#cw amnesia

[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!

Taglist

@silverwatergalaxy @thelaundrybitch @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos

@yorshie @truffle-reblogs @redsrooftopprincess @ninnosaurus @thepinkpanther83

@avery73 @luckycharms1701 @tmnt-tychou @suksiskovaikkakuuseen @milykins @justalotoffanfiction

[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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[gabessquishytum]

Amnesia trope.

Hob gets wonked on the head hard. Probably playing sport or doing something stupid whilst quite plastered. And it knocks out his memory. Not of who he is or anything. But everything after he became immortal. Just suddenly 1389 Hob's lived experience is all he's got. So everything is super damn confusing and he's going to start drawing the wrong kind of attention once everyone figures out that he isn't just having some kind of history nerd delusion and refusing to speak in anything but Chaucer era English and be freaked out by the sheer unending assault of a modern city.

Dream decides to look after him a bit until he recovers. Maybe ask Delirium if she can do anything to help with the brain injury. But mostly just give him a chance to look after his human and keep him from getting into trouble.

Bonus points if Johanna finds out and does all of the giving a medieval peasant Doritos memes.

This is amazing ajsjshdhdh

Obsessed with the idea of Hob walking around, talking Middle English, asking what the fuck he's wearing??? Denim??? Jeans??? He sees a car and passes out after muttering frantic prayers - luckily Dream keeps an eye on him at all times...

So Hob ends up under temporary house arrest while Jo gives him Mountain Dew and plays EDM music at him. Hob seems quite keen on the sugary snacks and nearly puts himself in a coma (it's just a bad tummy ache but he's very sad about it and won't leave Dream’s side).

Dream is admittedly enjoying this version of Hob who seems so young and naive. Its a pleasure to see him shyly glancing and batting his large brown eyes in an clumsy attempt at flirting - obviously his ardour for Dream hasn't changed, despite the memory loss.

He's forgotten how to read, so Dream has a go at teaching him. It's slow progress but Dream loves that furrow of concentration on Hob’s dear, handsome face. Of course he'll be back to normal soon enough, so there doesn't seem to be any harm in enjoying him like this for a while.

Hob finally falls asleep on Dream’s shoulder, and Dream carries him off to bed. He feels rather blessed to have had another opportunity to enjoy Hob as he was the first day they met. And it definitely gives Dream a lot to think about. Maybe it's finally time to confess his love? When Hob is back to normal, of course...

[bad-time-theater-au]

Isa, where did you find that dagger?

[ "Oh, I got it from..." ]

[ "From..." ]

[ ... ]

[ "Huh, I don't remember. It doesn't matter, I probably just got it at a shop... or something." ]

[ "...Hey Mira, do you think you can take the next couple questions?" ]

{“..?”}

{ “Oh uhm, sure I can do that for you Isabeau. I hope you feel better.. take care okay?”}

[ "I will, thanks!" ]

[habitual-creatures]

POV How I (Toby🥽) see Evan:

(Featuring my cat, Fizz)

Hey- I'm not THAT forgetful!

Besides... I think I'm getting close to something.

B- But the cat is cute, I'll admit that-

[sollody]

1979

Right, so I originally wasn't going to share this because I feel like it could as well be nothing but a funny coincidence. And even though I've been entertaining the idea for quite some time, I can't seem to find enough proof for it to be classified a proper theory. (Plus, I'm usually kind of terrible at explaining things so it might just be a waste of time. :D)

However, I just finished reading @pinkeoni 's thoughts on how the Upside Down may have been Will's 'hiding spot' long before the events of November 1983 (and I'm currently feeling incredibly inspired ...)

... so consider this post to be the result of a classic knee-jerk reaction. :D

-

Like I've said, it may be purely coincidental, but given the fact it is part of Joyce's 'birthday monologue' (something I feel will be relevant to Will's storyline in season 5) I can't help but find it curious how Joyce ends up using the memory of Will's 8th birthday.

Let's assume the writers really did have their reasons for choosing that age. It might be time to remind ourselves that Will was born in 1971 ...

... which means he turned eight in 1979.

... aka the year Jane unintentionally opens the very first gate and Henry discovers the Upside Down (which had been nothing but some yellow coloured wasteland at that point) as well as those particles he uses to form the Mind Flayer.

^ "...all you wanted to do was draw..', - he'd most definitely spent most of his time doing exactly that.

[Oh, btw: the lab's playroom = 'rainbow room'. - probably not relevant at all, but, you know, just in case and whatnot. :D ]

Why and how would all of the above be connected to Will/his 8th birthday though?

Again, it is possible that we're dealing with some major case of apophenia and even if we aren't - I don't really know how to connect the dots here. Nevertheless, to me, it's quite interesting how Joyce points out that Will had been given that huge box of crayons (that he used in order to draw 'his rainbow ship that wasn't from a movie')

Especially considering his art has always been quite relevant to the plot AND he is believed to possess the ability to create/alter things with his mind.

