#part three: amnesia

[runraerun]

Hi yeah pretty please add me to the tag list for the amnesia fic!!!?? I'm obsessed

*aggressively adds you to the tag list* 💥✍️💥

I’M OBSESSED THAT YOU’RE OBSESSED TBH🫠✨

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

was thinking abt that thing from a lil while ago where arceus cuts ingo's heart out, to spare him having to be sad about his former life. and then also got to thinking abt that thing i briefly mentioned a WHILE ago which is the idea that the reason ingo has no apparent language barrier w/ hisui is that uxie hotswapped his language from unova's to hisui's rq while he was falling as like a "sorry about your memories" consolation prize. and abt how, despite the very silly way i phrased that, that is actually like a supremely fucked up thing to do to a person and i would also consider it metaphysical violence on some level.

so anyway like. alt version where instead of it being arceus, it gets the whole lake trio in on it. mesprit takes out his heart, uxie takes out his tongue

[19catsncounting]

Hey does anyone still think about the thematic differences between Supernatural and the Wayward Sisters and how self-isolating male hunters are compared to community-building female hunters and how this was shown from the Harvelles to even arguably Missouri Mosely and even Samuel Campbell who is his daughter's father almost more than a man himself (especially in Season 6) is not immune to this?

And how the Wayward Sisters could have been built not on sacrificing yourself to this singular all-consuming relationship with your brother and sacrificing yourself for the world second or in name only, but instead on what it takes to cut yourself into useful and digestible pieces for the sake of keeping your place in that community because you're almost certain that it's This Community or Solitude Forever (Alex you can never escape the life no matter how much you don't want it you've gotta pitch in do you want your family to die on this hunt Claire you know you'll never find anyone to love you unless you make yourself softer and then are they really loving you are you even worthy of love anymore Jody your husband and son would still be alive if you listened and learned you can't lose another child in every sense you can't quite let your children be defenseless children either and you know so well how sick this fear makes you and how you're dealing with it the wrong way your son got to be a child but your daughters can't be that vulnerable Even Donna you have Your Role to play here you're not good enough as a hunter but you're funny and happy and you don't take up that much space so that's exactly how much space you're given to exist in).

And yes, a lot of these things are echoes of Kripke Supernatural but instead of too-intimate and dark and quiet confessions that the Winchesters share and know that no one else could ever have the context to fully understand it's Community it's All Our Problems the humiliation and shame is all-encompassing because there is no privacy Everyone Sees You Everyone Knows You Everyone Wants To Fix Help You.

[picnokinesis]

You know, something that I wondered about is how can the Doctor decipher the Galliifrean code if its something she and Koschei made up when they were kids? Is it something that she remembered the same way she remembered how to do her job? Or is it instinctual,, like with her medical phobia, her touch aversion and her gender identity? Or like, does she have a spreadsheet of all the signs? (which I doubt, because it defeats the purpose of a code lol)

OOOH ok this is SUCH a good question. So the thing about the Gallifreyan cipher is that the Doctor didn't just use it when she was a kid, but carried on using it all the way through into adulthood because it was very useful to her as a journalist. It allows her to write notes during interviews without the interviewee being able to read them, as well as just notes in general about her cases in a way that's reasonably secure. She briefly thinks about that first bit during Chapter Eight of Part One, when she interviews Barton:

The Doctor’s pen has been scratching its way across the page, making notes just to look like she’s doing it. No, her real notes are the little circular ciphers she doodles in the margins, like meaningless patterns, decorations. But they’re far from meaningless – no, this is where her real notes are hidden, all the things between the actual words on the page. 

I'm also willing to bet she wrote 80% of her university notes in the cipher just for the hell of it - I think she would have recognised that being able to write in a cipher like that (especially if she can develop it into a shorthand, which she probably has done, tbh) then it would be extremely useful in an investigative profession. So writing up all her lecture notes in that cipher would have been excellent practice for that. And so, this is not only a cipher that she created herself (with Koschei, ofc) but also it's one that has permeated through her whole working life as an adult.

And so, let's look at the night of the crash. The Doctor did not have much on her person - only her rucksack and the contents of her leather jacket pockets. But one of those things that she has with her is her notebook.......and it's full of all these symbols. I think she only really looks at it the morning after the crash, and it freaks her out and intrigues her because she looks at these strange symbols that she both doesn't recognise but also knows, and then finds that she knows what they represent. She can read it. And it's because she's been using it SO much over her life that this cipher is not a episodic memory (i.e. a specific event that she remembers - these are the main kind of memories that she's lost), and I would argue that it's not even a semantic memory (which is like, the memory of information that you've learnt - for example, the doctor still knows information about campervans because she learnt it at some point, even when her amnesia meant that she didn't even know that the TARDIS existed - I actually wonder if she realises that the TARDIS exists because she realises she knows a weird amount about campervan maintenance). Rather, I think her ability to read and write the cipher is a procedural memory - just as much as reading and writing English would be. Because these kinds of memories are encoded differently, and those weren't affected by her head injury - and I genuinely think she uses her cipher so often (she does a LOT of hand written notes, and whenever she writes by hand, she automatically writes in Gallifreyan) that it would have transferred from being a semantic memory to a procedural memory.

And I think her reaction to it would be interesting too - like, in those early days when she didn't really know who she was, any information that she knows and any skills that she has suddenly become clues to help her figure out who she was before. She realises that she's an investigative journalist by backwards engineering why she knows so much about Tim Shaw (since that was the only information in her head that she had in the immediate aftermath of her injury). So then having this cipher....being able to just READ IT and write with it like that....that says something interesting about her. Says that she doesn't trust people as a rule. Of course, she ends up putting that down to her profession - namely, not wanting people to read her notes - and we know that she tried to research the cipher and came up with nothing. But then.....we get the end of Part One, where suddenly O is revealing that he knows her cipher. This is kinda why it freaks her out so much, other than the obvious link back to her past. Because she knew that cipher so well that she could read it and write with it when she still only knew her legal name because she read it on the driving license that she found in her wallet. What does it mean that this person knows it too? That this person uses it so extensively? It's one of the biggest threads that pulls back into the darkness of her lost memories, and she's gone for about two years with just accepting it as something that's there, a skill that she has.....and then suddenly this person she thought she knew is tugging on it from within the dark and grinning at her. And it terrifies the hell out of her.

[ianxfalcon]

Amnesia: The Bunker is a fantastic game. It’s different from their other games, and I like that.

But, out of all the changes they made, why did one of them have to be REMOVE THE AUTOSAVE FUNCTION (and then give us ONE FUCKING SAVE SPOT)????

[floofsnoot]

Symbiotic Titan was a masterpiece. I gotta rewatch it at some point ongg.

