#cw amnesia

[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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[myosotisa]

Incident Report 141-1-C

SCP-141 > Incident 141-1-C

Attn. All Black Site ⬛⬛ Personnel, @ghouljams

On ⬛⬛/⬛⬛/20⬛⬛, an unknown civilian female infiltrated SCP Black Site ⬛⬛, the current holding location of SCP-141.

<Begin log> An external camera shows a concrete sidewalk leading to an emergency exit, time stamped ⬛⬛:⬛⬛PM. A young woman, mid 20s to early 30s, approaches the door. Subject, which will henceforth be referred to as SCP-141-e-1, appears distressed – looking around nervously, shifting erratically. SCP-141-e-1 approaches the exterior door and reaches for a keypad beside the frame, inputting a code. They then open the door without triggering the alarm, and enter the facility. An internal camera shows SCP-141-e-1 navigating the service halls while referencing something written on their hand. Another internal camera shows SCP-141-e-1 entering the facility mess hall. They sit down at a table alone, visibly trembling and beginning to cry. They do not move or make any other action until approached by Site personnel. <End log>

Personnel Note on Incident 141-1-C:

We need to find out how they might've had access to those entry codes. Aren't they changed every 8 hours? How the hell did this girl get a working code? And why didn't the alarm go off when they opened the door?

Interview SCP-141-e-1, Video Log:

Note: SCP-141-e-1 had shown no outward hostility and was not yet known to be connected to SCP-141 at the time of interviewing.

<Begin log> Interviewer: Can you please state your name for the record? SCP-141-e-1: I'm not supposed to say my name. Interviewer: No? Why not? SCP-141-e-1: She told me not to. Interviewer: Who is she? SCP-141-e-1: Watcher. O– or she said you might know her as 'Laswell'. Interviewer: Laswell. She told you what to say? Did she give you the instructions on how to get here? SCP-141-e-1: Yes. [They show their hand, which had a poorly drawn map of the facility that has since been smeared due to palm sweat.] Interviewer: I see. Do you know why she asked you to do this? SCP-141-e-1: I– I'm here to deliver a message. Interviewer: A message? What kind of message? SCP-141-e-1: She says that... That the 141 is needed elsewhere in order to complete a mission. And that it would be in everyone's best interests to let them out. Interviewer: Did she say anything about the mission, or what they are hoping to accomplish? SCP-141-e-1: [They are growing visibly anxious.] N- no. All she said was it was for the 'greater good'. And... She said if I had to, I could threaten that... Interviewer: What? What did she threaten? SCP-141-e-1: She said that they will be leaving the facility. Whether by being released, or by force. Interviewer: I see. And how did she contact you? How did you receive this information? SCP-141-e-1: She– [They begin to hyperventilate.] I don't know – She was everywhere and she was in my head and she knew things about me that no one should and I just... Interviewer: Hey, it's okay. You need to calm down. SCP-141-e-1: No! You don't understand! She could've ruined everything– [SCP-141-e-1 lunges for the interviewer, knocking over the camera in the process. There is the sound of a struggle before more people enter the room, and SCP-141-e-1 is supposedly restrained.] <End log>

Observation Note SCP-141-e-1-a:

12 Hours Since SCP-141-e-1 entered Black Site ⬛⬛ - SCP-141-e-1 becomes increasingly hostile to any and all attempts to talk about what Laswell is blackmailing them with, what she is capable of, or if she is still in contact with them. They have been sedated several times over the course of their containment to keep them from causing physical harm to themself or others.

Observation Note SCP-141-e-1-b:

24 Hours Since SCP-141-e-1 entered Black Site ⬛⬛ - SCP-141-e-1 is now displaying a form of retrograde amnesia. They have no memory of infiltrating the facility, being interviewed, what they were instructed to say, or the fact that they were blackmailed. Any attempt to remind them of Laswell or anything related to SCP-141 is forgotten shortly after. This behavior is concurrent with previously known data of the anomalous properties of SCP-141-e. All other medical and memory retention tests come back with average results.

SCP-141-e-1 exhibits no other anomalous traits beyond the memory tampering.

SCP-141-e-1 has been released on their own recognizance after being administered Class C amnestics. They will continue to be discreetly monitored for the next ⬛⬛ months in case contact is made again by SCP-141-e, or any other member of SCP-141.

Memo to Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ regarding Incident 141-1-C, ⬛️⬛/⬛️⬛/20⬛️⬛️:

Are we going to let them out for this mission Laswell wants them for? Should we increase security in regards to her threat? It might be wise to schedule an interview with SCP-141-a about the incident. It's likely he already knows it happened – given their... connection.

Request for additional interviews with SCP-141-a: Pending.

-

-

-

Based on the SCP-141 AU by @ghouljams, which I adore and think about often. See more here: SCP AU tag

[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...

[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:

[clever-pennname]

Memory Recall

Limbo Prompt first draft! Prompt from [post link]

Summary: Sidney is having troubles remembering somebody important.

Content warnings: Amnesia and memory loss, minor (accidental) self harm, distressing thought patterns, repetitive thinking/phrasing

Sidney trailed off from her diary entry, something she had been struggling to keep up with for the last few months. It was supposed to help her memory recall, her therapist said, though he still didn't understand the fact that her memory issues weren't, normal ones. Sure she was traumatized, deeply, but he didn't understand when she tried to explain the first dozen times that it is impossible to remember somebody who doesn't exist anymore, no matter how hard she tried.

