#amnesia tw/

[runraerun]

Steddie Amnesia Ficlet: 2/3

-> Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3

cw: more head trauma/concussed!Steve discussions.

Steve hears Eddie call after him, but he doesn’t stop—he can’t face it. Not right now, anyway. Not when his eyes are stinging and his heart is pounding in his ears, each pulse more painful than the last. His legs take him to the building he’s supposed to go into, fueled purely by muscle memory. Not brain memory, of course, because nothing up there works properly anymore, apparently.

The Brain Injury Recovery Center.

It’s where Eddie expects him to go. He’ll catch Steve if he goes in, or he’ll wait for Steve by the doors until he comes back out—both options involve facing Eddie after Steve had made a total idiot of himself. Both feel utterly mortifying.

So he ducks into the alleyway beside the familiar brick building instead, just to catch his breath. It takes Steve longer than the average bear to sort out his feelings now, after all. Jesus, who’s he kidding? Everything seems to take him longer.

Steve feels hot tears streak down his cheeks before he angrily scrubs a sleeve over them. Of course Eddie isn’t his boyfriend. Eddie’s funny and cool and he’s in a band and he lights up every damn room he walks into—and Steve��� well, maybe Steve was something a few years ago when he was in high school, and maybe he was even something before his accident, but now…

There’s a sharp clapping noise that sounds like thunder. A door slamming, Steve’s brain sluggishly supplies. It’s followed by shouting.

“Steve? Steve!” Eddie calls from somewhere on the street.

Steve’s heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his ass. His face is probably still blotchy and wet, his breathing hasn’t evened out yet and his eyes are still leaking like a goddamn faucet. He’s pathetic.

Can’t let Eddie see him like this…

He ducks behind a metal garbage bin, careful not to let anything but the bottom of his sneakers touch the sticky looking surfaces around him. It stinks, like rot.

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice echoes off of the alleyway walls. Steve claps a hand around his mouth to muffle out any of the pathetic sounds that seem determined to escape from him. So much of his body just does whatever the hell it feels like now. Out of Steve’s control, like everything else.

For a few, tense seconds, there’s silence. Eddie’s listening for him, maybe. Steve shuts his eyes and waits him out.

It feels like an eternity before he hears Eddie’s hurried, retreating footsteps, continuing his shouting for Steve. He sounds almost as panicked as Steve feels. Almost.

Steve gives a noisy, wet sniff and does one final scrub of his face before getting to his feet. He starts walking.

As he goes deeper into the alleyway, he thinks back on all the things he’s been wrong about. The fact that Eddie had some of his band t-shirts mixed in with Steve’s clothes… well, that was because they were both guys who wore about the same size, and Eddie left his shit everywhere. It’s no wonder some of his stuff got mixed into their laundry. And the times Eddie’s driven him places? That’s just… what friends do, Steve supposes. And all those times Eddie made Steve laugh? Made him feel like the center of the universe? Well, that’s just… Eddie. He must make everyone feel that way. It’s like his super power. But it isn’t romantic… It doesn’t mean anything more than Eddie being a magnetic person.

Steve is just so stupid. Painfully so.

He blinks as the sun hits him. He must’ve reached the other side of the alleyway.

Steve cups a hand over his eyes and grimaces. His migraine wasn’t backing down. He sighs. Time to head back.

Steve turns back into the alleyway he’d emerged from, only he’s about halfway through when he realizes the color of the buildings on either side of him are wrong. They’re brown on one side, painted green on the other. That isn’t right…

His heart jackrabbits in his chest, but he keeps walking forward. Maybe he’ll recognize the street once he’s back on the other side.

But when he gets there, it’s as unfamiliar to him as the alleyway. Steve turns, looking up and down the road to see if he could spot Eddie, or his van, or the Center. But there’s nothing.

And when someone shoulder checks him, Steve supposes he was sort of asking for it, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like that. He apologizes, but it’s too late. The person’s already out of range to hear him.

It’s as if everyone else is on fast forward while Steve’s stuck on pause. The world keeps moving along while all he seems to be able to do is watch it go by.

Why would he ever think someone as dynamic and spirited as Eddie would hitch his horse onto Steve’s busted up, barely mobile cart?

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and wills himself not to start blubbering again like a goddamn baby. His life is already one big, painful lesson in humility as it is, he doesn’t need to wallow in it.

Steve keeps walking. Figures he’ll spot something, or someone familiar to him eventually. The pounding in his head’s eased off to a dull ache, at least. Maybe there was something to this exercise and fresh air thing the doctors were always going on about, after all…

The thing is though, Steve doesn’t spot anything familiar. Not even vaguely so, and it’s not until the streetlights turn on that he realizes he’d spent the majority of the day wandering around the streets like some lost dog that managed to slip his leash.

It’s cold too, and all he’s got on is jeans and a polo. It’s October, isn’t it? No wonder he’s got goosebumps all up and down his arms.

Then, he finally spots something familiar; a phone booth. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He’d just call his parents. They’d come pick him up.

He gets the booth and lifts the receiver before he blanks. A quarter. He’d need that. Duh, Harrington. So he hangs up the phone and pats his pockets until he finds a wallet, but all that’s inside of it are a couple of crisp bills. He’d need to break one.