[dmdumouchel]

I just think it's funny how my coworker including me in both her post and IG stories made it look like I was way more included than I actually was in the ski trip

[slowshowed]

10 crazy locked tomb things, a list compiled entirely on the drive home from the grocery store and containing spoilers for the whole series so far

tamsyn muir inventing i am become death destroyer of worlds barbie before i am become death destroyer of worlds barbie was cool

when the book you thought was written in second person had actually been in first person the entire time

when they finally kiss after almost three books but one of them is dead but kind of alive sort of but only parts of her or something i'm not really sure and the other one's body is being inhabited by the soul of the monster that was created when god destroyed the earth who currently has amnesia and thinks she's six months old and likes eating erasers. and they're both girls.

entire horror/sci fi book narrated by a six month old who likes eating erasers

some goth teenager feeding god and a bunch of 10,000 year old saints soup made out of her own bone marrow

guy who exploded is alive kind of but sharing his best friend/bodyguard/second cousin/soulmate/unclear what else's body with her and theyre slowly killing each other and they can communicate with and interact directly with everyone around them except each other and muir has the nerve to say that even after all that you still havent begun to see the horrors of love

when the murderer at the locked room murder mystery party was actually none of them but a secret 18th thing.

coffee shop au in the middle of the climax of the second book

when youre crying bc of a t-shirt with a mustache joke on it

when there are nine planets, nine houses, nine lyctors, and nine resurrection beasts but none of these numbers correlate with each other

[coolshadowtwins]

Follow up to this! Part Three!

“You’re telling me,” Shen Qingqiu, the real one, said, sitting in his rightful spot as SiC, right next to Yue Qingyuan. “That you all had noticed that something was wrong and had tried every way to check for possession?”

He said it like he didn’t believe them.

“And brainwashing. And poison. And anything that could rattle the brain.” Wei Qingwei listened off.

“When nothing came back, we had to assume the only thing left- Amnesia.” Mu Qingfang said.

“I thought… we thought, that this was just you, without your painful memories.” Yue Qingyuan admitted, shamefully.

“See!” The imposter said brightly, from where he sat next to Shen Qingqiu. “I told you that it wasn’t all that it seemed. Except, hm. Was I really that bad at acting?”

“Yes.” The entire room said at once.

“So you were the one that saved my life?” Liu Qingge finally chimed in, looking at the two intensely. The imposter looked embarrassed.

“Yes, but that’s only… it was only me because of the timing.” He said. “Liu-Shidi, he would have saved your life too-“

The look on Liu Qingge’s face said what he thought about that.

“Wait, what if I like the other one better?” Asked a random peak lord from the back, who clearly hadn’t meant to be overheard. Shen Qingqiu scoffed, offended and angry.

“This isn’t happening again!” The imposter said, just as offended. Then he pointed at Shang Qinghua, who had his head laying on the table after his choking experience. “You! Tell them things! Go on!”

“Huh?!” Shang Qinghua’s head shot upwards, eyes wide. “Things? What things?”

“You know things!” The imposter insisted. “Secrets! Tell them so this doesn’t devolve again!”

“I would rather it devolve than have my secrets shared-“ Shen Qingqiu tried to interject, but the imposter was not having it.

“This is a matter of the fate of the world, ge. Now tell your secrets, Shang-Shidi, or I’m telling your secrets, right here and now!”

“Ge?!” Shen Qingqiu snapped, drowning out Shang Qinghua’s panicked whine. “Who’s your ‘ge’-?!”

“Shen-Shixiong wasn’t trying to kill you, Liu-Shidi, all those years ago!” Shang Qinghua cut in, voice loud and panicked. “There was a ghost about to attack you but he killed it before you turned around!”

“Huh?!” Liu Qingge snapped, looking between Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua.

“And Shen-Shixiong doesn’t go to brothels for the women, but just to sleep because he doesn’t trust anyone here-“

“Shut up if you value your life.” Shen Qingqiu said, deadly calm. Shang Qinghua gulped, and went a different direction.

“Yue-Shixiong went back for you but his Shizun-“

“Shang-Shidi, this is inappropriate-“ Yue Qingyuan tried to cut in, only to be stopped by Shen Qingqiu’s fan in his face.

“No, actually,” Shen Qingqiu said, “Keep talking if you value your life.”

[roosterr]

Hi idk if you're accepting requests but I literally just read the amnesia fic, and I was wondering if I could request where reader suddenly remembers everything, and sprints around base trying to find them, and just jumps on them crying and apologizing for forgetting them. Just some really fluffy comfort? It's okay if you don't want to write this lol

the 141 when you have amnesia – p2

note: i have received your therapy bills :)

wc: 5.2k

warnings: still a bit angsty I'm sorry I couldn't resist, fluff, hurt/comfort, mild injury and blood, happy endings for all I promise

ao3

[part one]

price

✹ john thought your initial reaction was a good sign. you seemed to be taking things well, considering the extent of your injuries, and it was only a matter of time before your memories returned.

✹ your spirits are high when you're reintroduced to the team, and though you don't remember them either you do say they feel familiar, which he takes as a good sign for your recovery.

✹ when you're finally discharged, he takes you home, to the house that the two of you bought together. he shows you the photos of the two of you that decorate the walls, fondly retelling the stories of each one to you even though you were there, and these are your pictures.

✹ if you notice the way he chokes up when you get to your wedding photos, you don't say anything.

✹ like the true gentleman he is, he insists on sleeping on the sofa and leaving you to take the bed, despite your protests about it being his home too. even though you were receptive, he would never risk making you uncomfortable by sleeping in the same bed when he was, essentially, a stranger.

✹ in all your years of marriage, he's never slept on the sofa before. the two of you rarely go to bed without each other, apart from the times you're separated by your job, and consequently he finds himself not getting much rest.

✹ you're still on leave while you're physically recovering from being in a coma, so john has to go to work without you every morning, something he also hasn't done since you got married. he wishes he could bring you with him anyway, just to have you near him, but he knows that's selfish and you still need time.

✹ the base is dull without you.

✹ again, he keeps up the appearance that he's okay, and maybe it's a little more true this time now that you're actually awake, but he still feels your absence like a weight on his shoulders.

✹ the other three are pleased amongst themselves about your recovery, gaz and soap constantly asking him how you are; and he knows they mean well, but it's still irritating because how could you be okay? you don't even remember your own husband, nothing about this is okay.

✹ he keeps his grievances to himself though. he's still their captain, he can't afford to fall apart when he still has a job to do.

✹ he's woken up one night by soft footsteps in the living room. his neck aches as his eyes snap open, every sense on high alert until he realises it's just you. a quiet grunt escapes him as he sits up, massaging his sore muscles from sleeping on the sofa.

✹ when the sound of muffled crying reaches his ears, he's immediately on his feet, his heart racing as he shuffles over to where you're standing with a hand covering your mouth.

✹ he presses a hand to your back, rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades. you don't look at him, your crying only increasing in volume now you're not worried about waking him.

✹ now that he's right next to you, he sees through the darkness that you're holding one of your wedding photos. it's his favourite picture, the one where he's lifting you with an arm around your waist and you're both gazing into each other's eyes with the most lovestruck expression on your faces.

✹ "i– i know i love you, so wh-why can't i just remember you?" you sputter in between sobs, and you might as well have just ripped his heart out of his chest, because he can't stop the way he breaks down at your words.

