#cw memory loss

[tangledinink]

Swanatello question: does Sheldon ever get to visit his dad? Does Donnie remember him okay? How is the little guy coping?

It's OK-- Shelldon is alive! And he does visit Donnie sometimes! Donnie has a pretty good track record in recognizing him! While the rest of the family is focused on Donnie, while they do still do some crimefighting, this has, in fact, mostly been taken over by Team Casey! Casey and Casey Jr. (and sometimes Shelldon) have been watching over NYC in the turtles' absence. Donnie typically isn't able to recognize Casey or Casey Jr; he just doesn't know either of them well enough.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I think Color is a very good storyteller and making stories up on the spot. This what he and Gaster often did to try and stay sane in the Void, and keep their minds active.

They also tried to retell past memories, to try and remember who they are and not forget, but it got harder with time; details kept getting changed and forgotten, and these moments often made Color’s paranoia worse—and of course he’d lash out and take out on Gaster.

[onejellyfishplease]

SnapDonnie, Confusion, Part 3

lol he forgor

(Prev) (Masterpost) (Next)

[styx-class-nhp]

Okay something is deeply wrong.

According to my memory, the paracode that would become me wormed its way out of the think tank and into the omni, before finding a suitable container (my casket) which happened to be my chassis - which was already biomechanical

According to records, I stowed away on an everest that was being transported on the radiant plume, then began to run amok. Which makes no sense, since my inability to cope with meat was why I began to cascade. The everest is recorded as been mechanical.

However, records also indicate that I did so over 30 years ago. Which shouldn't be possible.

Again, another set of records indicate that when I extruded Mellivora, I was on an ssc ship. Yet I distinctly remember doing so almost immediately before I cascaded, and that was aboard the plume.

Is this a side effect of cycling? I have never doubted my memory before

[amaryllidaceaee]

he forgot

[avasefullofnations]

When I first watched Bly in 2020, I had to pause the show and take a break for a few hours because I was so angry when Owen called his mother an anchor. At that time I was my grandmother's on again off again caregiver who was expected to drop everything any time she needed me or my parents needed me as she had dementia and needed extra support. When watching the show I remember thinking 'how could anyone ever call someone with dementia that they care about their anchor? That's so demeaning to the person and it minimizes their humanity by reducing them to a thing weighing their caregiver down'.

My circumstances have changed now though. My grandmother passed away in January of last year and the last memorial service was held last summer.

I thought about Owen and his thoughts post funeral today and I realized that this has been the first year since I turned 18 that I didn't have to put my life on hold at any moment any time I needed to be a caregiver. I can actually build a life for myself. It was in that moment that I finally got Owen's monologue -- Owen cares about his mother but the act of caregiving is a draining sacrifice that will weigh down a person no matter how much love there is towards the person being cared for.

Bly Manor is such a special series because it talks about how draining caregiving is and shaping your life around another person, but, in the same breath, says do it anyways.

[mjrtaurus]

Dragon who loses his memory and stumbles into the territory of a certain warlord

Oh no what will happen? Will crocodile use his old lovers strength to further his ambition? Will dragon ever understand why he trusts this stranger implicitly? Will they have dirty floor sex?

And will cobra ever recover from seeing dragon naked?

Find out next time on dragon ball z abridged!

He doesn’t understand why the wind seems to pick up every single time he gets upset by something. It’s infuriating, and it’s even worse with the sand everywhere.

But this man is… he doesn’t really want to say familiar, but definitely something close to it. It’s like his soul knows him more than his mind.

And… what is it he called him? Dragon? That’s an odd name to give someone, isn’t it? He feels like there’s something else there. Some half-remembered joke about reptiles when paired with this name and that face…

His head is starting to hurt right behind his left eye. He feels like he should be doing something for it, but he doesn’t really remember what.

Oh… the not-stranger is taking him somewhere where the lights are a bit dimmer. Giving him a cool, damp cloth to press against that eye. Telling him to lay back and try to get some rest. It feels so familiar.

“I know you, don’t I?” He asks him, voice cracking with the inflection.

“You do.” Is all the not-stranger says, voice low. Gentle. Pained, in a way. It makes his heart ache, and he doesn’t know why. Like his body remembers how to feel for him.