There are quite a few people (me included) who are convinced that he made the Upside Down look like Hawkins.

But what if there's more to it?

...

What if Will somehow is connected to the yellow version of the Upside Down too?

What if he can't remember because ... he suffers from dissociative amnesia... ?!

... just like Jane ...

Perhaps Tumblr user pinkeoni is right and he really did use it as some sort of hiding spot back when Lonnie was around.

And maybe...

We'll see, won't we? (:

----------

Um, yeah, that's all - for now. :D

Thanks for reading and stuff. <3

[jixiswrites]

Suguru wakes up to blood and Satoru's absence

The first thing he registers is the smell - no, the taste - of blood.

It’s unpleasant and gut-wrenchingly familiar. 

It takes a long time for him to notice anything else, but when he does, it’s also blood. Drying cool and clammy on his skin, sticking hair to his face. Wet and greasy and clotting and so much. 

Is it his? 

Some of it, he guesses, when he can’t quite move his fingers on his right hand. There’s a dull agony in his shoulder, a twisted pain in his leg, but it’s not the worst he’s felt by far. He needs to throw up - not a new feeling, but the intensity of more curses than he remembers ever seeing, much less swallowing, roils in his stomach. 

What the hell happened. 

He blinks up at the clear blue sky. It’s far too pretty for the state he’s found himself in, an endless infinite blue just like Satoru’s eyes. 

Satoru.

Fuck, where’s Satoru?

He levers himself up with his good arm, trying desperately to not faceplant back into the blood-soaked earth. A quick scan reveals bodies - why are there so many bodies, what happened - but none of them have the tell-tale white hair. 

It doesn’t comfort Suguru as much as he’d hoped. If he’s in this state and Satoru isn’t beside him - well. Satoru must be in a worse state. 

His arm fails; he hits the ground with a jolt that rocks his entire core. The world dims, getting darker by degrees even as he scrambles desperately for consciousness. 

Satoru, is his last thought, Satoru, please be okay.

~

He wakes again, all the blood cold and tacky on him. Suguru may have felt more gross before, but if he has, he can’t remember. 

Satoru. 

He’s in the same place, the sky turning violet above him with the coming night. Fuck. He’s been out a while and Satoru still isn’t here. 

That does not bode well. 

His good arm isn’t his dominant, but it’ll do to find his phone. If he even still has a phone. With his luck, it’ll have been crushed by… whatever happened. 

Tentatively, he pats down his hip, searching for the pocket he keeps it in. 

It’s not there. 

Not just the phone - his pocket, as well. Groaning, he lifts his head enough to see that he’s dressed in… something? Not his regular clothes. Nothing at all like his regular clothes, actually. 

Well. That’s… concerning? Less concerning than all the blood and bodies, obviously, but still. Suguru pats vaguely at the strange… apron-robe-thing he’s wearing, hoping that there’s some kind of pocket hidden in the many (many) folds. 

Dark spots dance in front of him when he tries to think too hard. He can’t remember - he doesn’t remember what he can’t remember.

But he needs Satoru. 

Eventually, he finds his phone, tucked into the sash at his waist. It’s cracked, of course. He smears it with congealed blood when he tries to unlock it. When he wipes his hand off on his clothes, the sticky blood pulls at scabs he hadn’t realized were there, and then he’s bleeding more: sluggish, dark red. 

Fuck. 

With effort, he manages to get to the recent calls screen through the cracks and the blood. Satoru is always in his top three, but when he looks now, he’s nowhere. Yaga isn’t listed either. Neither is Shoko. Instead, it’s name after name of organizations he doesn’t know and people that mean nothing to him. 

Slightly frantic, he goes to his contacts. There’s no ‘Satoru’ under ‘S’. There’s no ‘Most annoying human in the world’ in ‘M’.

Hesitantly, wondering how he could be embarrassed while still bleeding out, he looks for ‘My one and only’, ‘Best friend’, ‘Love of my life’, and any other cringy thing he could’ve named Satoru.

(He looks for ‘Boyfriend’. He looks for ‘Husband’. He will never tell a single soul this.)

And he’s just… not there. 

Like he’s not here. 

Suguru doesn’t know what’s happened, but something has gone terribly, terribly wrong. 

His vision is fading fast. He has the horrible, absolute feeling that if he passes out again he won’t wake up. 

It’s a last resort, but he takes his cursed energy - so much more than he remembers, sticky and thick, roiling with hundreds if not thousands of curses - and shoots it up in the sky like a flare. Like a firework. 

Help.

Please, Satoru, help - 

I don’t want to die. 

(I don’t want to die without you.)

~

“Suguru!” He thinks he hears. Maybe. Or maybe his brain is being kind for once and he’s hallucinating that Satoru came for him. That’d be nice. Suguru could pretend he’s being held by him as he goes on to whatever’s next. 

There’s a pressure on his chest and a pressure at his wrist and a pressure on his neck; he opens up gummy eyes due to pure curiosity. 

Oh. 