✹ john wraps both arms tightly around you, caging you to his chest and nestling your head into the crook of his shoulder while pressing his own tear-stained face into the top of your head.

✹ "it's alright, love–" his voice cracks pitifully, and he's never felt quite as hopeless as he does in this moment. "it'll be alright, you'll remember, i promise…"

✹ he's not sure who he's trying to convince, you or himself as you both sink to the floor in each other's embrace. you stay like that for hours, crying for your lost memory into the early morning.

✹ after that, he can't be bothered to pretend he's okay anymore.

✹ he starts drinking again, shamelessly in the middle of the day and grumbling at gaz and ghost when they wrestle the bottle away from him. he knows you'd disapprove, but the toll of lying to himself and everyone around him has caught up. all he wanted was his partner back, the love of his life, you.

✹ the others try to knock some sense into him, but talking to him becomes like going back and forth with a brick wall. gaz even gets kate on the phone to yell at him, but nothing seems to get through. he orders them to leave him alone, stop asking about you, and it really feels like he's lost hope.

✹ it goes on like this for a week straight, nearly a full month since you first woke up.

✹ and then one boring afternoon, there's a commotion outside his office. john hears cheers and shouts from down the corridor, but he can't bring himself to care enough to investigate.

✹ he's not in the mood to celebrate whatever it is they're cheering about anyway.

✹ john's just about to stand and yell at them to shut up, but then you're suddenly standing at his door, slamming it behind you as you rush over to his desk. his face must be the picture of surprise as he swivels in his chair to follow you as you approach, opening his legs for you to stand between them.

✹ his breath catches in his throat as you cup his face, your touch so tender it has his heart hammering against his sternum like the very first time you touched him all those years ago. he plants his hands firmly on your hips, too afraid of getting his hopes up to say a single word as he watches you get closer.

✹ your face hovers just above his, warm breath fanning over his face as you inch ever closer. he sees your eyes glistening before they flutter shut, brushing your lips against his with an anticipation that has his skin tingling.

✹ when you pull away, his eyes stay closed, but he can hear the smile in your voice when you whisper,

✹ "i remember you now."

✹ his heart might’ve actually stopped at your words, surprise shooting through him like a bolt of lightning as his eyes snap open.

✹ in a second, he's lifting you by the waist and dropping you onto his desk, uncaring for the various papers that he brushes out of the way to make room for you.

✹ he can't stop the overjoyed laugh that rumbles in his chest now he's the one standing between your legs, gripping your face and pushing his lips back against your with all the passion he's been bottling up during your recovery.

✹ you smile into the kiss too, wrapping your arms securely around his neck, running your fingers up his neck and through his hair. it feels like a weight has lifted, something heavy in the back of his mind finally dissipating and allowing him to relax into your hold.

✹ the two of you break away after a moment, keeping him close to you as you press your forehead to his. "i'm sorry that i ever forgot you."

✹ "i can think of a way you can make it up to me, love…"

gaz

✹ you're so apologetic about your amnesia, it breaks his heart all over again. what's worse is that he has no idea what to do; he doesn't want to try and force you to remember, that would just stress you out more, but he wants you to remember him so desperately he feels it ache in his bones.

✹ in the end, he decides to just let things play out. he wants you to recover at your own pace, and not just because of him and how he feels about you.

✹ he also doesn't say a word about your relationship, but with how he initially reacted, he's sure you got the idea. you don't mention it either, which admittedly hurts a little, but he's sure the confusion of waking up to having a boyfriend who's name you don't even know is worse than how he feels about it.

✹ kyle vows to take care of you the moment you're discharged. he takes you to your room, shows you where everything is, makes sure you know where he is should you ever need anything, and he even introduces you to the others again.

✹ you still remember your job and how to do it so, once you're physically well enough, you get right back to it. they carry on as normal, the rest of the taskforce – assimilating you back into their nights of drinking and fucking around as if you'd never left.

✹ kyle still doesn't feel right about it.

✹ he doesn't want to treat you like glass, because you're exactly the same as when he first met you. you're still quick-witted, stubborn, and one of the toughest people he knows, you just… don't know him.

✹ it kills him on the inside, but he stays strong for you; the last thing he wants is to become the mess of a man he was when you were out, he doesn't want you to see him like that. he sorely misses spending his nights with you, and talking endlessly about your days to each other. he sends you longing glances every time you look away, wondering if you'd ever feel the same again.

✹ if you can go back to living normally, why can't he?

✹ but as the weeks go by, kyle notices how you start to withdraw, the loneliness that blocks out the light in your eyes that he loves so much. you fade into the background of conversations, sticking to listening rather than engaging.

✹ you watch them from afar, and he still knows you well enough to know what's going through your head. feeling somehow like you belong and also like an outsider at the same time, wishing you could understand the inside jokes you were a part of.

✹ he wishes more than anything that there was something he could do – make you understand that you're wanted, and you're a valuable part of the team even without your memories, but any time he brings it up you simply brush him off with that far away look in your eyes.

✹ three weeks go by before anything changes.

✹ it's the first time in a while they finally have an afternoon off, so of course they decide to spend it playing football on one of the fields within the bounds of the base. soap and ghost on one team, gaz and the captain on the other, with you spectating and keeping score on the sidelines. 

✹ kyle offered to sit out if you wanted to play, but you'd brushed him off with the excuse of wanting to rest and read your book, laying out your jacket on the grass to sit on.

✹ he could tell you weren't all there, but he didn't know how to help you; so he just reassured you that you could call him over if you needed anything, and left you to guard his own jacket and water bottle before running off to join the game.

✹ the whole time he was sprinting around the field, he couldn't stop looking over to you over by the sidelines. he wasn't with it, he hadn't been since you woke up, really, and the others could tell.

✹ price abruptly calls half-time, clapping gaz on the shoulder and giving him a knowing look. "just talk to 'em, before it eats you alive." he chides, pushing him in your direction before he can think to protest.

✹ with a deep sigh and a glace backwards to the others, who shoo him away without a word, he jogs over to where you're sitting. the way the late afternoon sun hits you just right stops kyle dead in his tracks when he catches how it glows in your eyes. he feels a pull in his chest as he approaches you.

✹ you look up from your book as his shadow reaches you, shooting him a tiny smile as he drops himself next to you. he takes a swig from his water bottle as he catches his breath, extremely conscious of the way your teammates are pretending not to watch him while he comes up with the words.

✹ "so, who's winning then?" you ask, turning so you're facing him. he sees how your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes.

✹ "aren't you supposed to be keepin' score?" kyle chuckles, shifting slightly closer to you as you look away with a bashful expression. he allows your hands to brush, wanting nothing more than to lock your fingers together.

✹ "i'm not really paying attention."

✹ there's a beat of silence and that helpless feeling is back as he watches you look back out to the field, where the others are still kicking the ball back and forth.

✹ "how you doin'?" he asks, keeping his voice low as he leans in even closer to you. your mouth opens to respond, that slightly off smile back on your face, but before you can he places his hand fully over yours, giving it a comforting squeeze. "actually."