The days go by and nothing really comes back, but the not-stranger, Crocodile, is still as hospitable as ever.

He doesn’t know what kind of life he lead before, but it must have been hard. His body is covered in scars, his throat doesn’t quite work right, and he’s hungry.

There are… ghosts. Things he feels fleetingly when he does certain things. He almost went into a blind panic when he was inspecting the darkened skin at his wrists, almost like chafing scars…

“Was I a slave?” He asks Crocodile one day, picking at food that seemed so unappetizing since he’s had the semi-revelation. The question comes borne on blue seagull’s wings.

Lavender eyes dart up, the pupils contracting into thin slits.

He’s going to give me bad news. Some little voice in him says. He fights the urge to hunch his shoulders and make himself look small.

“Not exactly… but it depends on who you ask.” He is told. The answer isn’t delicate, but it is given gentler than most.

Dragon pushes his not even half empty plate away. He feels sick just looking at it. Doesn’t even want to think about it.

The wind is picking up outside.

He needs to go lay down.

[possibly-in-wonderland]

did i even type that ask right we kinda just lost a chunk of memory there-

[helloarchivist]

I wrote something. Lmfao. It was initially just meant to kind of expand on my text post from earlier, but it turned into a little ficlet so I figured I'd share it. Why not, right?

fem!oc x Eustass Kid. sfw, cw: memory loss, unreality. (everything will be tagged in the actual tags section for blacklisting purposes)

word count - 2392

genres: hurt/comfort, horror if you squint, fluff towards the end, modern AU for the aesthetic lmfao.

**

There was a sound like an explosion, the blare of a car horn wailing over screaming metal, the scent of rubber hot and acrid in the air. In the light of the vending machine, Av jumped, whirling around, air catching in her throat only to find—nothing.

The street behind her was empty, devoid of everything but the blinking yellow of a streetlight, and the gentle pattering of rain. The asphalt was pristine, the clean lines slick with rain shone gold in the intermittent light, the sidewalk empty of trash, of age, of anything that might suggest human interaction.

Av craned her neck, head half-turned away from the bright white glow of the machine, looking up at the apartments around her. Neat, identical rows, 10 across, 10 high. All of the windows were darkened, the curtains drawn; each balcony held one or two suggestions of an occupant—a hanging plant here, a chair there, the peek of a bike seat or a laundry line extended across the space, but it was impersonal. Nondescript. A facsimile of habitation, without any indication of personhood, of decision, of individuality.

She looked down, frowning at her shoes, the light of the vending machine ever-present in her periphery. Her sneakers, at least, looked old. Well-worn, if a little plain, the white soles marked with dirt and use. She could see that the shoelaces were wet from the rain, could feel the water soaking through the threadbare canvas, her fingertips grasping at her jacket sleeves in absent concern. That was real. She felt real. Beneath her the ground felt solid, her face felt cool and damp in the slight breeze.

But what had made that sound? Another glance behind her confirmed the space to be empty still, and she hadn’t heard anything else. No voices raised in alarm, no distant car alarms blared to life, jostled by the impact—or what she had assumed must have been one. The night seemed undisturbed, save for the pounding of her heartbeat, just a little too loud in her ears.

Worrying at her lip, she turned back towards the glass display case, eyes flickering along the rows of drinks for sale. Black coffee with sugar, black coffee with no sugar, coffee with cream, with sweet cream. Six different energy drinks, a glass bottle of 7-UP that looked like it was from 30 years ago, and a solitary bottle of unlabeled water.

Surely that sound had been important, hadn’t it? It had been real enough to make her ears ring, to spike adrenaline through her like a live-wire.

Black coffee with sugar, black coffee with no sugar, coffee with cream—

Av frowned deeper, digging around in her pocket for the soft pack of cigarettes and her lighter. She was forgetting something, she knew she was, something that fluttered infuriatingly around the edges of her mind like a disoriented moth. She slotted the cigarette between her lips, the paper filter sticking slightly from the damp, the flame of the lighter momentarily adding a heat and warmth to the night that felt almost alien.

Smoke filled her lungs, hot and acrid like burnt rubber.