OCT 27th - 2053

“Daniel had another episode about him today, much to his credit though he handled it a lot better than the last few times. I couldn't quite figure out what set him off again, though I usually never can anymore. God knows what he's seen, I probably couldn't begin to understand it all even though I was there…”

Remember someone who…

She felt something in her brain zap again, her eyesight going blurry as she stared down at the page in front of her, her right hand twitching and dropping the ballpoint pen. She couldn't hear as it rolled on the white desk, nor could she hear as it hit the floor with a clink.

What was she writing about again? She blinked rapidly, urging her eyes to focus, knowing the signs of what was happening before it even fully started. She picked at the skin on the side of her thumb with her index finger, a habit she had been trying to break but just couldn't seem to in her worst moments. The pain grounded her a touch.

As she leaned in and zeroed in on the page, she reread her entry over and over. An episode, right, Daniel had a flashback. She could recall that just fine, as much as it hurt her to. She hated seeing him in pain, especially over this- What was this? What was it he had an episode over again? She reread again: “Him”. Who is him? She bit her lip hard, wringing it through her teeth methodically as she attempted every memory recall strategy she could remember at the moment. Everything her therapist taught her.

What were the facts of the situation? Daniel lost something, somebody, she knows that. She sees it every day. He misses them- Him- So much it hurts just to watch. He says his name a lot- Why could she never remember his name? Daniel says she knew him, knew him well, too. 

She sighed loudly in frustration, balling up her fists so tight her nails dug into her palms before she got an idea. She started flipping back through past entries, trying to see if she had left any clues for herself. Dates flew by her eyes, she could remember remembering, that's what was making her so angry. She knew it was in here, somewhere. Somewhere in her diary, somewhere in her mind, so why couldn't she just- 

“Fuck..!” She cussed as if forcing out a gust of air, her arm swiping the book off her desk to the ground. She had to relax, but it was on the tip of her tongue. His name, she just wanted his name. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands grabbing at the hair that fell down by her temples and tugging just hard enough for her eye to start watering. 

Everytime she tried to think, she drew a blank. She could just barely see it- See him- But his face was just a smear, the details about his appearance fuzzy. Who even were they to her? Were they important? Were they friends? 

It was like a shadow lurked in her memory, an outline of a stranger at her side throughout the worst parts of her life, she could feel the ghost of a gaze, their gaze, his gaze? When they were beside Daniel, when she met him, when she… She trailed off, the train in her mind derailing as she remembered meeting Daniel. Was there actually anyone else there? Was it just the two of them? Had it always just been them?

Her eyes slowly opened, her vision fuzzy from how hard she had been squeezing her eyes shut. She let out a slow breath, one she didn't know she had been holding. 

Why was her heart racing again? She unclenched her fists, the hair that had been balled up came out in crinkled clumps, slightly damp from the sweat of her palms. She smoothed it out methodically, trying to think back to the last few minutes of her life. She had been writing a diary entry, yeah? That's what she told Daniel she had been doing. So then where was her…? Oh, huh. She glanced around, spotting the notebook open on the floor, spine upwards, the pages bending awkwardly. Shoot… She grabbed it, swiping up the abandoned pen in the process. She flipped through the pages, scanning for todays date to see if she had already written. Once her eyes landed on it, she skimmed the passage. 

“Daniel had another episode about [][][][][] today, much to his credit though he handled it a lot better than the last few times. I couldn't quite figure out what set him off again, though I usually never can anymore. God knows what he's seen, I probably couldn't begin to understand it all even though I was there…”

Huh, weird. 

She closed the notebook and stood up, shaking her head a little as if to physically clear the fog from her brain. She better go find Daniel to make sure he's still doing alright. The smudge on the page in her diary already leaving her mind as she left the room. She needs to stop getting so sidetracked, she thought with a huff and a small smile. She can't keep doing this to Daniel. 

[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.

[redd956]

Whumper + Memory Loss Trope

Or anything similar that could potentially swamp Whumper’s alignment

I love this trope for Whumpers

Something happened to Whumper and now they have no memory of their actions, maybe they are quite stunted memory wise and it has caused a swap in personality (such as forgetting their motivations in the first place)

Does it happen in front of Whumpee, where Whumpee is possibly the cause of the memory loss. How do they react to a lost and disoriented Whumper, who doesn’t remember Whumpee or what they did. Imagine a Whumpee who refuses to accept that fact, and takes advantage of Whumper’s current state.

Or maybe Whumpee feels extremely sorry, and brings Whumper to tag along in their journey of recovery. Maybe Whumpee is so overwhelmed or apathetic to the matter and just leaves Whumper behind, only to run into them again some other day.

What happens if Whumper ever retains their memories. Does whumper become ashamed of themselves? Or does Whumper take this as a chance to return back to what they were up to? Maybe they continue to pretend not to remember things either to protect themselves or to deceive Whumpee.

Imagine a Caretaker caring for Whumper without telling them anything, and one day Whumpee can’t take it and let’s something slip.

Maybe a left behind Whumper becomes a Whumperee by someone other than Whumpee.

Maybe Whumper’s personality and health took quite a big hit too, and they require someone else to heal, after all amnesia can be quite dangerous and usually is paired with a plethora of other afflictions.

Whumper who can’t remember shit.

[habitual-creatures]

Hell yeah, come here

*Gently grabs Kevin's face, holding him still as I put the dye on this eyebrows*

Heh- yeah...

Hell yeah.

[sollody]

If this all of this happened ...

... why doesn't Will remember?

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

?!

What are your thoughts on this?

[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. 🥰😇