✹ you sigh, heavy and tired, and bring your gaze back over to his. "it's… hard." you begin, your eyes betraying the internal struggle. "and i'm… i know, before, we were–"

✹ he blinks and you're being sent over backwards by a football flying into your face with a smack that makes kyle's ears ring.

✹ immediately he's crouching over you, helping you sit back up and pressing the sleeve of his jacket to your nose, uncaring for the blood that stains it.

✹ "you alright?" he murmurs, gently holding your face as he inspects your nose. you nod, wincing at the movement, and take the sleeve of his jacket from him.

✹ once he's sure you're okay, his vision turns red with anger. it's pretty obvious who kicked the ball when he whips around to see soap kneeling on the ground with his head in his hands.

✹ "oi!" kyle shouts, sending him a deadly glare as he gets up. "soap, what the fuck!"

✹ the man in question looks up from his hands, an incredibly guilty look on his face. "i'm sorry pal! i dinnae ken what happened!"

✹ "just piss off, you prick!"

✹ kyle looks back to you, crouching down again with a concerned frown; but you're already looking at him, the silhouette of his own form reflected in your wide eyes. your nose is still dripping blood, but you drop his jacket and your hands to your lap anyway, mouth agape as you stare back at him.

✹ "what's wrong? are you–"

✹ you cut him off by tackling him to the ground with your arms around his neck, squeezing a surprised 'oof' from him as you land on top of his chest. one of his hands flies to your waist to steady you, the other carefully cradling your head.

✹ "i remember!" you cry, an elated laugh bubbling up as fresh tears wet your cheeks.

✹ kyle lets out a relieved laugh of his own, craning his neck to plant his lips firmly on yours with an infectious grin. in the background the others groan at the display of affection, but neither of you pay them any mind.

✹ eventually the two of you pull away, a wide smile still plastered on both of your faces as you get up from the grass. he pulls you in with the hand that still hasn't moved from your waist and leans to whisper in your ear,

✹ "fancy kickin' soap's arse?"

✹ "you read my mind."

soap

✹ johnny's enthusiastic with your recovery. anyone could've guessed that from the moment you woke up he'd be doting, eager to help you in any way you could need.

✹ yes, you didn't remember him, but be was just so ecstatic that you were okay – apart from the amnesia – that he couldn't find it in himself to be disappointed about it. you'd get your memories back soon enough, and then everything would go right back to the way it was.

✹ sometimes he gets a little carried away, forgets that while you are technically in a relationship, he's not much more than a stranger to you right now. more than once you end up having to ask him for some space because he's so incredibly touchy, and you're not sure how to handle it.

✹ you also request a temporary room to sleep in while you recover, separate from him. johnny's not sure how he feels about it.

✹ he feels that sinking feeling in his chest whenever you push him back with a hand on his chest, a polite smile tugging at your lips. it's disheartening, but he tries not to let it get to him. you'll remember soon, and then this will all be in the past.

✹ maybe you'll even laugh about it, how you could ever forget your wonderful boyfriend.

✹ he takes it upon himself to read up on amnesia, so he can better understand how to help you in any way you might need. once he learns that exposure to memories that you've lost can help your recovery, he eagerly convinces you to let him show you places that have meaning to you and your relationship with him.

✹ you agree, and he didn't actually need to do much convincing because you seem just as interested in the idea as him. he knocks on your door the following evening, offering you a single rose before whisking you away with a charming smile.

✹ he takes you on your first date all over again, with the same level of enthusiasm as before. he treats you to dinner at a relatively nice restaurant, telling you all about how the two of you got together in the first place, and memories you have together. he even orders you dessert, recalling with a chuckle how he accidentally guessed your favourite on your actual first date.

✹ once you both finish eating, he guides you by the hand to the canal for the second half of the date, a romantic moonlit stroll by the water. he pulls you close with an arm around your shoulders, meeting your eyes with a fond smile and a blush dusting his cheeks.

✹ "hold on…" you mutter, a pensive expression taking over your face as you stop walking. you turn to gaze at the water, seemingly working something out in your mind. "this… this is where gaz fell into the river that one time, right?"

✹ johnny's heart misses a beat, his eyes lighting up with renewed, excited hope as he grins at you. "you remember?"

✹ "a little, yeah," you smile, dropping your gaze and hands from his with a sorry scratch at the back of your neck. "the rest is still blank, though…"

✹ his smile falters, but he's quick to make sure you don't see his disappointment by pulling you into a reassuring hug. "that's still somethin'! you'll be good as new in nae time!"

✹ the next morning, he finds you and gaz in the rec room on one of the couches, talking animatedly with each other. that familiar shine is in your eyes, the sight johnny's been missing for the last few months. it makes his heart feel light, finally seeing you acting like your normal self again after so long.

✹ he approaches you both, watching you fondly as you talk and laugh with gaz, but his good mood is soured when you only briefly acknowledge his arrival when he sits down across from you, before resuming your conversation with gaz. his brow twitches downwards.

✹ gaz is one of your closest friends, and he’s glad you remembered him. he's happy that you got part of your memory back, even if it wasn't a part that included him.

✹ this was a good thing. you'd remember him soon, he was sure of it.

✹ a few more days pass until anything else notable happens. while you were in the gym together, you told him you felt a headache coming on, so he offered to walk you to the infirmary for some painkillers. the casual conversation you made on the way wouldn't have bothered him before, but he just couldn't shake the image of you and gaz being so comfortable, while he's still stuck on the outside.

✹ he doesn't say anything though. making you feel bad about it won't solve anything, and it's not like you're doing it on purpose, he knows you wouldn't do that to him. you were just excited to have a familiar face, that's all.

✹ while you're waiting for the medic on call, your head suddenly snaps to attention and you get that same pensive look on your face as that night by the river.

✹ "you got something?" johnny asks, bringing his hand up to rest on your upper back. he doesn't want to get his hopes up, but he can't help the way his heart flutters with optimism.

✹ you nod, a smile growing on your features. "i remember that time lt. dislocated my shoulder, and price basically forced him apologise to me," you laugh, thankfully facing away from johnny as his lips turn downwards, "god, he was pissed, it was honestly kinda funny."

✹ "what, uhm…" he lightly clears his throat, hoping you don't hear the dejection in his voice, "what about me?"

✹ you meet his eyes again with an apologetic shake of your head. "i'm sorry, soap…"

✹ "yer fine, it's–" he swallows thickly, waving you off with an exaggerated smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "this is good, it's progress."

✹ since then, he's given you more space. it's clear to him that his efforts aren't helping you remember him, it actually feels like it's having the opposite effect. of course, he's glad you remember your friends, but you still don't remember him – your own boyfriend.

✹ it's wrong, and he knows it is, but he's jealous.

✹ he has to watch you carry on like usual, without him. you haven't set foot in the room you used to share together since before you were comatose. he's done his best to disguise how much it hurts, but it still annoys him how no one else seems to notice how wrong it all is. the others don't need you like he does, they don't lay awake at night going over every moment, treasuring the time you called him yours, yearning with every fibre of his being to go back.