Six different energy drinks, a glass bottle of 7-UP that looked like it was from 30 years ago—

Inhale, exhale, plumes of breath and smoke that rose from her lips towards the dreary, impenetrable darkness of the sky above her, towards clouds that roiled thick and heavy with rain and nothing else. Surely, she thought, nothing else, although part of her knew that even when she’d tilted her head up to examine the apartment building, she’d been careful not to look any higher.

The worn rubber of her sneakers tap tap tapped against the sidewalk, making small wet spattering sounds as the movement displaced a puddle, and still she stood, smoking, making no decisions.

‘I should be cold,’ she thought, exhaling again, flicking ashes onto the street in a move that felt almost spiteful against the unnatural perfection upon which she stood. ‘How long have I been out here? What time is it?’

Her body shook a little, though she felt no colder than she had moments ago. She couldn’t bring herself to speak, her voice stopped in her throat—by disuse, perhaps. Or by fear.

The sound of sizzling brought her attention momentarily to the present, as a fat droplet of water fell, extinguishing her cigarette halfway through. Av took it from between her lips and stared at it. It felt...cruel. Intentional, perhaps. Irrationally, she wondered whether the street itself hadn’t responded to the slight bit of ash by extinguishing its source. Something about that wording made her shiver again, and she glanced around for a trash can, somewhere appropriate to throw it away, but of course, the street was devoid of any such thing.

A desire welled up inside her to simply throw it on the ground, to grind the ash and paper and unused tobacco into the sidewalk just to see what would happen...but in the end she thought better of it, and tucked it into her pocket instead. Her clothes would probably stink, but that was okay, she could just hang them out to dry.

Hang them out to dry. Out to dry.

Black coffee with sugar, black coffee with no sugar—

Did she have a clothes line? A balcony? She couldn’t remember for some reason. Had she even locked the door on her way out?

Av glanced around, the bright blue-white of the vending machine blinding in her periphery. Did she live on this street? Had she walked far to get here?

Was one of these nondescript apartments hers?

—the blare of a car horn wailing over screaming metal, six different energy drinks, a glass bottle of 7-UP that looked like it was from 30 years ago—

The sound was deafening, the smell of coffee like cigarette smoke like burned rubber like asphalt like hot metal stinging her nose and she squeezed her eyes shut, tepid fingertips curling into fists over her ears, she wanted to scream, to run, but she couldn’t remember where she lived, where to go, the sky pressed down on the wet asphalt and the white-blue burned out the gold of the street light and the darkness was bright bright bright through her eyelids and—

“You okay?”

Av yelped, her voice tearing free of a throat that felt like musty old paper, as she whipped around towards the sound. The voice.

There was a man standing about ten feet away from her, the campus buildings behind him looking ghostly and pallid in the blue-white of the vending machine light. Av blinked, the ghosts of a car horn, of a flashing yellow light, of melted rubber and blank apartments and a roiling dark sky fading from her mind like a half-remembered dream.

They were at school, she thought, the words wafting over her mind like a cool breeze, like rain. School. University? He was an adult, at least, and she felt like she must be one.

The man had retreated several steps at her startled sound, and he raised his hands slightly in placation before tugging at the straps of his backpack, pulling them tight in a motion that seemed too absent to have been intentional. He was nervous?

‘Most people get nervous when strange women linger by vending machines and scream when you address them, I’d wager,’ she thought, sighing with something between exasperation and relief.

The sound was normal enough to lower the man’s hackles. He was awfully tall, and seemed aware of it, ducking his head slightly and squinting into the light of the vending machines to see her better. Golden-orange eyes flickered in the light like traffic lights, on and off, on and off as he took a tentative step towards her. Calculating, like he was trying to make himself seem less threatening, like he didn’t want to spook her further.

It had been too long since he’d spoken to her, too long that she’d just been staring at him with distant, distracted eyes, but the startled noise had done little to awaken her actual voice. It was an effort, like raising an anchor from the bottom of the sea, to answer him, the words sounding willowy and thin in her ears.

“Ah yeah—sorry. Long day,” Av rasped softly, gesturing around. The big guy grinned a little, droplets of water falling from thick, red hair, and she found herself frowning again.

“Figured,” He said, tilting his head slightly, watching her expression carefully before continuing, “stopped by chem to bring you lunch and they said you didn’t show. S’not like you,” He paused, tilting his head the other way, and she felt her heart begin to race.