It is Satoru, twisting all his limbs around so he can touch every pulse point at once. His head is resting on Suguru’s chest, pretty white hair brushing over congealed blood. It’s probably too dry at this point to stain, but Suguru should tell him to lift his head up anyway. He doesn’t like when Satoru’s hair is red…

When has it ever been red?

His mouth is twisted in this weird snarl. It’s nothing like Suguru has ever seen from him - or… is it?

Satoru’s wearing a blindfold. Suguru’s forgotten which arm is the undamaged one, so he simply tries to use both as he reaches for Satoru’s face. He wants to see his eyes while he goes.

One of his arms falters and he groans as it hits the ground with a dull thwack. 

“Suguru,” Satoru says, desperate. 

Darkness fills his vision. 

It’s nice that the last thing he heard was Satoru saying his name. 

He’d wanted to ask about the blindfold, though. 

~

 “Fix him.”

“Are you sure…”

“Shoko.” 

Suguru almost musters the strength to say something about Satoru using that pitch while he’s trying to sleep. Almost. Really. He’s about to wake up and…

It’s dark.

~

Suguru comes to in Satoru’s arms. “Mm,” he mumbles, pressing his face into Satoru’s shirt. He’s not dead, maybe. Or maybe he is and he actually gets to hallucinate that Satoru holds him while he finds out what awaits in the afterlife. 

Satoru still uses the same cologne he did in highschool.

Or - wait - aren’t they still in highschool?

It’s soothingly dark again. 

~

Again, he wakes up. Unless the afterlife is a bunch of woozy half-remembered instances of Satoru holding him, he’s probably alive. 

That’s good then.

Right?

There’s a tugging at his abdomen. He looks down, sees Satoru undoing whatever the hell he’s wearing. There’s a lot of ties. He doesn’t falter once. Suguru is the one wearing it and he wouldn’t know where to start.

It’s just like Satoru. Good at everything. 

~

He’s naked. The air is cold around him. 

Shivering, he curls further into Satoru. “Whassat,” is his elegant question to why he’s naked, being held in Satoru’s arms. It’s not like Satoru hasn’t seen him naked, but mostly they’re naked together, not just Suguru trying to hide from the cold by burrowing into Satoru’s chest. 

“Gonna wash the blood off you.”

“Mhm,” Suguru agrees. It’d be nice to be less bloody. His nostrils have acclimated to the smell, but every time he turns his head his hair sticks and pulls. 

Faintly, he registers running water. Satoru is holding him with one arm as he adjusts the temperature, which is hot as hell. Everything has been bad and confusing since he woke up, but now that he’s in Satoru’s arms, he knows it’ll be okay. 

Satoru steps them both into the shower when he deems it the correct temperature. Warm - hot, even. Hotter than he knows Satoru likes it, so he’s bearing it for him. Suguru nuzzles further into cloth - Satoru, always annoying and abrasive and always taking care of him. 

Wait - 

“Satoru, why are you wearing clothes?”

At least that's what he wanted to say. What comes out is more of a “S’ru, whu’clothe.” This is accompanied by a weak but insistent tugging on said clothes. 

Satoru understands him, of course. He always does. “I’m not the one that needs to get clean.”

Suguru whines, tugging harder at his clothes. Who cares if it’s pathetic, this is Satoru and he’s injured and he wants to feel his best friend’s skin against his own. It’s not like it’d be anything new. 

“Suguru…”

“C’mon,” he whines, taking a page from Satoru’s playbook. “‘M injured. Gotta b’nice.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh. It doesn’t sound happy at all. Suguru snuggles further into him - he hadn’t been that hurt. Satoru always beats himself up if Suguru gets so much of a scratch while Satoru smiles through being impaled.

…When has Satoru been impaled?

He stops thinking about it when Satoru rips off his clothes in one fell swoop. Always dramatic. Suguru snorts as he rubs his nose into Satoru’s ribs - has he been eating enough? Every ridge and dip is pronounced. He’s still burning hot, though - warmer than the water steaming around them. Satoru always runs unreasonably hot, it’s why most winter nights find him curled in the other’s body. He’s better than a kotatsu. 

He wriggles around for more skin contact. Turns out bleeding out in a village somewhere leaves you ‘tepid’ at best. 

Oh, right. Why was he bleeding out in a village somewhere?

“Satoru,” he mumbles. The man in question has started running his hands through Suguru’s hair, untangling it where blood and dirt has left it knotted. “Did I get the curse?”

“Mm?”

“The curse,” he coughs a bit into Satoru’s side. Satoru, being who he is, doesn’t mind. “Whatever killed all those people. Is it taken care of?”

There’s silence for a long time. Suguru doesn’t fall asleep through sheer force of will - he can after he knows. After he knows it can’t hurt anyone ever again. He can still taste the blood in his throat; can still see the bodies. 

“Yeah, Suguru,” he sighs, eventually. “You got it.”

He falls asleep to the gentle ministrations of Satoru washing his hair. 