✹ it's been a month and a half since you woke up, six weeks of being so close yet so unbearably far from you. he prays to any god that will listen to bring you back to him, allow him to hold you in his arms once more, but nothing ever changes.

✹ the thread he's been hanging on by ever since you went down on that mission gone wrong is one more bad day away from snapping.

✹ he's approached by gaz one morning, while waiting for the others to begin training, who takes it upon himself to ask johnny about how you're recovering. when gaz teases him about how he was the first person you remembered, and johnny thinks he might just strangle him.

✹ "careful, soap, i might steal 'em away," gaz laughs, patting his shoulder with a camaraderie soap scoffs at.

✹ "shut the fuck up." he snarls, his face bunched in a strikingly out of character scowl. his hands twitch at his sides, nails digging painfully into his palms.

✹ gaz blinks, his eyebrows shooting up, clearly taken aback by the hostility from his friend. "alright, i was only jokin', mate."

✹ "aye, well, i'm nae laughin'."

✹ the tension is stifling. he can tell gaz wants to say something more, but he holds his tongue – too worried about upsetting soap any further.

✹ they stand in silence with each other like that for a while, gaz watching him from the corner of his eye while he keeps his gaze firmly on the grass below him.

✹ thankfully, after not too long the uneasy atmosphere is interrupted by a shout from the direction of the building, "johnny!"

✹ his head snaps to attention to see you, grinning uncontrollably and sprinting towards him at full speed.

✹ "wha–" he's caught off guard by how you leap into his arms, hooking your arms around his neck as he stumbles backwards in surprise.

✹ before he has time to question your actions, you're smashing your lips against his in a searing kiss that has johnny's head spinning. he wastes no time in reciprocating, securing one arm around your waist and bringing the other to the back of your head, using it you press you impossibly closer to him as he groans into your mouth.

✹ you reluctantly pull away, just enough to take a shaky breath, but johnny's had stays put on the back of your head. "i'm sorry i forgot, i'm sorry…" you mumble against his lips, dragging your fingers through the unkempt hair of his mohawk.

✹ he drops his head into the juncture of you neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply the scent of you that he's gone so long without. he laughs into you, slightly delirious and just so overjoyed to have you in his arms again that feels his eyes sting with tears.

✹ "i've missed you, bonnie," he chuckles wetly, pressing his lips back to yours in another desperate kiss, "i've missed you so much,"

✹ "i'll never forget you again."

ghost

✹ he avoids you like the plague.

✹ or he tries to, at least. but truth be told, after spending so much time learning to be vulnerable around you and allowing you into his guarded heart, it's difficult to go back to being a stranger to you.

✹ that, and he doesn't actually want to.

✹ but he needs to. being around you, the love of his life, knowing that you don't remember him, it's like a knife stuck between his ribs. any time he's in the same room as you he finds himself fighting the urge to grab your hand, or press his forehead against you.

✹ he knows you don't want him anymore, the last thing you deserve is a giant of a man – who you're clearly afraid of, even if you won't say it – hanging around you like a shadow.

✹ you're still kind to him, because of course you are, checking in on him and trying to talk to him any opportunity you get. it's nice, sometimes he can even pretend everything is normal when he shares a laugh with you, but then he sees the hesitance in your eyes and he's brought back to the cold reality of the situation.

✹ the weeks drag like this, every fleeting look from you another bleeding wound on his heart.

✹ he keeps it together surprisingly well, all things considered, but the breaking point comes when you find him having a smoke one night, on a bench just outside the barracks.

✹ "simon?" your voice cuts through the silence, his eyes snapping to you as you sit down next to him. he takes another long drag from his cigarette as he watches you, uncertainty in your voice as you continue, "can you tell me about… me? and us?"

✹ no matter how much he thinks he should, he can't look away from your pleading gaze.

✹ "we… you're everything to me," simon mutters, dropping his cigarette and putting it out with the heel of his boot, "i've never felt the way i do with you before, you've helped me more than you could ever know…"

✹ his vision blurs with unshed tears. the sadness on your face starts and ache in his heart, the desire to take you into his arms and just hold you making his skin bristle.

✹ "you don't have to feel the same way, but…" he pulls the balaclava from his head, setting it on the bench in the space between you, bearing his face to you like he always does, "even if you never get your memory back, i'll always love you."

✹ the way you look at him makes it so incredibly difficult not to cry. your eyes are glassy and far away, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth with an expression that screams guilt – but it's not your fault, and he'd never blame you.

✹ you open your mouth to say something, but the words never materialise. the night stays silent, and simon expects it, but it still makes his bones ache with a heaviness that he knows he can't shake.

✹ he stands, picking up his balaclava, and walks quietly past you to the barracks door. there's no fleeting look, not this time. he disappears to his room without another word.

✹ he's not sure how much later it is when he hears a knock on his door. minutes, hours, it didn't matter. it all blends together now.

✹ when he doesn't bother to answer, whoever it is lets themselves in, shutting the door gently behind themselves. he sits up with the intention of chewing them out, but when he opens his eyes they land on your form, curled in on yourself and shuffling quickly over to him.

✹ you're here, in his room, with a face that looks like you've been crying for hours, puffy and tear-stained with bloodshot eyes.

✹ he almost thinks he's dreaming, but the warmth as you wrap your arms around him and bring his face to your chest is too real, too familiar. he brings his arms up  around your waist, releasing a shaky sigh into your skin as he squeezes you tighter against him.

✹ a few hot tears meet the top of his head as you whisper to him the words he's been waiting, longing to hear, rocking gently from side to side.

✹ "i remember, si."

✹ it feels like he can finally rest, like the state of being he's been living in for the last few months melts away with your touch and he feels safe again.

✹ with his grip around your waist, he hoists you onto his bed to lay back down with him, holding you tightly against his chest, your heart right beside his own racing one.

✹ you cradle his face again, pressing your lips to his face over and over, touching every inch of him with your love.

✹ "i'm sorry…" you whisper like a mantra, punctuating every kiss with an apology that makes his throat constrict with the raw emotion he feels. "i'm sorry,"

✹ "don't be…" he mirrors how you hold his face, tangling his legs with yours as he captures your mouth and pours every ounce of passion he has into the way he kisses you. "don't be, love."