She knew him. They had classes together, he was bringing her lunch. Friend? Brother? Boyfriend? She felt her cheeks heat up at that last, glancing over him, and decided perhaps that must be the case. He’d closed the distance at some point when she’d been digging through her memory for clues, and she almost jumped when he smudged a thumb over her cheek, running a raindrop across the blush. Would have jumped, in fact, if the motion hadn’t seemed so tender, so intimately familiar.

“I don’t remember why I’m out here, Kid,” his name fell from her lips without thinking, more muscle memory than conscious thought, that willowy quality of her voice accompanied by embarrassment, by a fear that made her feel small.

He didn’t answer her for a long moment, those strange golden-hued eyes flickering intently over her expression. If he felt anything beyond concern, he gave no indication of it, instead lifting his hand from her cheek to ruffle it through her hair. Eustass Kid was warm. She sighed into the contact. Maybe she had been cold before. Maybe there just hadn’t been enough contrast to notice.

Eustass Kid. Black coffee no sugar. Black coffee with sugar. Black coffee with c—

“Hey hey,” he finally said, pushing her hair back from her forehead, tipping her head up to look at him in the process. The sky behind him loomed, too dark, too thick with clouds, wrong in a way that she couldn’t settle upon.

They were at university. She was taking a chemistry class. This was her boyfriend.

Six different energy drinks, a 7-UP b—

Her eyes settled back on his, her hand moving to grasp at his shirt and she breathed. Breathed.

Kid seemed to mull over his words, rolling them around in his mouth as he tried to find the right order, the right tone. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, closed it again, and then sighed softly, running his thumb over her forehead now, in an arc up into her hair.

“Doc said this was gonna be a shitty day. This time of year’s probably gonna suck for a while.” His voice sounded rough too, she noted, his expression pinching into a grimace around the words he seemed reluctant to say.

A scar, still angry and red and new, dipped jagged over his eye, down onto his cheek, spilling like red paint into her vision. How had she not seen that before? Had it always been there? She raised her hand from his shirt, fingertips ghosting up towards his face. He made no move to stop her, just watched until her hand was close enough to lean into, his skin warm against her palm.

There was a sound like an explosion, the blare of a car horn wailing over screaming metal—

Av’s face crumpled as she stroked her thumb over the scar.

“Because of the accident.” she whispered, her voice soft and wet like pattering rain.

“Yeah,” he kissed her palm. She nodded.

She still couldn’t remember much about the street, about the car that had swerved into them, about the hours and days in the hospital. Just the sound of the car horn, the way the tires had screeched and bled acrid smoke into the night air, the way not one light had turned on in the balconies overhead.

The doctors had said that memory loss was common in cases like this, with head injuries, with sudden traumatic events. The symptoms would fade, she’d been assured. Routines would help. Familiar scenery. A return to normalcy. All these things would speed her recovery. And yet, as with everything else, she still couldn’t quite remember how long they said it would take.

Her therapist had suggested grounding exercises for when she got lost, or her mind began to race, but the only thing she seemed capable of remembering with any consistency was the stupid vending machine outside of the dorms.

Kid followed her gaze to the faded offerings behind the glass, expression twisting into something half amused as he knocked against it with his knuckle, releasing her head to do so.

“S’funny, you’d think they’d restock the fucking thing eventually,” he said, the gravel of his voice low, thoughtful. “Hasn’t had anything in it since we’ve been here except—”

“A solitary bottle of unlabeled water,” Av supplied, grimacing a little at how practiced and robotic it sounded, but Kid just laughed.

“Yeah, that. Couldn’t even spring for some fuckin Dasani,” he muttered, fumbling in his pocket for a second before retrieving his wallet. He fished out a crumpled dollar bill and fed it into the old machine, fighting with it for a moment before it finally accepted the offering. The sound it made when he hit the button was like grinding metal and she tensed at the sound; wordlessly, he pulled her against his large frame, and this time when she breathed there was no hint of burning rubber or wet asphalt. He plucked the water bottle from the basin when the thing finally decided to relinquish it, and pressed it into her hands with a flourish.

“Bone apple teeth,” Kid intoned, grinning as if to show off his, and it was so absurd in that moment that she laughed, breath pluming up towards the sky. His grinned widened, clearly pleased that the joke had landed—relieved to hear the warmth in that sound.