Steve turns, scans the street until he spots a well lit, invitingly warm looking diner. The joint looks so damn cozy that he forgets to make sure the street is clear before he steps out into the middle of it.

Tires screech, harmonizing with the horn that’s blasting at him—Steve flinches, reaching up to cover his head and braces for impact.

To his great relief, the hit never comes. Which, thank fuck. He can’t afford anymore accidents. As it is Robin’s threatened to make him wear a helmet full-time.

Steve doesn’t listen to whatever the person yells at him, he just hurries to get the hell out of his way of the other moving vehicles.

“Smooth, Harrington. Real smooth.” He mutters to himself as he catches his breath.

He pushes the door to the diner open with shaking hands, but it’s blissfully peaceful inside, and he can actually feel his insides unclench as he stands inside of it.

“Sit anywhere, hun, I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice tells him. Steve nods and slips into the nearest booth overlooking the street. Watches the cars go by. There’s even a couple of cop cars, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Steve wonders briefly what sort of emergency they’re rushing off to when the waitress comes to his table.

“What can I get you, handsome?” She asks, cheery and warm like the rest of the diner.

“Uh…” Steve frowns, taking a few seconds to process the question, “nothing. I’m just waiting for my parents to come pick me up.”

The waitress taps the side of the notepad. “Well you gotta order something, hun, or you can’t stay here.”

Steve wants to stay here. It’s warm and smells fucking amazing, like “pancakes?”

She waitress smirks. “Yeah, we got those. You want a stack?”

“Yeah, please.” Steve smiles back, laughing along with the waitress like he’s in whatever joke that’s currently so amusing to her. “I’m starving.”

“You want some coffee too, to help you sober up, maybe?”

“Oh, I’m not drunk.” He huffs out a little self deprecating laugh, “I wish. No, I—uh, my meds, they’re the kind that you can’t mix with alcohol. Coffee too. Bummer, right? Yeah… But, uh, it is what it is, I guess—so…”

He can feel it. The way his mind so often wanders. He’s lost his train. His track. He frowns, eyes drifting towards the street again, watching the headlights zip by.

“…so just the pancakes then?” The waitress asks, jolting his train back onto its rails. His attention snaps back onto her.

“Yeah, pancakes. Sure.” Steve flashes her what he hopes is a charming smile.

She returns his smile and leaves him be, and he lets himself relax. Props his head up on a fist and watches life go on for everyone else but him.

He gets his pancakes, and some juice too that he doesn’t remember ordering, but hey, that’s nothing new. And damn, the pancakes taste even better than they smell. He needs to remember the name of this place so he can come back with everyone. What did the doctors say? Repeat something in your head over and over until it sticks. Repetition. Repetition, repetition, repetition…

It’s around the time his fork hits an empty plate that one of the police cars stops in front of the diner window, lights on, but the sirens are off now.

Hopper steps out.

Huh. That’s weird. Steve wonders what sort of emergency he’s here for.

When Hopper enters through the glass doors, the bell hung over the entry way rings out pleasantly. An angel getting their wings.

His eyes land on Steve and the older man sighs, shoulders falling. Relief, Steve recognizes. Hopper pulls the radio from his belt and says something into it before stomping over.

Then it clicks.

Oh. Steve’s the emergency.

He feels his face heat up. The handful of other patrons scattered across the diner are all looking at him.

“There you are.” Hopper sighs, gruff and exasperated.

Steve sinks into his seat, just a little. “Shit. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Just a little.” Hopper chuckles dryly. He takes off his hat and slips into the booth across from Steve, apparently not in any sort of hurry now that he’s found the runaway dog.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic he’s developed. “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be sorry. Just strangle Munson for me when you see him next, will ya?” Hopper drops his hat onto the table and waves the waitress down. He orders a coke.

Munson. Eddie.

The memory of how he made a total and utter fool of himself comes rushing back, slamming down onto him like one of those cartoon anvils. Jesus, how did he forget that..?

Suddenly the pancakes aren’t sitting so good in his gut. Feels like he’s gonna ralph.

“Was he freaked out? Eddie, I mean.” Steve asks, cautiously approaching the question. Did Eddie say anything about why…?

“Yeah, him and Robin both. Then the kids found out too—don’t ask me how. I suspect the curly-haired one has an illegal transmitter.” Hopper leans back in the booth as the waitress drops off his coke. He takes the straw out and drinks it right from the glass. Steve waits for him to finish, doesn’t say a word.

When Hopper puts the glass down, Steve just sits and watches the way the drops of condensation run down the cup, distorting around the fingerprints Hopper’s left. “Anyway, they’re all out on their bikes looking for you too.”

Hopper smiles fondly, like it’s something charming and not… pathetic. “You got a lot of people that care about you, kid.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, and nods. Tries for a grin, but it’s weak. Probably wouldn’t fool anyone, much less a cop. “Yeah, I’m a real lucky guy.”

Hopper looks like he wants to say something else, but he just takes a breath and nods. Steve’s grateful he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t think he has the energy in him right now to fend off the ‘but look how far you’ve come!’ ‘Your speaking’s gotten so much better!’ ‘It could be a whole heck of a lot worse!’ comments.

“What do you say we get you home? Unless you want dessert? My treat.” Hopper offers with a grin.

“No, I just want to go to sleep,” he says, before remembering his manners, “thanks, though.”