[theonottsbxtch]

OSCAR PIASTRI | OP81

secret sister | norris!sister - smau

part one part two part three

professor piastri? | teacher!reader - smau

home race? | trilingual!reader - smau

chicago | single mum!reader - written part one | part two | part three | part four | completed

skyfall | spy!reader - written part one | part two | part three | completed

no time to die | spin off from skyfall - written part one | part two | part three | completed

amnesia | ex!reader - written

million dollar woman | ceo!reader - written

forgotten birthday | gf!reader - written

free now | author!reader - written

courage | bestfriend!reader - written

haunted | catholic!oscar - written

high school sweethearts | uni!oscar - written

new years dream | uni!oscar x singer!reader - written

LANDO NORRIS | LN4

all my lando work is dedicated to @driverlando

cool for the summer | summer fling!reader - smau

english love affair | rockstar!reader - smau

it’s ok i’m ok | ex!reader - written

private | singer!reader - smau

casual | situationship!reader - written

set fire to the rain | toxic relationship - written

my kinda crazy | driver!reader - smau + written

two hands | bartender!reader - written

the come down | druggie!lando - written

honest | ex girlfriend!reader - written

given enough | toxic relationship - written

LOGAN SARGEANT | LS2

celebrity crush | singer!reader - smau

stay with me | ex!reader - smau + written

cookie | albon!reader - smau + written

confidence | vowles!reader - smut - written

FRANCO COLAPINTO | FC43

all my franco work is dedicated to @isaadore

the other guy | piastri!reader - smau + written part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | bonus part completed

el coqueto | interviewer!reader - written

love-locked | sainz!reader - written

i loved you first | best friend!reader - written

part one | part two | part three | completed

power over you | older!reader - written

made it out alive | situationship!reader - written

MAX VERSTAPPEN | MV1

mi novio, max verstappen | mexican!reader - written

the princess and the driver | princess!reader - written part one | part two | part three | part four | completed

whats left behind | barrell racer!reader x bull rider!max - written part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | completed

miss you baby | gf!reader brazil race

preacher’s daughter au - written

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | final part | completed

99 problems - written part one | part two coming |

baby, baby | fiance!reader - written

forever and always | military!max - written

don't wanna be saved | mafia!max - written

my peace | bestfriend!max - written

LEWIS HAMILTON | LH44

water colour eyes | driver!reader - written

CHARLES LECLERC | LC16

all my charles work is dedicated to @iimplicitt

7 minutes | verstappen!reader - written

teacher's pet | student!reader - written part one | part two | part three | part four | completed

my muse | pianist!reader - written

love me baby | arthur's gf's best friend!reader - smau + written

for you, always | prince!charles - written

war is over | airforce!charles - written

sacred ashes | church boy!charles - written

save her | assasain!charles - written

alibi | mafia!charles - written (coming soon)

CARLOS SAINZ | CS55

a summer of love | summer romance -written

a future worth living | knight x princess - written

all i need | failed romance - written

[cupcakeslushie]

First || Prev || …

Here’s the next part of the Kendratello AU! I knew it was going to be very dialogue heavy, so I figured writing it out would be fast, but I’m so ready to be done with it that I’ve not really beta read it. So I apologize for any errors. But enjoy!

Splinter loves his sons, but these last few days have been eating away at his already shriveled and fraying nerves. Watching his children ambling around their home, for months, each in varying states of anxiety, fear, and distress, hasn’t been easy on his old heart.

They’ve been through so much, experienced more hardships than Splinter has ever wanted for them. But the latest crucible tearing his family apart was caused, not by some ancient demon, or world-ending threat—but a fiendishly smart, young woman.

One who’d kidnapped his son and replaced him with a stranger that Splinter hardly recognized.

The bitter tale is too familiar for the old movie star to painlessly swallow. It seems fate played such cruel tricks sometimes. Always seeming to strike harsher the second go around. With outcomes even more brutal and painful. His son was stolen by a hateful, sadistic woman, and kept locked away, until she was satisfied with the new toy that emerged from the shadows.

So it stands to reason how…relieved Splinter had been that one, early morning. When his three sons had pulled Purple into his bedroom, piling into his bed, nothing but wide eyes and panicked shouting; one over the other. Looking back now, he can recognize how short-sighted his quick relief had been. But in the moment, as a father, Splinter had only seen this new, strange development as a blessing.

Donatello might have been confused, and irritated with his brother’s manhandling, but Splinter could clearly see more life in those eyes than he’d witnessed in months. Splinter had shushed the rest, and spoken to Purple directly, finally getting a better grasp on what his sons were shouting about.

Amnesia.

So, of course, relief. Because how could forgetting all those horrible, tortuous weeks in that woman’s grasp, possibly be a bad thing? By some miracle, Splinter’s boy had been returned to him. Nowhere near that frail ghost of Donatello, which Splinter would sometimes find curled up on the floor of his own lab, screaming Kendra’s name and sobbing to be returned to her care.

He had been spared all of that, like it never happened. Their family had been handed a gift, and Splinter truthfully wasn't interested in the whys of it all…

Until Michelangelo chose to contact Draxum, and words like “brain damage” and “tumor” were thrown into the mix.

An entire day of testing yielded…varying results. They were able to rule out the scariest of options. No dark shadows were seen in the X-rays of his son’s beautifully brilliant brain, and no concerning squiggles were pointed out by the Hidden City doctors who studied the fast moving waves appearing on the EEG. It was all a bunch of nonsense to Splinter, but Donatello nodded like he agreed, when he was handed the papers over to inspect himself.

Everything was normal, physically.

That left the most difficult part of the day. Getting his son to speak to a psychiatrist—seriously, and without snarking back at every possible question he would eventually be asked.

Draxum had thankfully picked a good one. Briefing her beforehand on…everything. She seemed prepared for Purple’s special brand of cynicism. The sheep yokai was apparently at the top of her field.

A tentative diagnosis of “dissociative amnesia” had been given, along with a small number of pamphlets and printouts. The doctor had informed Splinter that certain treatments might improve Donatello’s situation, but no cure had been discovered for something like this.

They would just have to take things one day at a time. And they’d been doing so well. Almost like everything was back to normal.

Splinter had become very good at ignoring that pending feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He smiled at his sons every day onward, like nothing was wrong. And all of them, in return, began falling back into a more comfortable ease around each other. The stress had just been starting to loosen in Red’s shoulders and jaw. Orange was giving real, honest smiles again. And Blue was no longer a shadow around corners, hiding from Purple like a bomb he was scared to set off.

But the other shoe that had been the root of Splinter’s dread, finally dropped, and the rug was pulled from under their feet once more, violently, with no warning.

Even after they’d managed to calm Donatello down. There was no negotiating the terms of his reality, and he was stubbornly convinced that the world around him was fabricated. Without caring about the consequences, he refused to be civil towards any of them, treating them all like jesters in a play, where no one had the script.

The family’s usual process for dealing with Purple’s anger–letting him cool off alone in his lab until he collected his thoughts–was unfeasible this time around.

Splinter didn’t think he could ever forget the image of his son, turning the knife he held in his hands inwards, and threatening to end his own life.

No; leaving him alone was not an option.

Which led back to Splinter’s previously mentioned frayed nerves.

Four days into this new, stressful change, and his genius son was still managing to find creative ways to sneak past their watchful eyes. Six attempts, in total. Each time, caught with seconds to spare, and just as traumatic for everyone involved.

Raphael and Michelangelo at the moment, were going through their home, removing every sharp implement they could find. Anything that could possibly be used to “put an end to the loop” that Donatello was convinced he was stuck in.

While the two performed their important task, Blue and Splinter had the harder of the two jobs; watching Purple.