~

Later, he wakes up: dry and clean in bed. It’s only a moment before Satoru’s beside him, a mug with an adorable little bendy straw being presented to him. 

Not trusting Satoru to feed him some slushy-sugary-awfulness, he glares at the other man. 

“Water,” is the response. Suguru eyes it suspiciously. “I swear it’s just water, Suguru.”

Satoru sounds… different. Sadder? Faker? 

He doesn’t know what to make of it. Squints sleepily at his face before chasing the straw around with his mouth. The laugh Satoru huffs at that sounds genuine, at least. 

After draining the whole cup (which was, thankfully, just water) he properly looks at Satoru for the first time. He’s still wearing the blindfold - what the fuck is all that about, have his migraines gotten so bad he walks around with a blindfold? Why hadn’t he been talking to Suguru about this, he knows Suguru learned that weird head massage just for him for when it gets bad -

Oh. 

He takes a proper look at Satoru’s face, the curves and slants that are so much sharper than he remembers. 

He’s not just sadder, and faker, and wearing a blindfold - he’s broader and stronger and older.

By a lot.

That’s… probably not good.

“Satoru,” he says, doing a very respectable job at keeping his tone level. “I think I may be missing a bit of time.”

Satoru smiles. Suguru likes it a lot less than the last smile he remembers getting from him. “Yeah,” he responds. “I figured.”

That does not bode well.

~

“So what was I doing in that village?” he asks around a bowl of noodles. A bowl of noodles that Satoru cooked. A bowl of noodles that Satoru cooked that tastes good. “What curse could do all that?” There’s a long, anxiety-inducing pause. “We’re still the strongest, right? No overpowered special grades have popped up?”

There’s a longer pause. Suguru refuses to break the silence this time, slurping passive-aggressively. Satoru stares at him. Probably. The blindfold is disconcerting. He slurps his noodles more aggressively than passively. 

Satoru stares. 

Suguru attempts to take another aggressive bite of noodles and finds there’s none left. 

The silence stretches. The boding is going and it is not going well. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” is what Satoru eventually says, which hell no. 

“I’m the one with amnesia?” he reminds Satoru, incredulous. “Shouldn’t I be the one that asks the questions?”

“Well,” Satoru replies, smarmy smirk that is so familiar resting on his face. “How am I supposed to know what to tell you if I don’t know what you remember?”

“You could start by answering my questions.” Satoru tilts his head. “The very specific questions I just barely asked you? At least one of them is a simple yes-or-no, I’m sure you could manage that.”

“Hrm.” Suguru has the intense, debilitating urge to hit him. “Nah.”

“I’m guessing that’s not you saying ‘no’ to us being the strongest, still.”

“...Nah.”

“And it’s not you saying that no overpowered special grades have popped up.”

“...Nah?”

They stare at each other. Sort of. Suguru really hates the fucking blindfold. 

“Why the fuck are you wearing that instead of coming to me?” is what tears out of his throat, embarrassingly. 

“Er?”

“You told me I made your migraines go away! You barely had to wear sunglasses inside. Why the fuck do you have a stupid blindfold on?” He blinks at his tone, the snappishness that comes easier than it ever has. 

“Um.” Satoru actually sits up. “You think it’s stupid?” He flicks at the black fabric like the thought never occurred to him that wearing a blindfold was weird. 

“You just wander around with a blindfold on?”

“I have sunglasses for going out!”

Suguru pouts. He doesn’t really know why he’s pouting. “I’m gonna go… be not here.”

“With amnesia?”

“Just to the bathroom, so I don’t punch your stupid blindfold-wearing face.”

Satoru laughs like it’s funny. It’s not funny. Nothing about this is funny, but trust Satoru to make it into a joke. He strides away. Realizes he doesn’t know where the bathroom is.

“Second door on the right.” It’s interspersed with giggles.

He didn’t remember Satoru being this infuriating. 

Suguru purposely avoids the mirror as he splashes cold water on his face. He takes a deep breath. Another. Tries to steel himself and… looks. 

He’s older, of course - but he’s also older in a way he can’t explain. There’s deep bags under his eyes - his face somehow looks sallow and puffy at the same time. His hair is longer - much longer - and wild in a way he’s never let it be before. 

Honestly, he’s looking pretty rough. 

He fumbles around in the drawer Satoru keeps his hair ties in. It's a long moment before he realizes he hasn't touched a single one -

Because there aren't any.

He blinks down at his empty hand.

Satoru always has hair ties for him. This is a different place, sure, but everywhere Satoru has ever lived, the leftmost drawer had hair ties (among other random, aggravating bullshit).

He chokes down the instinctive panic. 

Maybe he’d changed where he keeps them? Suguru paws through the other drawers and comes up empty.

He comes up empty of anything that could feasibly belong to him. 

This is Satoru's house, right? Maybe it's a sort of safehouse he barely visits? Still, their things had been interchangeable last he recalled. 