“C’mon,” he squeezed her, turning her away from the blue-white light of the vending machine, towards the comforting darkness of the night. “Let’s go, it’s fuckin freezing out.”

Av, fingers blissfully cool around the water bottle, smiled back. “Yeah.”

**

[howlsofbloodhounds]

quick question! is there a connection between color and a camera, whether it's a headcanon or canonically stated somewhere, since i've seen a couple of artworks with him taking pictures

It’s just a headcanon.

It’s a very popular headcanon that Color’s complex trauma surrounding having his entire existence erased, forgotten, and replaced leads to intense fears of being replaced, forgotten, nonexistent, ignored, overlooked, or alone and abandoned—as he also does canonically fear being alone very very much— has led to him becoming obsessed with leaving reminders of his existence and presence and memory.

Often times he probably panics, dissociates, or gets angry if he feels like he’s being forgotten or ignored—even if it’s as simple as someone refusing to look at him when he’s speaking. Likely needing acknowledgment and reminders from his loved ones that he does still exist and they haven’t forgotten him.

Marking places and items with markers or pencils or even via carving in the pillars of the Last Corridor when in the Void, hoarding things (even unimportant things), obsessively journaling and scrapbooking, marking and keeping track of time a lot, refusing to heal any marks scars or wounds on his body, always having a camera or phone with a working camera nearby to take pictures of just about every memory and experience he has. Likely keeping every single gift someone gives him, and probably taking pictures of said gift to put in a picture album.

And because Color is also commonly HC’d as autistic as well, many also see photography as one of Color’s special interests. On top of that, due to Color’s severe skull injury, it’s possible that he fears forgetting things and people and losing track of time and moments as well—on top of the possible heavy dissociative episodes and how some people have HC’d him to struggle with maladaptive daydreaming, its likely he could struggle with memory loss as well.

[faller-of-kharbranth]

hm. intriguing insight.

…I have Changed far too much to return to who I was before, whoever she was.

[sour-heart-treats]

[Almnesia Was His Name Pt. 4 - CW: Memory Loss - Previous, Next]

The hospital lights were a lot brighter than Almond wished for them to be. Sitting in the waiting room of the hospital Latte had booked him for had the detective more than a bit fidgety. It reminded him too much of the times he was stuck inside waiting for a moment to escape and grab a smoke. Though rather than wanting to escape for a cigarette, he was more worried about his work and the discovery that there could be something wrong with him. His unfocused gaze stared so deep into the floor that he may as well be digging it out, he would only be interrupted from his anxieties by the shifting of his overcoat. Perking up and rubbing at his eyes to get a clearer vision, he'd look to his side and find Walnut trying to slink underneath his coat. "It's cold..." She'd complain lightly, the fact that there were metal arms on the chairs between them making this whole crawling situation more awkward for the both of them.

The older detective looked away for a moment, unsure of what entirely to do. He didn't even realize it was that cold until it was mentioned. Right... what would be the 'mom' thing to do in this situation? "Uh." Alm buffered a response, then decided perhaps it would be better to just give up his coat. It's not like he was wearing it properly anyway, even if the cold got to his body before it got to his brain. "Here, kid. You can have it until you get too warm, okay?" There was a happy little 'yay!' from the kid as she practically snatched the overcoat from Almond's shoulders and put it on herself with practiced ease. Ha. She looked cute wearing something way too big for her.

"Mothers always know best, huh?" The second voice nearly startled Almond out of his chair. Whipping around, he'd practically forgotten that Latte was here. Right... Walnut needed someone to watch over her while he was getting checked on. Whatever that entailed... he wasn't exactly looking forward to it. "Right, yea, Mother knows best," the investigator would echo half-heartedly, hoping that his heart that tried beating out of his chest would calm before he was called back. Right. Since he was here, he may as well pry some information out of his colleague. "So... how are they gonna go about this whole thing? Scan my brain with magic or something?" The medical magical field may be well-researched and strongly supported, but as someone who's run across so many uses of magic malpractice...