“Alright then.” Hopper glances down at the cleared plate of pancakes and the half finished coke before sliding out of the booth, followed by Steve. He takes out wallet, but Steve beats him to it. He tosses down a few bills, hoping it’s enough. Hopper doesn’t comment, so it must be.

The drive back to his and Robin’s apartment is a solemn one, but it’s strangely peaceful. Hopper’s got the heat on full blast due to Steve’s lack of coat, and the motion of the vehicle along with the darkened sky leaves Steve feeling wrung out in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

In fact, when they finally arrive, Hopper’s gotta shake his shoulder to wake him up.

“We’re here.” He rumbles out in his gruff baritone.

Steve lifts his head from his folded arm and looks up at the modest building. He wonders how far they live from the pancake diner. If they could walk there, sometime, him and Robin and Eddie.

But then Steve realizes he never got the name of it. He feels his insides sink. Another thing lost to him.

“Thanks, Hop,” Steve gives Hopper a nod and what he’s sure is a tired smile. “I’ll, uh—I’ll try not to run off again.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Hopper says, diplomatically. “Let me walk you in.”

Steve cringes at the idea. He’s grateful for Hop and all he’s done—especially the part about not making him feel like a complete dummy—but he just wants this all to be over and for things to revert back to how they were. And at this point he’s so close he can taste it.

Steve busies his hands by undoing his seat belt. “No, it’s okay, really—“

Hopper looks like he’s about to argue but Robin damn near crashes out through the building’s illuminated front doors. She makes a b-line for Steve, who’s just barely gotten out of the cruiser.

She wraps her arms around him and doesn’t let go. “Steve! Holy shit, you scared me so bad. I’ve been out of my mind!”

Steve’s arms are trapped at an awkward angle, but he reaches around her as best he can, arms like flippers. “I’m okay. Seriously. Look, not even a scratch.”

She doesn’t laugh. Just squeezes him harder. Truthfully, Steve doesn’t know if he’s okay, but it’s what everyone always seems to want to hear from him, so he says it often.

“I’ve already killed Eddie like three times.” Robin murmurs into Steve’s chest, before finally pulling away. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose stuffy, like she’s been crying.

“It’s not his fault, Rob.” Steve’s brows pinch together as he frowns, “is he…”

But when Steve looks up towards their building, he can see Eddie standing in the doorframe, his dark silhouette illuminated by the entry way lights. He’s still as a statue, holding open the door for them, arm extended out into the cold autumn night. Steve’s insides squirm.

“You got him from here, Buckley?” Hopper calls from his cruiser and Robin ducks to meet his eye before giving him a thumbs up. She loops her arm around his waist and they start towards their place—towards Eddie.

Before they reach him, Steve keeps his voice down as he asks, “Can I just go to bed? I don’t—I can’t talk about it right now.”

“Okay.” She nods, “I get it.”

But she doesn’t, not really.

Steve avoids eye contact with Eddie when they finally reach the building, and before he can say anything, Robin interrupts. “He’s going straight to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Eddie says in a small voice. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even follow them back up to their apartment. Maybe Eddie’s even relieved he doesn’t need to confront it tonight. Maybe they won’t ever confront it… maybe he’s hoping Steve’s brain will take care of everything and make him forget. Make it like it never happened. Part of Steve wishes—

No. He doesn’t wish that. His brain’s already functioning at half capacity, he doesn’t want to thank it for fucking up, even if it might make Steve’s life easier.

Whatever Eddie’s expression is, Steve doesn’t look back to find out. He keeps his eyes on his feet, focusing on putting one step ahead of the other.

When they finally arrive at Steve’s matchbox sized bedroom, he doesn’t even bother changing into pajamas, or even out of his jeans for that matter. He just falls into his bed, pulls a pillow over his head and wills himself to let go of the day and surrender to the sweet pull of blissful unconsciousness.

���� Oops, I made it worse. But I promise the Eddie and Steve confrontation is in the next part! 🙏 This is tagged angst with a happy ending for a reason.

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[thenightsystem]

Most people only get 4 stress responses: Fight, Flight, Fawn, and Freeze.

people with DID unlock the secret fifth one: Forget

-host

[parasolladyansy]

DxP REWRITE - Monochrome Memories

“Even if the memories themselves have faded... it appears much still lives on in my heart.” While I’m sure repressed memories are a different experience to having amnesia, those words came back to his subconscious for a reason he can’t recall…

🔼 Diamond x Pearl REWRITE 🔽

<< Previous / Next >>

[deepseafisher]

[cosmicseaslugs]

[Did I take things way too far]

[serickswrites]

Forget Your Name

Warnings: captivity, torture, rescue, amnesia

"Caretaker," Whumper said, their deep voice growling over the phone, "when I'm through with Whumpee, they're going to forget everything. Who they were before. Who they are now without me. They are going to forget your name, too, Caretaker."

Caretaker hadn't believed Whumper's words. Hadn't believed that Whumper would keep Whumpee for as long as they did. Hadn't believed they would torture Whumpee. But as they stood outside Whumper's compound waiting for the all clear to go in and find Whumpee, Caretaker knew they were wrong.

Guilt consumed Caretaker as they wandered through the corridors, calling out Whumpee's name. The only sound in the compound were their fellow soldiers and their bootsteps. No sound of Whumpee calling out to them. No sound of Whumpee's cries of pain. No sound but their own.

