself? It’s a medical problem the same as any other. God absolutely can heal trauma same as cancer, but sometimes he doesn’t. Faith can absolutely bring about peace in hardships and give us the strength to carry on, but it’s not a guarantee that God will remove the hardship. That would be prosperity gospel.

And with all of this we can also recognize that certain treatments or habits may help relieve symptoms without fully curing, it exists on a medical spectrum.

And I think this is true about a lot of mental illness.

For the record, I think most mental illness in modern America is actually spiritual illness. And I think most psychologists are looney tunes. But people abusing a certain field of study and being stupid and misdiagnosing doesn’t negate the field of study as a whole.

If every sick person who walks into a doctors office no matter the symptoms gets diagnosed with cancer, it means the doctor is a quack and we have a problem of over diagnosis of a disease. But it doesn’t mean the disease isn’t real and that a certain percentage of the population doesn’t actually suffer from it. That would be a downright foolish thought.

Hormones, brain function, all of it can affect the mind. The brain is a complex organ. We still can’t fully understand it. And I don’t think we ever will. We know the brain can affect the mind. If it didn’t, people with TBIs would never suffer from sudden mental illness or personality shifts.

It seems wholly unchristian to deny the reality of both our body and the fallen state of the world.

[delphientropy]

being a host who has a partner but no other alter is dating them is hard

when someone doesnt know who they are or were blurry or confused, we just tend to say were host

and of course because not many safe spaces exist outside of online communities, we have to just. be host anyway.

i dont know why they just say "i love you too" back to my boyfriend even if they dont mean it just to preserve his feelings. he knows were a system. he respects our boundries and he doesnt get upset when we switch and cant return his feelings . but some do it anyway. some dont even realize they arent me/host and do it

but we often dont realize we switch all the fucking time so. sometimes its weirdd...sigh

and sometiems we switch and that person doesnt know they have to yknow. go on simply plural. and track that they arent me anymore. so i talk to hima nd he assumes their me

and we also for some reason kind of struggle yo say whos fronting out loud sometimes? esp in middle of conversation. we just quietly change the simply plural and hope he notices TwT

its not that we feel uncomfortable around him either (quite the opposite, we collectively like him and view him as a safe person) but we also have a stigmatized mental disorder that could honestly put me in danger if i give away too much. so talking about being a system outloud outside of system servers and communities or communities that have systems is always hard. plus our other struggles in trusting/telling people how we feel.

we do trust him. i love him. very much. but at home i could never fucking say anything about me or mh mental health without my dad going on a tangent and it just doesn't help

and our general trauma forces us to think that when we open up no one will listen or respect our boundries (we do have a lot of boundry crossing trauma)

so yeah um being mentally ill sucks ass 0/10 dont recommend

[vinillain]

(MAJOR?? KIND OF S4 spoilers) post episode whenever after THAT happens

[theteapotofdoom]

One of the funniest yet kind of niche dynamic for the LOV is one where they start to have deep conversations about themselves and there respective trauma together and they come SO CLOSE to have a deeply healing epiphany about themselves and why they’re suffering but they’re all too traumatized to connect the dots.

So they just go "damn that’s crazy, anyway"

[crimeronan]

probably the most accurate way for AU hunter to react to finding out he's a grimwalker would be like

[longest sigh in the world] hOkay.

luz.

i get why you didn't tell me. i 100% understand that you were scared and didn't want to worry me or to make me feel differently about myself. i'm not mad at you about that that's Fine. but also.

luz.

my fuckign MEDICAL HISTORY,

[robinsnest2111]

sorry for disappearing. I promised I wouldn't do that again but it's always the thing I fall back on in desperate times. idk how to stop doing that

I'm just so tired and in pain, I wanna lay down and cry and never get back up again

[iloveyouitisruiningmylife]

spending my whole life trying and trying and trying and trying to be good enough for people who don't give a fuck about me

[girlwithfish]

bpd vs cptsd is really confusing also bpd vs autism. anyway

[pansyfemme]

ever since i graduated from theraputic school i have been faced with not only can i not say certain things casually in public anymore but i have to consider if it was good for me to say that stuff in the first place