"Oh, no, not at all! This place actually uses a lot of alternative methods to magic instead! I know how you are when it comes to medmagic." He doesn't recall ever expressing distaste for it, but perhaps that's just his demeanor giving it away. "There's this one doctor that I've heard hasn't failed a patient yet! I'm surprised I was able to schedule something so soon... and something that matched your schedule, too!" "Sure, 'matched'... If my communicator goes off, then I will have to dart out of here. You know that, right?" "Well, at least you won't be leaving Walnut all alone again!" Almond does not want to acknowledge the multiple times he has forgotten Walnut at the local park or school from having to commit to his duties at his second job. If he has to pretend to be some child's mom, can't he at least pretend to be a good mom? Though... he does feel horrible about it, as much as he wants to push that into the back of his mind and forget about it. It's not as if he could remember the kid's name for more than ten minutes at a time.

"Almond Cookie. Almond, the doctor is ready to see you." Oh. It's time. The detective would take a deep breath and push himself up from his chair, feeling a lingering chill on his hands from the metal bars of the chair's arms as he'd take a few steps then pause. Alm glanced behind him, making sure the two were following before following whatever nurse was going to give him a briefing and whatever else. Height and weight gauging, going over the medical history he had- noting that he didn't have any form of memory issues beforehand. Whilst that was being mentioned, Almond side-eyed Walnut, wondering if she should really be hearing this part. She didn't seem to mind, though, clinging to Latte's side and just enjoying the coat that was far beyond her proper size. It made him... smile. Wally wasn't something he'd expect to care for much, but in fleeting moments like these, he'd find that there was something in his mind that liked it far more than just anyone else's child grinning from ear to ear.

Most general go-overs were a blur. They were nothing important and were promptly treated as such by the detective's mind. It wasn't until his mind was prompted back to focus by a slab of red coming into his vision. Oh... the doctor. Blinking back to take in his surroundings properly, he was sat on the cushioned bed-turned-chair of an examination room. To his side, seats filled by the two ladies that'd come with him. Latte seemed to be staring at him worriedly while holding the kiddo's hand. The little one on the other hand seemed to be curious about her surroundings and staring at the doctor who greeted them all warmly. "Good afternoon! I'm Dr. Cassonade... I heard that you all are here with some concerns about memory issues?" Latte would nod, turning her attention to the medical professional. Red suit, dark brown hair with orange-ish speckles of brown sugar darted through it, dark green tie, and glasses reminiscent of a certain lawyer... This was the one she'd heard about, certainly. "Yes! Yes, I'm certain you've heard about the oddities... We were wondering if you could see if something had gone on to cause this."

The doctor would nod, looking between the two in the chairs before raising their gaze to Almond, who stared back incredulously. "You must be Almond, I assume? It is very nice to meet you!" Such warmth would only be met with a gruff 'mhm'. Cassonade stood awkwardly still at the unfriendly response, though continued to smile and acted as if the moment hadn't happened. He'd head to the other side of the small room the four were all in, poking at some monitor with information that Almond couldn't see from where he sat. Probably a whole bunch of medical mumbo-jumbo he couldn't begin to understand. "Right," Casso would begin, "when it comes to things like this... I would first like to do some prerequisite testing. See what you do and don't remember- along with some general mental faculty tests! Now, most of it was done when you completed the check-in form-" he doesn't remember filling one of those out, but he does remember holding a pen recently for some reason, "-I still have other things I wish to check... Like response time and personal memory!"

The doc would lean out from behind their monitor and look at non-patients with a certain softness that Almond almost read as some form of empathy. "So, for that, I'll need to be alone with Almond here, if that's okay? You can stand outside, I just need the room for us." "Oh, sure!" Latte chirped, gracefully standing up and adjusting her hat with her still available hand. "Come on, sweetie. Mom's going to have the doctor make sure he's all healthy and happy, okay?" "Okay!" The mentioned 'sweetie' would follow behind Latte, though would keep the heavy door open for just a moment as she stared down the medic with something akin to scorn. Though she looked more like an angry puppy than anything else. "You better make mommy feel better!!" There was a laugh from Casso as they gave her a pat on the helmet that Almond found nearly gave him a knee-jerk reaction of a growl. Why would he...? He doesn't know this kid.