With a heavy heart, Caretaker shouldered open the door to the final room, doubting they would find Whumpee there. Whumper had led them on another wild goose chase. And so Caretaker was surprised to find Whumpee sitting in a chair in the center of the room.

"Whumpee!" They cried happily. "Oh thank God! I am so glad to have found you!"

Whumpee flinched and looked up. "Who?"

"Whumpee, it's me! It's Caretaker!" Caretaker rushed forward ready to embrace Whumpee.

Whumpee leaned back. "I don't know who you are, but my name isn't Whumpee."

Caretaker froze. "Your name is Whumpee. You've known me for years, Whumpee."

Whumpee shook their head. "My name is Prisoner. I have lived here forever with Whumper. I have never met you. Where is Whumper? What did you do to them?"

The desperation in Whumpee's voice had Caretaker's mouth going dry. What had Whumper done to make good on their threat? What had Whumper done to Whumpee and how were they going to undo this and get Whumpee back?

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@pepeniascat @artisticdemon

[the-cauldron-witch]

Howdy T'Witch! It makes me so happy that you got your blog all up and designed! Those are big days and I’m happy that it looks so good! Hopefully you think so too!

I say that your writing requests were open and I’d love to pick your brain on some light angst if you’re up for it! No worries if you ain’t because hey understandable. The holidays be crazyyyyyy 🤪

But maybe to something to think about if you’re bored and whatever. But I wanted to ask on how do you think the Bayverse Boys would respond to you (y/n) getting amnesia and forgetting about them completely for whatever reason for how ever long? Do you think they’d try to rejog their memory or try to love them better with the chance of a fresh start? Or something else entirely. I am curious and I’d love to hear your thoughts if you’ve got the time and energy. Thanks for existing!

Hey Anon! (It’s weird to type this and have you not actually be an anon lmao)

I am very happy I finally have my blog up and running how I like, it finally feels like a little home to me. Thank you for noticing! 🫂🫂🫂

Thank you so much for sending an ask, I’m going to have fun with this one! I’m giving them a happy ending though, cause I can’t write angst and not give my boys a good ending. (Also completely unedited and not proof read lol)

Leonardo

The worry and anxiety he feels in the pit of his stomach like he swallowed a lead weight is one thing, but the chest-clenching heartbreak when you shriek at the sight of him and had no recollection of his existence is another.

He keeps a stoic face once you’ve calmed down and while explaining who he is to you, but really this poor guy is absolutely gutted. It takes so much of him to keep a straight face.

Still a bit of a helicopter, using any subtle opportunity to jog your memory of himself. He’ll make a cup of tea for you in the exact way he did on your first date, subtly comment on your outfit when he recognizes it’s something he bought you, anything he could think of to hopefully remind you.

This man does not sleep the entire time. You aren’t sleeping in his bed, how could he anyway? Once he is sure you are fully asleep, he comes to check on you. Listen to see if you talk in your sleep, mumbling about memories or just in case a nightmare decides to haunt you.

When he can’t check on you or do really anything else, he’s meditating in order to keep his emotions in line. He’s completely destroyed, so meditating for hours on end is the only way he can keep himself in check.

Although he’s snappy, irritable, and driving everyone but you away, what Leo really needs is one of his brothers to ignore the attitude and just stand there and let him get it out. By the time he’s done he’s already apologized a hundred times, he’s just lost and broken hearted.

Out of all his brothers, Raph is probably the one that cracks him and gets him to just spit it out. They all know what’s going on and how much Leo’s hurting from it all, but he still needs to let it out. Raph can handle the attitude with ease, brushing it aside and letting Leo get himself together

After what feels like an eternity, you gain your memory back at the most random of times while you happened to be watching him practice his kata. When you start babbling memories excitedly, he picks you up in a hug and cries into you.

It doesn’t matter if anyone’s watching, he’s crying and just so grateful that you remember who he is. Weeping tears of joy and the bottled anxiety finally burst as he holds you. Bear with this poor guy, it’s been a ride for both of you really.

Raphael

This poor guy is so surprised and in shock when you don’t remember him, he thinks you’re playing some sort of prank on him at first.

“Heh- babe, c’mon…don’t joke around like dat”

Once it hits him that this isn’t a prank or joke, you genuinely do not know who he is, Raph practically shuts down.

The love of his life doesn’t remember who he is, even looks at him like he’s the monster he felt he was before meeting you. It breaks his heart so much he locks himself away for a day or two, unfortunately leaving you more confused.

When you start wanting to be near him- no, needing to be near him, is when he starts coming around. He found you pacing back and forth in front of his bedroom door like a cat waiting to enter a closed off room one night.

You couldn’t explain it, but you have this invisible pull and primal need to be near him somehow. To be close, even touching him. Although you don’t remember why, you just know you need to,

Raph starts coming out of his room and trying to act normal, but when his brothers look him in the face an see how red and raw his eyes are, the dark circles, and the heartbreak in his eyes, they know it’s just an act but wisely choose not to comment.

He catches you staring at him while he’s working out, chuckling as you bashfully try to shy away. He doesn’t tease or joke though, instead encourages you to come watch

“I miss my favorite spotting partner,” Raph admits, hoping that will help jog your memory a little. It doesn’t outright, but you do find yourself already knowing how to spot him.