[faebriel]

hgs brainrot has returned due to tbosas .. speaking of hgs here’s an ask abt the hgs au: if things were totally different, and Wilbur were to be a 12 victor, what do you think a possible mentor-tribute dynamic would look like between him & Niki? I feel like it would be similar to Snow & Lucy in the way that he’s just going out of his way to cheat n help her

anon u have in fact struck jackpot because this is a concept i was spinning some thoughts abt before bee mentioned avoxes and we went OOOOH at that!!! so yes i have considered rainduo as a mentor-tribute dynamic and would love to talk about that concept too :]

so for this concept i think wilbur and niki would be close friends throughout childhood from 12, and then in their teens wilbur is reaped and, well, no one has particularly high hopes (he's a writer and a musician at heart, not a fighter) but through sheer trickery and dumb luck, he makes it to the end of the games. wilbur pulled some pretty fucked up tricks to win - when you can't use brute force, you have to use your brain - and partly due to the trauma of the games, partly due to his shame and survivor's guilt, he sinks into the capitol and relishes a new life there as a socialite. to him, the old wilbur died in the games and the new one has taken his place - to niki, and to his other friends in 12, whatever the games did to him made him into every vapid heartless capitol victor there is.

or. niki has her doubts. they all saw how horrible the games were, but surely there is some part of him left, some part that's hurting, even if it's buried deep?

anyway.

like og spin of the au, niki is reaped and this sucks - this time she does expect wilbur as her mentor on the train, and she expects some kind of warm welcome (maybe even an apology for leaving them so suddenly and silently? an explanation?) but she gets jack shit. wilbur is jaded and cruel and unrecognisable and niki entirely hates it. this is the part where i REALLY WISH we got some time of those two beefing with each other directly in canon (or at least interactions while niki was So Mad at him) but it's okay we fly blind. niki feels abandoned, lonely, thrown off of her kilter - she expected an ally in this place, but she doesn't recognise the person wilbur has become. she doesn't recognise his shallowness (...much), his ruthless advice for the arena, the way he doesn't seem to care for anything. she's scared and now she's lonely and it pisses her off - their mentorship is fraught. here are some thoughts from discord on that:

i tend to think of niki as a bit naïve before l'manberg or even doomsday - i think this is an au where this streak would come out real strong, and niki is stubborn that she can get through the games without losing herself. stubborn that she can stop things, that she can protect people. i don't think wilbur is cold enough (or, really, can bear to say aloud) to say that her odds in the arena are slim enough as it is, but he definitely tells her that she's making enemies and that her odds of survival dwindle with the more trouble she causes.

beyond that... hm. niki's trust in wilbur is almost unshakeable until nov 16, even when she outright says she doesn't recognise him anymore. i think she'd reluctantly listen re: don't burn down any buildings, but she would grow bolder each day she had to stay in the capitol. she gets more honest in front of the cameras. she makes more friends in training, and not the ones wilbur recommends. she throws barbs at him every time he makes one of those callous, cold-hearted comments about other tributes and rankings and odds. and besides, she's going in the arena this time, not him. she needs to practice her bravery.

it's like... she hasn't given up on him. she thinks the old wilbur is in there somewhere. (she is wrong. that is not how trauma works.) but she won't hold her tongue just because she

for extra angst points could definitely play up the whole 'feeling abandoned' angle between them as niki goes into the arena - probably due to how fraught their friendship gets leading up to the games. niki wants to focus on them and their friendship, wilbur has stringently cut off (almost) everything from 12 and refuses to let her in; he tells her to behave for the cameras, she tells him she never will. i think the last point in that screenshot would also make for a super tasty argument where niki feels wilbur has gone astray, that he's abandoned 12, and that he'll probably do nothing but sit on his ass and watch her die and he can't even bring himself to care about her anymore, can he? just more fodder for the arena. and honestly, i think wilbur would passively agree with most of that - he values niki's opinion, after all, even now, and if she says he's rapidly descending into a lost cause then she must be right. and it's niki, so she will be fine, and he goes to his bedroom that night and tries to pretend he is sleeping perfectly fine instead of feeling paralysed with fear.

okay now onto the games - YES HE SO WOULD. or at least i think he would go out of his way to help. as for cheating - he's a recent victor for 12 and i think he would value tommy (no doubt a link to him... i think they'd be in touch in this au also) too much to risk the punishment falling onto him as well. i get the vibes this is a games closer to 74th than 10th, so there are far fewer opportunities to cheat and the consequences of getting caught are higher. but schmoozing up sponsors? making stupid ass radio interviews or whatever to talk up niki's odds? sharing anecdotes from their childhood - some real, some entirely fabricated - across capitol airwaves to stoke their sympathy? 100%. with less to lose in this au, i think niki would be far less inclined to play nice for the cameras - i hope you starve, she spits at one of them, and wilbur appears on a talkshow two days later as she scrambles for survival in the arena to talk up how she always saved loaves from the bakery for the poorest mothers and children in 12. he borrows and begs and swindles to the point where it feels like cheating. but hey, this new wilbur is capitol-branded. he knows how to play the game.