Splinter was currently sitting comfortably in his chair, but it was far from his usual level of relaxation. Despite plenty of bean bags to occupy, the twins were locked in a shoving match. For some reason, they were fighting over the single, smallest one they must’ve owned.

“If you don’t get out of my personal space, I swear to Oppenheimer you will regret it, Leonardo!”

“And I swear to Ryan Renolds, that I’ll shred all of your softest hoodies if you kick me in the nuts one more time!”

“That Barbenheimer joke doesn’t even make sense, you idiot, that was Ryan Gosling!”

“Who mentioned Barbie? I’m talking about Deadpool and Wolverine!”

“What does that movie have to do with anything?!”

“Fuck dude, what did I just say about nut shots!”

“Then get out of my kicking radius, and your non-existent nuts will be safe!”

“BOYS!”

Both his sons quickly pause their arguing, giving their father their undivided attention.

“Leonardo, go help your brothers.” Splinter demands. “I will watch Purple. He has not had a moment of free time from any of you in days, and it is clearly wearing on all of us.” Blue gives his father one of his patented unimpressed stare downs.

“No offense, Pops, but how is you watching him, any different than me?”

“Because I will sit in my chair, and Purple will scroll on his phone, and there will be quiet.” Splinter can’t stand the bickering any longer. He knows both his sons will benefit from this time apart. It’s just convincing Blue of that.

Donatello’s gaze is boring holes into the back of Leonardo’s head while his second oldest son matches Splinter’s scrutiny. The rat can see the need for some fresh air battling against Blue’s desire to stay close. But Leonardo is his sharpest son, and even he can admit that his constant presence has become too grating for his brother.

“You need to watch him like a hawk, Dad,” Leo glares at his twin out of the corner of his gaze, “sometimes you can get a little…distracted.”

The new projector, playing Splinter’s same old programs, flashes against the curtain hung on the wall. The volume is set to low, but Blue still looks pointedly between his father and the screen. Splinter doesn’t blame him for his concern, so he tries to put all the gravity he can into his tone, enough that when he does promise to stay vigilant, it seems to convince Blue to place his trust in him.

Purple stays quiet through the exchange, only breathing a sigh of relief once his brother is long past the threshold of the den. He looks ready to lean back into his hard won pillows, but Splinter realizes that Blue had something of a point. Donatello is positioned quite far from him, and he’s suddenly nervous about catching something in time.

“Purple, how about you come sit with me.” Splinter suggests it kindly but firmly, and with a smile– so his son can’t refuse. He pats the bit of cushion next to his legs, “I will honor my promise to leave you alone, but I would be much more relaxed if you were within my reach.”

His boy merely blinks at him, blank faced, and staring at the very spot that Splinter has just created for him.

It isn’t as though his recliner is small, even if Splinter himself is. Donatello had custom made it for him, after one too many complaints about his old brown one hurting his back. It practically swallows Splinter, but remains just stiff enough to provide plenty of support for his lower back. He could even lay sideways and still have some space to stretch.

Splinter recalls very clear memories of all his sons fighting for a spot by his side when they were younger. But it has been some time since those days…perhaps Donatello thinks he’s far too old for such a thing as sitting by his aging father. Yoshi remembers himself at eighteen, and shudders. He’s forever thankful that no matter how lacking his parenting skills might have been, that his boys are kinder to him than he ever was to his Jiji.

Donatello pulls at some invisible thread of his black leggings. Since this new alteration of his memories, Purple has taken to wearing more layers. It’s nearing fall, but not nearly cold enough for the large sweatshirt, black leggings AND socks that his son is currently donning.

Splinter just barely hears Purple murmur a jumbled, “Huh?”

Splinter catches some sort of emotion actively being suppressed behind the bewildered shock at his offer, but it’s hard to tell what it is. Over the years Splinter is ashamed to say, he has grown very bad at reading his own children. Especially Purple, who, if he was being honest, has always been very hard to decipher.

Splinter starts to think the offer will be rejected, when Purple finally climbs to his feet and ambles slowly over. The unknown emotion skittering at the edge of Donatello’s expression morphs into something closer to suspicion. This one easy to identify, especially when it practically drips from his next words.

“Trying to endear yourself to me won’t sway me into falling for your tricks.”

The barb is said just as unkindly as everything else Purple has thrown at his family these last few days. Splinter lets it slide off him like water. He knows his son would (probably) never speak to him like that if he wasn’t stuck in such a painfully clear mode of survival and uncertainty.

“Yes, yes.” He says, untroubled. “Come sit and I can finally lean my chair back.”

Donatello watches him the entire time as he cautiously settles into his spot. He yelps when Splinter grabs his ankles and pulls his son’s long (thin, still much too thin) legs across his lap. For an instant, Splinter freezes, growing worried he’s overstepped. The act had been done without a thought. It’s the way Purple has always liked to sit, finding it more comfortable than any other way. Donatello preferred to keep his distance. A deviation from his siblings, for sure.

Michelangelo would press as close as possible, two sides smushed together like a hug, only without the constricting limbs (though, if Orange were ever to fall asleep in Splinter’s chair, those too would eventually find their way to catching him in their hold).

Leonardo preferred to sit on the arm of his chair, never staying still for long enough to find a comfortable position. But when he slumbered, after a long night of binge watching Novela’s with Splinter–he would curl up, head in his father’s lap, limbs held tight to his body. Like he was afraid even that was asking for too much.

Raphael, his poor, eldest son, hadn’t sat with him in so long. Splinter could still remember a little turtle tot in red, climbing up and splaying out onto his lap when he needed a good cry–or just a moment of peace from his much too loud siblings. Sadly, it wasn’t long before his Red was too big, and his father too small to provide such a refuge. The last time Raphael needed consoling; after the Krang, Splinter had been forced to climb up onto his own son’s knees in order to reach and wipe away his tears.

In the few rare instances of Purple seeking out physical touch, this was all he would allow. Legs stretched over his father’s lap, but his upper body was always off limits. Pulled just far enough away from the threat of any sort of long term contact.

Splinter used to wonder if Purple was scared to ask for anything more, like Leonardo, or if he thought depriving himself of a comforting hug would make him seem stronger, like Raphael, or even the rare times when Michelangelo wished to appear more mature and refused to be comforted. Eventually, Splinter caught on to the truth. His son was asking for comfort, in his own unique way. He was content with the minimal amount of closeness, as long as he felt like he was able to dictate the terms.

But one thing Purple would always allow his father to do, was loop his fingers around his ankles. Trusting the grip would hold his legs in place and keep him stable. He once said the pressure was small enough that it wasn’t overwhelming, but strong enough that it could ground him when everything became too much.

Even now, the act of reaching out to pull his son’s long legs up had been so instinctive. When Splinter looks over and sees the uncertainty still on Purple’s face, he knows he’s pushed too far too quickly.

It’s a risky move, but he’s already pushed, and it’s something that never fails, not once since he’s discovered it.

Purple has always been the most ticklish of all his brothers. Another thing that never really helped his sensory issues. But Splinter long ago discovered that there was a particular spot, which could always earn him a giggle and a brighter smile.