After a few days of you following Raph around like a lost puppy, your memory finally comes crashing back to you when Raph slipped the boxing gloves on you for practice.

Relief. So much relief it washes over Raph like a tidal wave that nearly knocks him off his feet. He holds you and kisses you, telling you repeatedly how grateful and happy he is you have your memory and you’re here. The tears will come at night while the two of you are in bed for the night, but he holds you and everything is okay.

Donatello

Initiate full on analytical mode. He is immediately going through a thousand different scenarios and cures in his head, he almost forgets that *you forgot* who he was all together, so his babbling did nothing to calm you down.

Even with all his knowledge and abilities, it still doesn’t negate the overwhelming emotions he feels when you don’t recognize him. It hurts, makes it hard for Donnie to even breathe, but he hides it behind his science and research.

Sitting in front of his computer for days on end in between checking up on your, it becomes almost like an obsession for Donnie to get your memory back. At the risk of his own health and wellbeing, he does not stop.

From using scents he knows you enjoy, like that cologne you bought for him as a gift or your favorite body wash, tasting your favorite coffee or the tiramisu Donnie bought for the two of you on a date once.

Let’s put on that movie we watched on that one Valentine’s weekend; you were obsessed with it for weeks!

Oh, what if Donnie took you to that rooftop the two of you saw a comet in the night sky once? It was absolutely beautiful, but wasn’t nearly as beautiful as you, he confided.

Countless hours of research keep Donnie from sleeping, honestly at one point contemplating how he could just straight main-line caffeine into his blood stream to stay awake.

Without warning one night, you come into his lab and demand he sleep. Not ask, not coax, you demand Donnie to get in bad with you and get some sleep. He questions if you’ve finally gotten your memory back, but sadly no. And he’s crushed. But you still demand he lay down in bed with you.

Crawling into bed with you with awkward limbs, Donnie is surprised that you lay down exactly as you always do with him. Even without memory, it was like your body still remembered how you fit together.

Quiet tears fall as Donnie holds onto you, sleep mercifully taking him into a deep slumber. Guilt crawled its way into your stomach while trying to sleep, wishing that your memory would just return so you could stop all of this.

Waking up in the morning, you blinked with shock as you look at Donnie- looked at him like you knew him again. And you did. You had woken up with your memory by some miracle.

Kissing and hugging you with love and relief, Donnie can’t keep his hands off of you or keep the tears from smudging his glasses. It was all so hard to believe while it was happening that now it was over, it felt like the end of a tornado.

The two of you decide to sleep in a little longer, only because Donnie could barely hold his eyes open. Frankly, sleep was probably what you needed too after all this.

Michelangelo

Confused. Downright, no jokes confused. How could you not remember him so suddenly? Time just doesn’t erase like that right?

Mikey asks Donnie a million and one questions, repeating or re-wording them or giving scenarios. It drives his brother mad, but he tries to be lenient because Donnie knows how terrified his younger brother is.

He caters to you in every way; offers to get you a drink, make you something to eat, get you a pillow, it becomes a little overwhelming, but you don’t know how to tell him to stop.

When Mikey tries to kiss you and pull away, it was like you could practically hear the way his heart shatters like glass. But he hides it with a smile and flirts, telling you he won you over once, he could do it again.

This is when he starts to flirt with you like he did before the two of you started dating, but with far more strategy and knowledge. Comments about how sweet you are while making your favorite chocolate pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream

Tells you how amazing you look in that shirt or those pants, mostly because he was the one to buy them.

He’ll give you your favorite kind of gifts; favorite flowers, candy, stuffed animals, anything he can think of giving you and jog your memory. Each time it doesn’t work, he’s crushed a little bit more, but he keeps trying.

Plays movies that you and Mikey watched together, shared music playlists the two of you built together over the period of your relationship, and whatever else he could possibly think of. But it still didn’t work.

When you aren’t anywhere near to see, Mikey with let himself cry for a moment out of frustration and sadness that you don’t remember him. It hurts, but by the time you are near he has a smile back on his face.

He thought you were sleeping one night when you found him crying down one of the sewer tunnels away from the lair. The sight broke your heart, which for some reason jogged your memory. Rushing to hug and kiss him, you damn near scared Mikey out of his shell.

“Angelcakes, you remember!?” Mikey shouts, picking you up and spinning you in a massive hug. Thank the pizza Gods, he had you back!

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[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 15

part 1, prev part

note: yeah, this one's going to hurt

Dustin takes a few days before returning to the hospital again. Not because he fully wants to. His mom has been too busy to drive him and Steve’s not really available either. Between work and a period of really bad migraines, Dustin hasn’t wanted to bother him. Which is new to him, but they both could use the break.

This time off has actually helped him some. He’s focusing a bit more on school. Getting assignments done on time and paying more attention in his classes. He’s been able to sleep a little better. Can almost get through the night without waking up in a cold sweat.

It’s been better. So Dustin decides to go visit Eddie again.

Steve’s walking next to him, now up to visiting Eddie. Finally, over whatever was keeping him from even thinking of going into the hospital room unless he needed to. Dustin’s glad, it’s been helping him.

There’s a nurse asking Eddie some questions when they enter. And he’s responding. With words. Not just grunts or blinks. But actual words. Dusitn almost can’t believe it.

“What year is it?” the nurse asks.