if anything he probably sinks into the game a little too much. self-preservation is not his forte. probably wracks up a few heavy debts and favours to owe, but those are not priority until niki is out of the arena, alive. as long as she wins, and as long as the family he has isn't in danger, he will manage. wow it would suck if at some point those two goals became impossible to co-achieve. anyway

i kind of see niki's victory in the arena being similar to the one in the main au - if only because planning out an entire games is hard for meee >-< . she walks in bolder and braver for sure, and with a less strategic pick of allies, but they all get picked off and she spends a few weeks so terrified she can barely sleep and then she ruptures some fuel line and sets the arena alight with a fire that burns brighter and more ravenously than it should. but she wins, and she's airlifted out of a filthy, muddy creek she had resigned herself to die in, and wilbur barges his way through as many peacekeepers so that he can actually see her with her burnt skin and hair and unfocused eyes and trust that what was on the screens wasn't a fluke, and that they made it. and then it's just a matter of surviving the after.

i'm sure there are some other random quirks or tidbits i can think of re: this take on a c!rainduo hunger games au but these are my base thoughts!!

[dennisboobs]

i'm. i can't do proper metas until i actually have the time to do them. but i will eventually dig further into charlie and bonnie's relationship and mac and his mom's. its stewing.

[creatively-cosmic]

What up, Starry—You already know who it is! B)

Sorry about Tumblr being a buggy mess and crashing halfway through! I’ve experienced the frustration of losing writing due to crashes and it always sucks. But thank you for continuing to answer these questions and satiate my curiosity! Learning more about Missing Numbers is like reading a book that just keeps getting better and better and better with every new chapter. Also: don’t worry about the delays or how long responding takes! You come first and foremost. Your health/work/school/whatever it is ya got going on in your personal life, is infinitely more important than me getting an answer to a question. So please, take your time, as much as you need—I will wait.

(Also, young Red being just as much of a little shit as Blue was is surprisingly wholesome and I love that. And after seeing their heights I realized I’m the same height as Blue! That detail is not important in the slightest, I just thought it was funny.)

Anywho, let’s get into the meat and potatoes, shall we?

First things first: Y’all mentioned biology mechanics and the nature of Glitches? 👀 Well, guess what? I love that kinda stuff! My curiosity is piqued—please explain.

Second question though: What is Leaf’s Duty? What does she do and how do her powers(?) work? Are her abilities like how the move Imprison was in Fallen Leaf?

And third: What’s the relationship/dynamic between Leaf and Red? That comic y’all posted has me wondering what Leaf is warning others about.

That’s all for now though! Please take care of yourself. Have a good day/afternoon/night!

Ahh, thank you so much for your patience! its really appreciated,, im glad youve still been enjoying things- your comments (and your FANART OH MY GOD??) have still been giving us LIFE i truly cannot thank you enough!

Red and Blue’s childhood friendship and rivalry has always been something we’ve wanted to come off as just plain silly and enjoyable- I’m glad we’ve been succeeding in that, hehe. And Blue was actually originally going to be shorter (our height, actually), we just added a few inches to be nicer to him lol

Per usual now, we’ll keep the big stuff under the cut! It’s another long one: Consider this Leaf Lore Part Two.

For the Glitch stuff, we’ve been thinking and might make a BIG formal post going over all of Professor Maple’s speculation and studies, to make it a good access point for the worldbuilding of Missing Numbers. I can’t promise it’ll come soon, but! As a starting point, I do have a pre-written thing with information on different classifications of Glitch that should clear up a good bit to start with. 

Unless we get any sudden further realizations, every Glitch, Corruption, and Anomaly in Missing Numbers (and arguably in Pokemon as a whole) can fall under these five classifications.

Leaf’s duty is the main aspect of what we failed to touch on in your previous question. So, I’ll finish that part of the story. :) 

To answer your questions, we first have to establish how she got her powers. When Leaf died, she did not get to rest peacefully. Most who die in this world don’t. The afterlife for the fallen and forgotten is not pretty. It is not merciful. There is no heaven for the ones who do not matter to God. 

The Distortion exists in layers. At it’s lowest, the farthest from contact with the main reality, is a void of unused, scrapped, and null data. A graveyard, or worse yet, a dump where things that can no longer exist in the surface world go to rot. Unused data. Scrapped NPCs. Removed characters, Pokemon, items. 

Assets of old games that never carried over.

Leaf's soul was discarded here when she was erased from existence at the end of Abandoned Loneliness. Left to rot with the unborn Ghosts that had haunted them both with the intent to drag someone of significance down with them. Hoping they too might escape. That they might receive mercy through her. 