Which, admittedly, seems to have been a long time ago. Maybe a decade? He could place them both at around twenty-six, now. Harder lines to their faces. Satoru looked less like someone sent him through a taffy stretcher, more like one of the strongest.

He hadn't wanted to think too hard about it in front of Satoru, but now he pokes around his brain, trying to get to where his last fully-formed memory was. There's weird snatches - emotions, mostly. 

It's troubling that they're almost entirely negative: anger, sadness. Betrayal. A manic intensity that feels… 

Well. 

It doesn't feel good, mixes unpleasantly with what must be thousands of curses rolling around inside him. He's been busy collecting them, it seems. 

It's not all bad: there's flashes of an almost parental affection; sparks of pleasure; a certain confidence in himself he gets the feeling was lost, for a while. 

But none of it's concrete. He reaches farther back, farther, and - it's Satoru's eyes. 

Of course it is. 

Satoru, grinning at him. Young and happy - the beach behind him. "We're the strongest, after all."

Somehow, the words that had bolstered him then bog him down now. He doesn't know how to feel about that - can't, probably. Without context, anyway. Context that Satoru had been extremely unhelpful in giving. 

Suguru holds himself in reasonably high regard. He's certainly not dumb, not like people seem to expect from someone from the countryside, but - his brain is railing against the picture of this future that's slowly forming. 

He takes a deep breath. Brushes a wet finger against the deep bags under his eyes. 

And rallies. 

Whatever bizarre world he's in (that he's created? That Satoru's created?) he'll just have to find his footing until his memory comes back. 

Starting with why Satoru is wearing a stupid-ass blindfold. 

~

The blindfold is still on when he comes back out. He stares for a long time.

"Oh, good," Satoru says, flippant. "Thought you might've drowned yourself."

Suguru can't do anything but stare. He'd confided, hadn't he? At least once. Right? 

That the urge to drown himself pops up more often than he'd like?

He thinks so. And he thinks - Satoru had been kind about it. Satoru wasn't kind about much, but that soft confession had always been held as sacred. 

Something on his face must give him away, because Satoru tips his head down and shrugs. "You've lost a lot of time, haven't you?"

It's the closest thing to an apology he'll get. It rends something open in his chest. 

He doesn't think he likes this future very much at all. 

~ 

“Where are we?”

“My house.”

“Your house. You own a house?”

“Many people do.”

“Can you take off the stupid fucking blindfold? It’s weird not seeing your eyes.”

“I always wear it now.”

“...Even around me?”

“Yeah, Suguru.” The way he says his name makes something unpleasant wriggle its way up his spine. “Even around you.”

“Why?” 

Satoru is silent. He tilts his head and at least that’s familiar, and then finally takes the blindfold off. “I’ll make you some tea.”

Okay then. “Just tell me if you need my magical migraine-killing fingers,” Suguru says, and it comes out more sincere than he’d like. “I haven’t forgotten that, at least.”

“You haven’t, huh?” Satoru sounds far away. 

~

“So can you please tell me what the hell has happened?” Suguru asks later, sipping his tea. Satoru had made it just how he likes and stuffed ungodly amounts of sugar in his own. “You’re fucking weird now.”

“I’m weird, huh?” Satoru tips his head and peers at Suguru. At least his eyes are the same. “Just tell me what you last remember and we’ll go from there.”

“Where’s all my shit?” Suguru says instead, because he’s nothing if not contrary. A trait he shares with Satoru, unfortunately. 

“Your… shit.”

“Yes. My things. My stuff. Did it all fucking burn down in a fire or something? You don’t even have any hair ties in your drawer.”

“You don’t live here, Suguru.”

“Yeah, I sort of figured. Do you even live here? It feels fucking sterile.”

“Not really, I suppose.”

“Do we just stay in hotel rooms a lot then? Constant missions keeping us out? Do I have my own house?”

Satoru looks very, very sad all of a sudden. “Yeah. You have your own house.”

“Oh. Why aren’t we there, then?” 

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I have memory loss.” He takes an angry sip of his tea. “I woke up dying somewhere where everyone was fucking massacred not remembering the past ten years of my life.” Another, calmer sip. “I couldn’t find you in my phone. It’s a much newer one, too. What do I save your number as, these days?”

Satoru is silent.

“Fine! Oh my god, is there anything you will answer?” More silence. “What the fuck was I wearing, anyway? Surely you can answer that. Was I undercover or something?”

“It’s called a gojogesa.” Suguru startles badly.

“I - we’re - it’s like that?”

“I don’t know what it’s like.” He sets down his tea with a clatter. “I have to go. Duty calls, and all that. You can’t leave, though. Sorry.”

“I - can’t come with you?”

“No.”

Then he’s gone. 

His tea is still steaming.

Well. Another thing he hadn’t forgotten: Satoru’s teleportation thing was fucking annoying. 

~

He literally can’t leave. 

As in, he tried to walk out of Satoru’s house - because fuck him - and he couldn’t. 

He’s trapped here. 