Eddie takes a deep breath. “Nineteen,” another breath, “eighty-six.” His voice is scratchy and dry.

“Great,” she marks something on her chart.

Dustin takes his seat next to Wayne, looking hopeful.

“What day of the week is it?”

Eddie closes his eyes, as if he’s trying to pull the memories from his mind. He shakes his head. Looking tired and agitated. The nurse marks another thing on her chart.

Dustin looks to Wayne, the joy in his face falling when he sees the anguish in Wayne’s eyes. There’s something more to this. Something’s wrong.

“Can you tell me what happened right before you came in here, Eddie?”

Dustin freezes and sees Steve tense out of the corner of his eye. Both of them looking to Eddie to see what he says. Knowing that he can’t say what happened. Knowing that he technically could. The NDA waiting for him is left unsigned.

Eddie huffs out a breath, struggling to inhale another one. Starting to peel off the bandages around his IV’s. Struggling, trying to sit up.

“Ed,” Wayne leans forward, trying to reason with him. “We talked about this yesterday. You can’t take those things off. They’re keepin’ you alive, son.”

Yesterday. This isn’t the first time. Eddie’s been more awake for at least a day and no one told him.

Dustin glances at Steve, seeing a mix of emotions on his face. Pain, worry, fear. A deep, rich sadness. Like he knows the words Eddie is going to say next. Knows how terrible they are.

“Fuck you,” Eddie exhales. The look in his eyes both blank and full of anger. He continues to pick at the bandage, succeeding in getting it off.

Wayne grabs Eddie’s wrist, pulling it away from his IV. “I know you don’t mean that.”

“Fuck,” breathe, “you.” The anger doesn’t leave Eddie’s face. Terrifying in how much is translated with how little is expressed. The tiredness holding his muscles back from properly emoting. Yet perfectly getting the point across.

Steve leans down to whisper in Dustin’s ear. “Maybe we should leave. Come back later.”

Eddie’s head lifts when he finally registers Steve and Dustin’s presence. A new flicker of something comes to his face. Just to melt off again. Back to the resting ghost that’s taken over.

“Out,” he snaps. Pushing his arm into the air and pointing at Steve. “Out.”

“I think it’s best you both leave,” the nurse interjects. Trying to hold the IV in Eddie’s arm as he continues to pull.

Normally, Dusitn would protest. Say that he needs to be here. That it would make things better. But it’s only a matter of time until the anger turns on him. He’s not sure he could take that.

Wayne has to pry Eddie’s hand away from the IV again, holding it close to the bar. Just like another cuff. Eddie’s using all of his strength to try and wrench it away. But he’s weak. Falls into the pillows breathless. Exhausted.

Tears start to form in his eyes as his face scrunches up. A soundless sob releasing from his throat. He tries to fight the nurse while she’s reapplying the bandage around his IV. Finally giving up.

Eddie opens his eyes again, finally looking at Dustin. Taking one more giant breath before saying the first thing to him since he died. Tears painting down his face. Pain indented in his eyes.

“Leave,” he whispers. Pleads.

Dustin stands and leaves the room, only making a few steps before his own sob breaks free. There was no look of recognition in Eddie’s eyes. No spark when he saw Dustin. Nothing to give him any solace that Eddie knew who he was. Knew what Dustin meant to him. Knew what happened in those last moments. As Eddie’s body crumbled in Dustin arms.

He remembered none of it. But it remembered him.

Steve pulls Dustin away from the hallway. Wraps his arms around him, holding the pieces as they fall. As the hope Dustin foolishly held shatters. He thought waking up meant Eddie was getting better.

He now sees how wrong that idea was.

They sit silently next to each other in the waiting room. Dustin’s tears drying on his cheeks. Steve not knowing what to say, so just not saying anything at all. It’s deafening.

Wayne finds them after some time. Sits across from them. Silent, until he clears his throat. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Dustin wants to respond. Ask what happened in the days he wasn’t here. But his mouth can’t seem to open for the words to form.

“Eddie,” Wayne continues. “Eddie’s goin’ through a bit of amnesia after fully waking up. It’s making him angry, and he’s fightin’ just because of the pain. It’s nothing against you.”

Dustin wasn’t in the room when Will was possessed by the Mind Flayer. He’s only heard the stories from Mike. How Will didn’t remember him that much. Could barely remember his own mom. How the monster took the memories and hid them away. Smothered them. Sequestered Will in his own mind.

Eddie wasn’t controlled by the Mind Flayer. Or anything from the Upside Down. Dustin had given El a picture of Eddie and asked her to see if he was the only one in there. That there was nothing lingering in the depths of his mind that would take him away.

It apparently didn’t need monsters to do that. Sometimes life did that for them.

“Do they know when, if, the amnesia will go away?” Steve asks. Dustin still speechless.

Wayne shakes his head, fighting the mist in his eyes. “Could be days, could be weeks. Won’t know until he’s more conscious. He’s still in and out of sleep, probably won’t be up again till tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Dustin can only hope that Eddie remembers him tomorrow.

next part

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[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 7

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

WARNING: TW/ the topic of suicide.

First - Prev - Next

CH.7

“You really need to tidy this place up, Stanford. I know you live by yourself, but that’s no excuse to have papers and books scattered around like a dust devil came through.”

“It’s organized chaos, Fiddleford. I know where everything is.”