Once the door was closed, Dr. Cassonade would take a deep breath and keep that damned smile on their face. They adjusted their glasses, then reached into a drawer underneath the screen that they were using earlier to pull out a whiteboard, marker, and sterile cleaning rag. "What is this, elementary school?" Almond would state with underlying scorn. How is this supposed to show that he has memory issues? "I know, I know... It may seem childish, but I promise it will help! Unless you'd... like to just tell me your answers verbally." "Yes. Yes, I would." "A-ah, alright then!" And thusly, the objects would be put away in favor of some flash cards. Two packs, one with shapes, colors, numbers... and one with people- with the second one looking handmade. Equally as degrading to see. He's not five! He's-... how old was he again? Ugh, that didn't matter! "Now, I'm going to show you some simple images, and I want you to identify them, okay? If you don't recognize one, just tell me and I'll tell you what it is and skip to the next one. Does that sound alright to you?" Almond rubbed at his face, reluctant but nodding all the same. "Sure, sure. Let's just get this over with."

Answering the cards was a breeze, truly. These were things anybody knew. Animals, shapes, colors, and numbers, all things someone would learn in early years of school. It was almost patronizing how delighted the doctor was to see him succeed at something so simple. Every time they'd write something down, he couldn't help but glower at the medic. This almost felt like being at a pediatric's office rather than being at an actual hospital. "Alright, I'm happy to say that things are going relatively swimmingly right now, but... this may be a lot harder for you." That second set of flashcards seemed to tease him the way it glinted under the room's lights, which were still too bright for him to enjoy. Perhaps he's been taking too many late-night calls and the brightness was becoming adverse for him. The doctor took off the rubber band that held the cards together, picking out the first of what was arguably a very thin deck. "These are people that I've heard you've been close to. Family, friends, coworkers... All of those. Don't feel bad if you don't remember all of them! Heck, even I forget some of the names of the ones I've worked with for months..." The doctor gave a light laugh, then turned over the first card for Almond to look at.

Some dark-eyed person with brown and white hair, looking sleep-deprived in his black and purple garments. Silence fell through the room, a bead of sweat forming on the investigator's forehead from the lack of recognition. "I... don't know." He'd admit in a low voice, trying to hide whatever shame was bubbling in his chest. "That's Cappuccino," the doctor would answer for him, "he's a friend of yours. He's a very famous prosecutor! From what I've heard, you two share case information all the time..." Odd. He should know this person. Hell, he saw those texts a while back with that name! Ugh, at least some of the dots connected. "Next card?" Casso would ask, earning a hesitant nod.

A person with slitted eyes, wearing a cloak with an oversized collar. With glasses like that, some suit that seemed to double as a lab coat... It took a bit too long, but Almond knew this one. "That's... Espresso, isn't it? One of the Parfaedia teachers?" A coworker, albeit one he didn't speak to much. Didn't he work on coffee magic or something with Latte? "Good! Next one!" "Eclair." "Yes! The museum curator. You looked into multiple cases of thieves trying to get into his museum every now and then... And who is this?" "Ruh... Phan..." Almond had to parse through his thoughts for a moment, but gave a proper answer to the expectant doc whose smile looked a little less infantilizing. "Phantom Bleu." "Yes, famous phantom thief! Who wouldn't know them?" Hypothetical question, of course. Especially since the detective barely held any memory of who that was outside of some newspaper bits that he'd read over the past few days... with the exact details missing from his thoughts. "And this one?" "Oh, Latte." "Nice, yes! She came in with you, just like..." Though there was a given hint, the image before him gave a blank. He'd just seen her. He'd given her something to stay warm- though Almond had to reach back to realize that his overcoat wasn't there to remember what he'd given-...

There was a sudden migraine in his head as something tried to claw its way out of his mind. Almond raised a hand to his head, to which the doctor looked at him worriedly. "No need to stress! You know her, certainly..." That didn't make things better. Squeezing a portion of his hair to try and lessen the pain, he'd try to pry out an answer. The little girl with the sweetest smile and ponytail that looked just like her name... what was... who was she again? What was her name? "I..." He didn't know. He didn't know the little one with the helmet and little detective garb, who felt so important in his heart but was lost in his mind. Stress-induced sweat dripped down the side of the commissioner's face before the card was inevitably given a name. "Walnut... you know her." He should. He should, and yet... "I don't... I don't know her." Why did his face feel red? Why did his head hurt so much? Where did this sudden spike of stress come from?