Satoru trapped him in his house. 

He knows a lot can happen in a decade but something has gone very, very wrong if Satoru is psychotic enough to trap him in his house. 

(And that - that’s almost something, something about… something about Satoru he can almost remember. Something he’d had to pull him back from. 

But as soon as it drifts through his head, it’s gone, just the impression of sparkling eyes left.)

Satoru is going to have so much explaining to do when he comes back.

*

hiya! i truly cannot justify starting another multichapter fic but this doesn't really stand alone enough to be considered a oneshot but i was v proud of it... so i posted it here... it may be continued once i actually finish a few of my multichapter fics c:

[rustic-space-fiddle]

Updated Laz!! My son!! Not pictured is the magic ball that goes with his club. For anyone who doesn’t know, he fell from a high tree during a backyard camping session with his friends and the landing put him in a coma. However, he doesn’t seem to stay asleep… he wakes up in a fantasy world and has to find his way home before his memory fails completely.

[whump-card]

Forged Divinity Unnamed Sequel: Chapter 2

1446 words

CW: dead body, like a real nasty dead body, dissociation, memory loss, amnesia, anger issues, past TBI

Previous, Masterlist, Next

~~~

Enjolras decided, since Leannan was catatonic, that she need to investigate the body. Some sick, sorrowful part of her needed to know how Phineas had died, and Leannan wasn’t about to tell her. She took one last breath of fresh air before ducking back into the shack.

She avoided the body at first, opening a cabinet on the far wall. There were a couple small sacks of oats, but little else. She grabbed a handful out of one sack, letting it run through her fingers. It didn’t look contaminated, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t – Leannan’s Iowan immune system could handle a lot more than Phineas’ could have.

She cupped a hand under the tap of their water barrel, and dribbled some out into her palm. It looked clear. She couldn’t smell it, though, not with the overpowering stench of the corpse filling the room.

She tipped out the water and wiped her hand dry on her pant leg. Finally, reluctantly, she approached the corpse.

The bloat and maggots told her it had been around a week since Phineas had died. She couldn’t imagine what Leannan had gone through, how thoroughly he must have been in denial, to live next to a corpse that whole time.

She carefully pinched the blanket covering the majority of Phineas’ body and pulled it back. She immediately spotted what she was looking for.

Cloth bound their chest flat, as usual, but more strips were wrapped around their waist, strained dark with old, dried blood. Phineas had died of an injury – a slash or stab to the gut.

Enjolras threw the blanket beck over the body before she could digest any more details – the flies, the maggots, the no, don’t look – and covered Phineas’ mutilated face with it as well. Then she turned, and fled, stumbling out the door and gulping down fresh air, tears stinging her eyes.

If Leannan had been able to bandage up the injury while Phineas was still bleeding, still alive, that meant Phineas hadn’t died immediately. They had died slowly. The thought, the sight, the smell, it all made her nauseous.

Phineas was still a part of her, as horrible as they were. Rapist, arsonist, murderer, yes. Her little sibling? Also yes.

Her eyes settled on Leannan where he sat on the ground, and she quickly brushed away her tears. She couldn’t spare the time to mourn right now. She needed to get Leannan home, before anything else went wrong.

“Leannan?” She touched his shoulder. He was still… gone, his empty gaze resting on the ground. She scooped her hands under his arms and lifted him to his feet, then led him by the arm over to the pickup truck. This, finally, seemed to rouse him.

“Are we leaving?” he asked.

“Yes,” Enjolras said.

“Is Phineas coming with us?”

Enjolras’ heart sank. Something was really, really wrong with Leannan.

“Uh… Yeah. They’re riding in the back. Can you get in?” She opened the passenger door for him.

“Mhm.” He climbed into the cab, and Enjolras shut the door. Then she looked back at the shack.

A part of her wanted to do something – to bury Phineas, maybe. But the ground was dry and hard-packed, and full of rocks, and she didn’t have a shovel anyway. It didn’t feel right to just leave them there, to be scavenged by animals, but there was nothing she could do.

Then she remembered the gun.

She steeled herself, and went back into the shack and looked around. It wasn’t immediately visible, but there were only so many places it could hide. She found it soon enough, tucked behind the cabinet: the Barrett M95 sniper rifle. She slung it over her shoulder, not bothering to search for the ammo. She just wanted to have it, not to shoot it.

It was Mom’s. She couldn’t leave it there.

She stashed it in the bed of the pickup, and glanced back at the shack one last time.

She wished she could make it right. But things had gone wrong a long, long time ago.

~~~

Leannan slept as they drove, leaning his head against the window again. Enjolras couldn’t help but glance at him constantly, trying to take in every detail while still watching the road.

He still wore the clothes he had taken with him when he left Goat Island. They were weathered and dirty now, and too big on him. The scar on his left temple looked like a gnarled lightning strike or tree branch growing out of his hairline. The soles of his boots were peeling away from the uppers. He was tanned and freckled, and his hair was sun-bleached even paler than it had been when they first met. There was dirt under his fingernails, and crusted into the lines of his face.