“And this pile of unwashed laundry?”

“I’ll get to it. Washing clothes is a waste of time, and I’m a busy man.”

“Uh huh, and this pile of unopened letters on your counter? What are all of these, Stanford?”

“Several of our colleagues started sending me letters en masse.”

“And you didn’t open or read them?”

“I received so many at once, it must have been an invitation for a convention. I wasn't interested in attending one at the time. I’ll get to them eventually.”

“These are dated over a year-.”

“Eventually.”

“You’re stubborn as a mule. At least wash your dishes. You’ve been categorizing your notes for the past hour - what are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to find the definitive event.”

“For Stan?”

“Yes. You said that something extremely traumatic caused the memory loss; if I can identify what event exactly caused this, maybe I can fix this. The problem is, however…”

“Is that you’ve handled the situation in the most extreme way you could think of?”

“No. That isn’t it- and that isn’t true.”

“Mhmmm.”

“The problem is there’s too much.”

“Too much?”

“Trauma. He’s offhandedly mentioned terrible things- even when I met him in town, he had three stab wounds and acted like it was no big deal. And the more we ask, the more we prod, there’s more. The ones we heard were just the ones he was comfortable enough to mention, there has to be worse things he will not or can not speak of. And that thought… scares me, Fiddleford. I knew he wasn’t doing fantastic, but it wasn’t… It wasn’t supposed to be this bad.”

“That’s not your fault Stanford - didn’t you say he left home? It is sad he was too stubborn to ask you or anyone else in your family for help, but I suppose you two have that in common yeah?”

“...”

“I’ll admit that might have been tactless of me- Stanford? What’s- Hey! Hey now, it’s okay! It’s okay- I’m here for you.”

“...Five.”

“What’re you whimpering into your hands, now?”

“Five times. He wrote me a list of people who have tried to kill him in the past. There were thirty names.”

“That’s terrible, but not entirely surprising from what he’s-.”

“He listed himself five times.”

(...)

“How could you be so selfish?”

“I’m a selfish guy, I dunno what you want me to say.”

“Why do you only ever think of yourself?”

“Can’t afford not to. It’s dog eat dog out there, you know.”

“Will you take this seriously?”

“Will you tell me what you’re upset about this time? I can’t read minds, and I’ve known you for four days! Throw me a bone here, PhD.”

“You tried to- to take your own life?”

“Yeah. A couple times. Never succeeded, but that’s the story of my life.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you try something like-”

“Okay I’ve had enough of your judgemental bullshit. I’ve been playing along with your ‘missing twin’ narrative, the least you could do is not fucking go there. I’m a homeless criminal on the run all the time. You tell me why you think I’d want to die sometimes.

Use that big fucking brain of yours for two seconds and think statistics - homeless people kill themselves more than ‘regular’ people, so do prisoners and convicts. You’re both? Oooh boy you’re in for a time. You have to fight to survive all of the time, and sometimes… sometimes you just get so tired, you want to stop fighting you… you just want a break from it all. You want it to just end.”

“Stanley…”

“...”

“...Talk to me. Please. I’m not trying to judge you, I just want to understand.”

"...Let's say I am this mystery twin-"

"You are."

"I'm being hypothetical here, listen. Let's say I am this mystery twin of yours. Specs was saying he didn't even know you had a twin."

"How did-."

"You pressed the mute button, not deafen; I could still hear you. Anyways, your best friend didn't know you had a twin. So to your own best friend you never mentioned 'me' over what, at least 4 years or however long it took you to get a degree? Or in the years that followed? Not even once?

If I'm your twin, I can't have been that important for you to do all of this. I screwed something up, and you don't want me in your life."

"..."

"I don’t know what you're trying to prove here- if you’re going through some guilt or pity or whatever. I'm just some drifter! I don’t have anything, and I don’t have anyone. You shouldn't be wasting your time like this. I'm not worth any of the time or effort you’ve put into this. Even if I was who you think I am. Because that guy? That guy fucked up so badly you didn't think about him for ten years. And I'm just as big of a fuck up."

"Is that... is that what you think about yourself?"

"Stanford, that's all that I know about myself."

*Ford abruptly opens the barred door and walks through the forcefield into the cell*

"Woah woah, I'm not looking for a fight-."

*Ford hugs him, Stan just stands there*

"I wish you called, reached out to me, I-. I wish I reached out."

“...He probably wishes he reached out, too.”

To be continued...

[whumpisgoodwhumpislife]

WHUMPCEMBER DAY 16

Amnesia

I might have turned amnesia into something worse.

- Who are you ? Don't touch me ! No ! S-Stay away !

Whumpee yelped as he scooted back on the bed clumsily, his movements restrained by the heavy straitjacket holding his arms to his chest. He was hyperventilating, his arms darting around. An orderly prepared a syringe, waiting for the doctor's orders. But the latter just sighed and turned back to caretaker, shaking his head.

- He's been like that for over two weeks now. Whumpee seems to be unable to create lasting memories anymore. Everything that happens to him, he forgets after a few days if not hours.

The patient shook his head, raising tear-filled eyes toward them.

- You're lying. I don't know you! I... I would know if there was something wrong with my memory...

Caretaker wrenched his hands in his lap, locking eyes with his friend, but whumpee just looked away. He turned toward the doctor, trying to contain his emotions.