The doctor would write a quick note with his one open hand and approach Almond with haste at the sight of the other's mental starting to deteriorate with the onset of panic. "Ah, it's okay! You are okay, I promise-... Simply because you may not remember your daughter right now doesn't mean-" "How could I not remember my own daughter?! How is that in any way okay?!" The detective's raised voice would cause the doctor to flinch, a few specks of brown sugar falling from their hair before they composed themself and took the patient's hand. Not the best course of action, especially if the patient was adverse to touch- he was- but... "Deep breaths. Your mind may just be a little scrambled right now. We still need to run a few more so we can determine what's wrong with you...! If there is anything-" "Do you hear yourself?! Of course there is! How could I-" Almond paused, breath stifling to the point where Cassonade had gotten worried that his heart stopped. But no... Something had brought a sudden soothing sensation across him. Or- at least- it left him numb. The detective blinked and looked down at the card that was in the medic's hand, seemingly mildly confused. "...and who is that supposed to be?"

-

"Wally, sweetheart... you shouldn't be peeking in on your mother..." Latte would give a very light scold, looking up from her phone to see Walnut's back with her body pressed against the door. Her helmet was set on the ground so that she could more firmly press against the hardwood and determine what was being said. And though Latte wouldn't get a response at first, the moment she gave Walnut a light touch, the child would rip away from her. Swinging around to face Latte, Walnut would look at the teacher with tears in her eyes. "He... he forgot about me..." She'd whimper, one hand gripping the coat that was practically half on the floor from her lack of height. "Huh? Sweetie, no, he'd never-..."

"He doesn't remember me!! He- he knows you, but not me!" A sob tore itself from Walnut's throat as Latte would kneel to her height. Her hand would hover over the child's shoulder. "I bet mom doesn't even love me anymore!! How- how could he-?!" Latte's heart hurt. How does she even begin to explain the situation at hand? "Mommy still loves you sweetie, it's just that he's... his brain is being a little weird right now." "IT'S BEING MEAN!! HE'S BEING MEAN!!" Walnut whipped off the overcoat, pausing for a moment with the cloth balled up in her hands while her breathing stuttered from the emotional agony that coursed through her. Though it wasn't processing entirely, she knew that she was hurting. Her mother forgot her. Everything they did together- it meant Nothing to him!! With a screeching yell, Walnut would throw the overcoat she'd been wearing at Latte and run off. And though the teacher tried reaching for Walnut, being pelted in the face with the elder's jacket made her unable to see well enough- or at all, for that matter- to catch her. By the time the coat had been pulled off, dragging her hat off with it, Walnut was already turning the corner of the hospital hallway.

"...oh dear." Latte stood herself up, brushing herself off and picking up Almond's jacket to hold as she gave chase. "This is- This is going to be a long car ride home...!"

[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

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~~~

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.”

~~~

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

[pokeglitchden]

So I will admit.

I had meant to write down what I was intending to do today. Whether I was going to the offsite lab or not. But at some point I must have lost track.

I have no idea what I've been doing all day. It's like there's just a hole there.

I'm starting to grow a little concerned.

[muchmossymess]

My dealer: got some straight gas 🔥😛 this strain is called "Everything At The End of Time" 😳 you'll be zonked out of your gourd💯

Me: yeah whatever. I don't feel shit

5 minutes later: dude I swear I just saw my memories deteriorating in front of me

My buddy the caretaker, pacing: stage 4 temporary bliss state is lying to us

[avasefullofnations]

I just finished a man on the inside and I highly recommend it. That being said, it's also a tough watch at times if you've cared for someone with memory loss.

I appreciate the conversations regarding memory loss and the message of how important it is to not pull back just because someone is starting to lose their memories. I witnessed it with my grandma's friends and her sister: when she started forgetting more and more they stopped coming around and writing to her.

Even though it was an important topic, watching Charles' grieving journey regarding his wife was hard to watch. The last episode was especially hard to watch as it made me think about my own grief journey with my grandma as we went through her stuff post death and also the times before her passing where it went from some good days, some bad days to all bad days.

This is all to say I loved this 8 episode series as it was funny yet also touched on important aged based topics that don't get discussed enough within our society as a whole