They had been driving for about two hours when Leannan awake with a small yelp, and started looking around frantically.

“Hej, what…?” Enjolras started.

“Where’s Phineas?” Leannan demanded.

Enjolras couldn’t answer. She kept her eyes on the road, her jaw clenched.

“Where’s Phineas?!” shouted Leannan.

“They died, Leannan,” Enjolras said quietly.

“No! No, you left them behind! You left them behind on purpose!” Leannan was working himself up into a frenzy, “You promised! You promised they could come with us! You lied to me!”

“Phineas is dead.”

“Fuck you!” Leannan shrieked, with a level of vitriol Enjolras had never heard from him before, “Fuck you! I hate you!”

Without warning, Leannan grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it to the side. Enjolras slammed on the brakes to keep them from careening off the road. While she was occupied getting the car back under control, Leannan flung his door open and jumped out of the slow-moving vehicle.

“Leannan!” Enjolras shouted. She finally got the car to stop and threw it into park, then jumped out to follow him. He was running back down the road towards where they came.

“Leannan!” She caught up with him easily, between her taller height, better nutrition, and better shoes, and grabbed his arm. “Leannan, stop!”

He swung around and punched her in the face. It was a pretty weak punch, but it surprised her nonetheless.

“I hate you!” he screamed, twisting in her grip, “You always ruin everything!”

Those were Phineas’ words. Enjolras would recognize them anywhere. She pulled Leannan close and wrapped her arms around him, pinning his arms to his sides, his back to her chest.

“I’m sorry, Leannan, but I need to take you home!” she said through gritted teeth.

Leannan screamed wordlessly in return, struggling like a wild animal.

“Don’t you want to see Shannon again?” Enjolras coaxed.

“Not… without… Phineas!” Leannan insisted in between attempts to twist himself free. Enjolras held him tighter.

“Leannan,” she felt a lump rise in her throat, “Phineas is dead!”

Leannan paused his fighting, panting hard. Enjolras could feel his thin body swell and deflate in her arms with each breath, rife with panic and anger. She felt the anger fade.

“I didn’t mean to,” Leannan whimpered.

Enjolras carefully loosened her grip.

“Didn’t mean to what?” she asked softly, already anticipating the answer.

“I just get really angry, sometimes, now, and I don’t know why, and Phineas was being a real jerk, and I just wanted them to stop…” Leannan’s words dissolved into soft, hiccuping cries.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is!” Leannan wailed, “It’s always my fault!”

Enjolras released him fully, turning him around to face her.

“When did you start getting angry?” she asked.

“When I got hit… in the head,” Leannan gulped, his hand going to the scar on his temple, “Phineas says it made me stupid and weird.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“No,” Leannan shook his head miserably, “Phineas says it was an accident.”

Enjolras tallied up the symptoms. Memory loss. Mood swings. Disorientation. A bad enough head injury, combined with some psychological trauma, would certainly explain everything.

“Leannan, I promise it’s not your fault.”

Leannan frowned up at her.

“You also promised you’d take Phineas with us!”

Enjolras sighed.

“I would have, I really would, if Phineas had been alive. But they’re not, they’re dead, they couldn’t come with.”

Leannan’s red-rimmed eyes drifted to stare past her. For a moment Enjolras was afraid that had dissociated again at the mention of Phineas’ death, but then he spoke.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he whispered.

“Come home with me,” Enjolras offered, “We’ll take care of you.”

He slowly shifted forward and, to her surprise, leaned against her, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

“You’ll take care of me?” he murmured, muffled by her shirt.