- And... Is there a way to heal him ? It's... It just feels so wrong.

But the doctor gave him a compassionate look as he answered:

- I'm sorry. We know very little about this type of condition. And from his medical files, your friend already had a... fragile psyche, right ? So, this incident might have just been the straw that breaks the camel's back.

Whumpee looked so lost, so hesitant, it broke caretaker's heart.

- It's... Please tell me it's not real. Please...

@whumpcember

[theapollosystem]

I have an eating disorder hasn’t ever been formally diagnosed cause when i was a kid doctors just kinda shrugged it off. I have ARFID which means i’m very particular around the foods i eat and I often won’t eat if everything seems like horrible sensory.

I often have a very low appetite naturally I don’t feel hungry I actually was on a medication to help that for a bit, our mother made us get off it cause she believed it was causing a drug interaction (it wasn’t our doctor said it was fine she just has a very bad untreated anxiety disorder).

I often forget I technically have an eating disorder cause it’s just how i am, I don’t eat enough it caused me to very small growing up. I was underweight until I was like 15, Testosterone did help our weight a lot cause before T we were barely in Normal weight. Still my appetite issues are still here.

Related to the disorder I have a lot of fear about throwing up and we do a lot, the medication we were on helped with that too. Damn maybe we should ask a doctor to re prescribe it to us now that we’re paying for our own medications.

Anyways back to the main point, despite having an eating disorder that affects my daily life I often feel bad saying I have an eating disorder as it’s not like serious. Okay it kinda is, my parents also made it extremely worse cause instead of just having me get an NJ or another feeding tube as a kid. They forced me to eat like physically would force us to eat which was extremely traumatizing as I was a very young child and didn’t know what was going on. Which caused my relationship with food to be even worse.

What I was trying to say is usually it is not as serious as Anorexia,Bulimia, and Binge Eating disorder. As unlike those there’s no body image issues, it’s literally just my brain going all food bad rather starve.

ARFID is really common in people with Autism and/or ADHD. Cause it’s based on sensory issues which are things people with neurodivergence tend to have.

My parents really didn’t know how to raise a neurodivergent child so instead of being caring, they were like my child’s having a meltdown again, yell at them to shut up and them it’s disrespectful to act that way.

[otter-chaos-violence]

I was struck with a sudden inspiration while watching Finding Nemo, whumpee developes memory loss

---

Whumpee stared up at Whumper, whispering, "Who are you?"

"Hello Whumpee, my name is Whumper, don't you remember me?"

"N-no,"

Whumpee's head throbbed, and they mumbled, "Am I supposed to?"

"Supposed to?" Whumper tilted their head. "I'm your friend!"

"O-oh. Um- okay. Hi, Whumper. Why does my head hurt so bad, do you know?"

"You hit your head pretty hard. Don't worry, I'll take care of you,"

[thurio-edau]

alright, this time i made these dreamcore posts myself. they just feel like great, unelaborated vents with open ends that feel really calming to me.

i just... feel understood with these. kinda fucked up, yeah.

[thecountoflondonfansite]

Kid Trouble

Not my main au idea but something fun. So one of the lodgers accidentally turns Henry into a little kid. At first a newly turned Henry acts timid, nervous, and afraid because he has no idea where he is or what is going on. The lodgers think that it will be easy to take care of kid Henry since adult Henry is so polite and a gentleman. That is until kid Henry is more comfortable and calm. It turns out kid Henry is like a mini Edward Hyde. Causing chaos and grief for most of the lodgers. The only people he’ll listen to are Rachel, Jasper, Virginia Ito, and surprisingly Frankenstein. It’s mainly hilarious antics performed by “The Spirit of Mad Science!” (Yes that is what kid Henry calls himself).

[cosmicseaslugs]

Paint the man, cut the lines...

Part 2 >

[serickswrites]

Get Up III

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: gunshot, mcd, head ache, captivity, restraints, amnesia, torture, scientific experimentation

"Why won't you work?" Villain growled as they watched as their tenth attempt to revive Hero failed. They stared down at Hero's pale, empty eyes. "Why won't you wake up?"

They had been trying for the better part of a week to revive Hero. Each subsequent failure was enraging. It was even more so because as far as they could tell, everything should be working.

"It's more than electricity," Villain muttered as they re-read their notes for the fifteenth time. "But what elements are missing? How do I tether your essence?"

Hero didn't respond. Villain began to wonder if the bullet in Hero's brain had destroyed something vital to the process. "I am so close. I know I am."

They had failed to revive their fallen minions as well. They had burned through enough bodies that they knew what would destroy a body. But they still hadn't figured out what would bring them back.

"One more try for today. Because I am going to bring you back. And then I'm going to kill you slowly, painfully. Because no one gets to kill you, but me."

***

Hero wasn't sure what was happening to them. Their head hurt, worse than any headache they had before. They were laying on a cold, metal slab. How had they gotten there? What had happened?

They strained to remember as they struggled to open their eyes. It was so bright here. Their eyes hurt as they tried to open them.

What had happened?

"There you are," a voice that had Hero's blood running cold came from nearby. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to get here," Villain said with a sinister smile as they stared down at Hero.

Hero swallowed. Their mouth was so terribly dry. They couldn't speak. Why were they with Villain? What had happened?

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Hero."

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