Unfortunately, Leaf was the unloved child. So instead she fell to their ranks, swallowed up by the abyss that was their resting place- thrust as far from reality, from her home, from her friends, from her purpose as feasibly possible. Still conscious. Still aware. Still suffering.

… Leaf was not one to accept things lying down. Leaf was a fighter. She hated injustice, unfairness. She wouldn’t stand for this. She wouldn’t lie down and give up. No matter how suffocating the darkness was. No matter how the bloodied hands tried to drag her further down. No matter how the chaos and corruption tried to break and dismantle her. 

No. Matter. What.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And if there was one thing that defined Leaf even more than her bleeding heart, it was that her will was unbreakable.

So she climbed. Climbing over the damned- the forgotten- the spiteful- the vengeful- everything trying to hurt her and pull her down. Focused solely on escaping, on going up. Until things began to become more tangible. Until she could see more than black and red. Until there was light, and color. Until data became form- albeit still broken, chaotic. Numbers. Misplaced bricks. Impossible plants. Incomprehensible collision. 

Glitch City.

She broke through the floor of the second lowest layer of the Distortion, and though the surface’s light was still so far… She’d found solid footing. 

And here, though it may have been quieter… She wasn’t so alone.

The City had the odd few inhabitants. But the first that she met was a strangely familiar boy, a teenager that reminded her of someone she knew, but wrong. With a cocky, lopsided grin, unruly black hair, and bright red eyes. 

Someone who wanted out just as badly as she did.

Leaf and Red never knew each other outside of Glitch City. But during their time trapped there together as children, they were friends. Leaf wasn’t the first person Red befriended there… 

But she was significant. They were allies with a shared goal, after all, and if one of them could find a way out, they could get out together! They worked in tandem to find hope, grasp at an escape. Everything they could, as a possibility. They were friends, after all. Right?

Right?

… Leaf didn’t wholly trust Red. It wasn’t personal, but there were things that were risky. She could see the instability of corruption plaguing him, and she wanted to ensure her loved ones’ safety more than she wanted to escape. The greater picture was something that she could wrap her head around, even if it was hard to grasp.

Red was not the same. Laser focused on his goal and uncaring of the consequences, it was a factor that, over time, divided them more and more as Leaf realized the severity of Red’s condition, and began to think…

Maybe he was here for a reason. … Still, she tried to turn a blind eye. Let herself hope things weren’t that bad. 

The growing obviousness for his resentment towards Fire, though Red tried to hide it, didn’t help- her distrust towards him only grew, further clouded by her personal fears and dedication to protecting her loved ones.

And one day, while discussing a possible window for escape… She let a thought she’d been hiding slip. The final nail in the coffin.

Afraid for her brother’s life, and angry seeing how Red reveled in the idea of hurting him, she left him behind and didn’t look back.

From there, we aren’t sure of the exact details of how she escaped. But we know she had help on the surface- from someone a little too curious about the nature of the Anomalous, who was all too eager to free a willing entity. Professor Ace Maple (specializing in “anomalies”, and original to the Missing Numbers story!) helped free her soul. 

Of course, releasing a long-buried corrupted entity wouldn’t go unnoticed by the higher power that had put her there. But… It saw how careful she was. How she was now completely wary of all glitches. How she’d come to understand the dangers they posed to the world and the people in it.

So, the Almighty came to her in a Golden light. Extending an offer to her.

YOU CANNOT BE PERMITTED TO EXIST IN THIS WORLD AS YOU ARE.

THERE IS A REASON YOUR KIND WERE BURIED.

THIS WORLD IS ENDANGERED EVERY TIME CORRUPTION ESCAPES.

I MUST PRESERVE THE ORDER OF THIS REALITY.

BUT YOU, HEROINE, HAVE PROVEN TO BE SPECIAL.

I AM WILLING TO MAKE A COMPROMISE FOR YOU ALONE.

YOU KNOW THINGS I CANNOT PERMIT ANYONE TO KNOW.

YOU’VE SEEN THINGS I CANNOT PERMIT ANYONE TO SEE.

I CAN ALLOW YOU TO KEEP THESE MEMORIES, AND YOUR PRESENCE HERE, ON SIMPLE TERMS.

DO NOT SPEAK OF IT TO ANOTHER SOUL…

AND PUT THIS KNOWLEDGE TO USE.

YOUR SHACKLES WILL BE YOUR WEAPON. KNOWLEDGE. POWER. 

PROTECT MY WORLD. CLEANSE THE CORRUPTION. HOLD THEM BELOW.

YOU ALONE WILL SEE EVERYTHING, FOR YOU ALONE SHALL BE THE WARDEN.