“Yeah,” she patted his back, “We will.”

~~~

Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @thecyrulik

[soulless-angel25]

Whumperless Whump Event: Day 27 Prompt- What's your name again?: Concussion / Temporary Amnesia / “I don't remember what happened to me.” @seth-whumps

Fandom: Doctor Who Characters: Rose Tyler

AO3 Link!

Who was she? That was the first thought in her head, who was she, that was a wonderful question for which she did not have an answer.

who was she

something floated just beyond her grasp- a name. her name perhaps? but it went by far too quick, she only grasped the meaning and a color. flower-red, a red flower? But that didn't help at all.

She blinked as something flew past. What was she supposed to be doing? She felt like it was something important. As the thought crossed her head she stood up and began walking.

Where was she walking to? Where was it that her body was taking her? she didn't know, and she wasn't sure how to stop.

all she knew was that she was walking, walking, walking.

[wrenthemoralfander]

He had been missing. He had been missing for over two years.

No one could tell if he was dead. No one knew if he was alive.

Revali looked at Link, watching the hylian sleep. For the first time in forever, he slept with ease. He didn’t look stressed.

Amnesia was a terrible thing. Revali knew he was grateful for his help... even if it wasn’t said.

Sometimes things can be so confusing and overwhelming when you don’t remember a single thing.

It’s nice just to have somebody help through the chaos and calamity. 

He didn’t need to worry. Not anymore.



[whump-in-the-closet]

The Merry Whump of May

@themerrywhumpofmay

May 22- “You can lead a bitch to water but you can’t make them drink.”

[Origami | Amnesia | Attic]

***

(tw: human weapon, creepy whumper, amnesia, broken bones mention)

It takes a nightmare to forge a legend. Steel sharpens steel, but blades cut through paper and skin so easily.

A hundred nights of terror. A screaming void behind their eyes.

From an origami man to a steel blade. What use is paper when you have a weapon?

And now they smile. They lounge against the throne, head tilted so the Monarch can run a hand through their hair. The sensation is as comforting as it is nauseating.

Still, they smile.

What else can they do?

They don’t remember anything else. Smile. Ignore the stares. Do as I command.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Whatever you say, my lord.”

“I live to serve.”

Grovel and kill and maim for you, my lord.

I would destroy you. “My heart is yours, Monarch.”

More screaming in their head. Why can they never remember anything past the screaming?

Was there ever a time when they were human? Were they always a weapon? A blade to be trained at the throat of the Monarch’s enemies.

Was there ever a time without soundless screaming?

One memory surfaces and they flinch without meaning to.

A glint of silver in the dark, filled with water.

Throat-burning-head-hurts. Please. Just a sip.

They can’t reach the bowl, their body refusing to respond. Concrete against their ribs and despair crushing them. Broken legs crumpled beneath the weight of their own body.

Laughter echos above them as the Monarch kicks the bowl aside, spilling all the precious water. “They always said you can lead a bitch to water, but you can’t make them drink.”

The origami has been ripped apart and replaced with steel.

They’re brought to the present when the Monarch twists a hand in their hair, yanking their head back to look up at him.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing, my lord.” How best to rip out your throat with my teeth.

The chains the Monarch hold will only last so long.

[quinloki]

I know requests for the forget me not event are closed, I just want to ramble about an idea I got inspired by the series. 💛

A yandere (Doflamingo probably LOL) who forcefully wipes your memory via medical means. You cry and yelp and tell him you hate him and after so many months he feels you need some adjustments.

The severity of the amnesia could vary. Not only do you forget your kidnapper, maybe you forget how to do basic tasks. You become shy and reclusive, forgetting how to use eating utensils and blanking when it comes to getting dressed. The yandere treats you so kindly though. He tells you you were in an accident and he's your caretaker- In fact you've known eachother for years. He artificially inserts himself into your life. Tells you that he's a friend of your family, that you two are in love and were about to get married until you had your accident.

You feel so guilty that you can't feel this supposed connection with this man anymore- and not only that you're almost afraid of him. Sometimes you have nightmares about him keeping you in a basement but you don't dare tell him. You already feel bad enough.

Oooooh I like that - I still have left over requests I’m going to noodle over the next couple months, and I think one of my pending ones is for Doffy >.>

You’ve inspired me anon, I’ll have to check after work and maybe knock one of my remaining requests asks out sooner than I thought. 🥰😇

[habitual-creatures]

Start wherever you want. I have as long as it takes.

*DIS inches near Abaddon*

Don't think I forgot about you. Come here-

*DIS is now getting an ear massage, purring up a storm and relaxing*

I'll share with you knowledge about whatever I can in return.

~Abaddon🦗/🕕

(Grasshopper totally equals a locust)

*Roger just sort of flubbers over his words for a minute at the offer.*

Oh, I don't need that- Haha-

Okay-

I'm going to preface this by saying no one knows WHAT exactly is up with this house.

There are mixed reports. Some claim that this... thing attacked them... others say they don't remember... I even have some reports of people saying it felt like the house itself was telling them to leave.

The earliest report I could get was of some doctor living here... but I haven't been able to get a hold of him... hell, I haven't even been able to find someone who knows who he is.

Either way, he said that this place was built near or on a fault line... or well of some kind. That the woods that surround this place hold similar properties to this house. Primarily, this place and the surrounding environment is known to cause paranoia, amnesia, shifts in identity... as well as the number of people who vanish or are found murdered or torn apart around here. And the ones who come back and are suddenly 'different people'... there was a sorta epidemic a few years back where one person came back from a visit and murdered their family. So... yeah... SOMETHING is wrong with this place.

And if anyone's gonna figure it out, it's gonna be me.

At this point, people know not to come here. Or if they do, it's typically teenagers on dumb dares... or 'madmen' like me.

[sollody]

If this all of this happened ...

... why doesn't Will remember?

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

?!

What are your thoughts on this?

[mimssides]

No Memories, No Problems?

Here my just in time submission for the Spring Cleaning Event from @tsspromptmonth for @artist-hope ^^

Taglist under the cut

@vexelore

@exhaustedfander

@alexisrealgay

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

@winter-jay-official

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

@mychemically-imbalanced-romance

@whattheremus

@regalredrose

@spellingwillbethedeathofme

@sarenicide