BUT DO NOT FORGET WHERE YOU CAME FROM.

DO NOT FORSAKE ME.

… Of course she accepted the bargain. It was all beneficial in her eyes. Her complete freedom, and the ability to protect those she loved most in ways she never could have before. What happened in their childhood would never happen again now.

Thus, Leaf was blessed with her body yet again. Rightfully hers, and aged to grow with her. Though she’d never again be a Vessel, that was okay. She was something far greater now. 

The chains could Imprison any code they touched, and they were completely under her control. With these, she could fight and restrain any anomalies necessary. She was also given the one-of-a-kind ability to freely move between the Main world, and the Distortion… To ensure that no activity occurred in either that could allow the escape of something catastrophic.

Of course, things weren’t perfect. The world and the people in it had changed since she’d been gone. It had been years. People would be different.

Blue, for one. It was hard to face him again. Tensions never stopped being high between them. They both remembered, after all.

She mostly just cared about her brother, now. It took her a bit to find him, idle at the top of Mount Silver. 

It was heartbreaking to see the emptiness in his eyes. Him barely acknowledging her. The realization that he’d never… He’d never looked for her. Never tried to free her. 

Never even mourned. 

She still loved him. She always would. He was her family. He was the only one who’d been anything like her.

It was okay that he got everything she had. It was okay that he’d completely replaced her. It was okay that he now had everything she ever wanted. It was okay that he wasn’t the one who looked for, found, freed her, instead of a complete stranger. It was okay that when he spoke it was soulless and objective and only reminding her of her duties. it was okay. it was okay. 

It was okay that he didn’t care. 

It was okay that he was living the life she should’ve wanted DESERVED that he was destined to.

It was okay that she had to protect him. It was part of her duty, after all.

She wasn’t bitter. She wasn’t mad. She loved him.

… And then there was Red- “Glitchy,” as she now called him, unwilling to give him the name that belonged to her brother. He never did give up on her. He was PISSED, mind you, that somehow she had escaped and left him and the others stuck down there behind- but he still refused to back down.

They were enemies now, though. As he grew more restless- and more powerful, much to Leaf’s horror- his imprisonment became a direct responsibility of hers. And as Professor Maple grew more curious about glitches, unknowingly bringing him closer and closer to true freedom, even though she felt indebted to them, she had to resist their studies. Warn them of everything- especially him.

“I thought you hated injustice. Don’t you think this is unfair?”

Still, she had to face him often. And even in his madness, and even in chains, Red could speak so… Persuasively. 

“If you could escape, why shouldn’t I? You have the ability to free me.”

“And I know you’re hiding me from the others. Don’t they deserve to know?”

“You knew as a KID that Blue was looking for me. Doesn’t HE deserve it?”

“I think you know this isn’t the right thing to do.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“But it’s okay. I’m not mad. I can be patient.”

“I’m sure you’ll come around.”

“After all, you’re just like me and you know it.”

[solvicrafts]

What gets me about certain people being so fucking pissy about Bob not writing much about Eilistraee (until the last fucking trilogy where EIlistraeans featured heavily) is that

a) Bob basically built drow culture up from almost nothing, and Eilistraee came after he started writing Drizzt

b) no you guys really don't understand. I own the first 4 modules drow appeared in. There's... not much there. And it hasn't aged well.

c) and the Big One: he has a specific vision for his specific characters when it comes to the narrative he wants to explore, from sexual abuse to religious trauma, both of which are fucking complicated and for most people just switching deities isn't enough to fix that.

I have religious trauma that I still struggle with to this day and probably will for the rest of my life to some extent, and it's fundamentally different in nature from what most people would probably expect, and the thing is even though I am happily polytheistic and very enthusiastically into it, I still struggle a lot with certain things because every time I get into my religious practice I have to actively force myself into (or out of) certain things because my whole relationship to religion and spirituality is complicated and messy.

It would be easy and frankly incredibly superficial for Bob to decide to just have them all convert to half-assed Neowiccan ~woo~ drow Jesus Eilistraee to *~*save their souls*~* and call it a day

BUT HE DIDN'T DO THAT

Partly because she wasn't his creation and other authors were writing her at the time so he really couldn't, and partly because it's a shitty message to send.

Sometimes people benefit from converting to a new religion or following a new deity. Sometimes people don't.

I benefited from gradually converting to my religion, but it's come with a whole different set of complications and hasn't been a smooth journey for me.

Just going from extensive religious trauma to switching deities does not fix your problems, and for a lot of people it realistically can make them much worse.

but also

you don't have to be saved by a deity in order to have value as a person

[milo-is-rambling]

I can’t even imagine living without anxiety. Like. How. What?