Splinter grips the meat of Donatello’s right knee and jiggles it back and forth. The silly action seems to do the trick and knocks something loose in his son’s overwrought head. His gamble pays off spectacularly, and Splinter is overjoyed to see a small smile erase most of the uncertainty clouding Donatello’s face. It isn’t a full peal of laughter, but the wariness makes way for something softer, and the huff of air from his nose is just as rewarding as a full body laugh.

His boy rests his shoulder and head onto the cushioned back of the chair and Splinter presses the button that will lift up the leg rest, and recline them both into a more restful position.

After a few moments of quiet, Donatello slowly pulls his phone from the pocket of his hoodie. Even without looking directly at him, Splinter can feel his son watching and waiting for the reprimand he thinks will come. Instead, Splinter raises the volume of his show just loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to completely shatter their peace. He wants to make Purple feel more at ease; like he’s not being constantly surveilled–not providing more overstimulation.

They sit like that for some time. Splinter rubs a thumb back and forth across the meatier part of Donatello's calves. He’s learned that repetitive touch is the best kind of grounding technique for Purple. The patterned motion always worked to calm his nerves.

Even still, after only so long Splinter catches Purple lowering his phone.

He keeps his own gaze forward, locked on his commercials. Splinter can see, without looking, that his son is studying him, trying to take apart something in his mind that he doesn’t understand. Splinter allows him all the time he needs to gather his thoughts.

Finally Purple speaks, “Dad…?” It’s so quiet, if Splinter hadn't been waiting for it, he might’ve missed it.

He pauses the repetitive kneading for just a moment, squeezing his hold, and humming in order to prompt his son to continue his thought.

“Can I tell you something?” The inquiry is whispered to him so delicately. It takes everything in him to keep his face open and soft and his movements steady. It’s clear that Donatello is trying his best to remain aloof, but his gaze is locked on his hands that are settled in his lap, the fingers of one pulling on the digits from his other.

At some point he must’ve put his phone completely away. Splinter feels the pressure of having Donatello's complete focus aimed at him.

The tugging intensifies. Splinter wonders if he should reach out, but he’s not sure how well that would be received. It doesn’t look painful just yet.

“I don't know what Kendra is accomplishing by showing me this.” Donatello growls, suddenly digging his palms into his eyes like he can still feel the weight of the screen blocking his vision. “Trying to make me happy, only to rip it all away from me? Or attempting to make me feel, even more like a useless burden than I was?”

It’s the first crack in his armor that Purple has shown in days. A clear sign that he was not as unaffected by Kendra’s lies as he’d been trying to project. Donatello sighs, but as it dies out Splinter thinks it sounds closer to a sob.

“You can’t tell the others…” Donatello looks at him with wet, desperate eyes, and it’s unclear if his son still doubts who he’s speaking to, but Splinter works to ease his fears all the same.

“I swear, whatever you tell me will remain between us, alone.”

Donatello nods faintly, eyes trailing downwards once more. Splinter may have had trouble before, but now the many emotions jumping across his son’s face—fear, shame, frustration, all are easy to catch.

With a shaking breath he whispers his secret. “I lied.” He’s crying now, real tears that he doesn’t even bother to wipe away. The pulling at his skin grows more violent, and Splinter finally interferes to carefully pry Donatello’s hands apart before damage is done. In place he cradles his son’s hands like delicate porcelain and runs a thumb over Donatello’s palm.

“I told everyone that I could tell. That I wasn’t being fooled, but that’s not exactly true. The last few loops have…it’s been getting harder, and harder to remember things— how they really happened. Too much is…plausible.”

Splinter keeps silent. This confession has clearly been weighing on Donatello. He deserves to get it all out, and hopefully feel lighter for it. Even if Purple suspects the family, something is letting Donatello open up enough for him to share his fears.

“There was one loop…Mikey broke…he broke the remote…When I said I didn’t have time to fix it. He threw the pieces at my head. He would never do that, though…right?”

“No, of course not,” Splinter answers immediately, quick to banish the doubt from his son’s mind. Donatello only blinks at him, like his thoughts are moving too slow, and cannot comprehend such a simple, stark contradiction to what he experienced.

“It felt so real…it all feels so real. But…I could feel how one of the sharp, broken corners had cut through my mask and how the wet fabric stuck to my skin with blood.”

Donatello raises a hand and touches the spot where the phantom wound must’ve sat. The pain now gone, but the memory of it haunts his eyes and rattles the tremors building in his hands.

“I thought…I thought I was handling this��maybe not well…But I’d hoped I would be strong enough to last until you all came for me…And now Raph is saying it’s already over.”

It’s a simplified form of the truth which they had tried to get Purple to believe, but even that much clearly doesn’t sit well with him. “If it is over, why does my body feel like one massive bruise? How did you all find me? How long did I last? Was I in there long enough to…?”

He’s clearly scared to ask Splinter any more questions, so he trails off, curling in on himself and pulling his hands up to his chest, pressing there, as if checking to make sure he feels something still beating.

Splinter decides he’s waited long enough and slowly pulls Donatello out of his hunched ball and guides his head to his own chest, making sure his ear is aligned against his own pulsing heartbeat.

Donatello resists slightly at first, but the moment he’s close enough to catch the sound, his breath catches and he glues himself to the spot.

“I don’t want to be there anymore,” Purple murmurs. It sounds like sleep is catching up with his son, the exhaustion pulling him down and slurring his words.

Splinter cups the back of Donatello’s head and carefully tug his fur lined blanket down from where it’s been sitting on the back of his chair. The blanket slots over the both of them and Donatello curls even closer to his father, tucking himself into his warmth.

“Go to sleep, when you wake up, you will be right here.” He’s sure to say it softly but with as much reassurance as possible, and Donatello seems too tired at this point to hold onto his doubts.

“Okay…,” Donatello mutters. Then, practically hanging on to the waking world for one final query hesitantly asks, “…Dad?…Do you love me?”

Splinter doesn’t even think. “Of course, my son.”

Donatello’s breathing finally evens out, and Splinter feels a few tears finally escape.

He’s not sure what next steps they should take, or what kind of state his son will be in when he wakes, but Splinter can only hope this is progress. He prays it won’t be undone…but regardless, Donatello is home. Any steps back or forward will be taken together, and that is the most important part.

[viceroywrites]

deja vu - part three

planning out your road trip through the pacific northwest, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the town of gravity falls.

little did you know that this town held more memories than you could have possibly imagined.

too bad you didn't remember any of them.

stan x fem!reader/ford x fem!reader

tag list: @awitchersbard / @theilluminatidragonqueen / @jazzypop-op/ @maryclanders/ @chaimshelii/@starship606/ @swimmingrascalbatdragon / @stanfordsbaby / @gxstiess / @skrunkle11 / @valinbean / @funkyenby / @therealgoofygoober69 / @theblueraven / @adrian920155 / @im-kinda-bored / @miarabanana / @uwauiss / @leo4242564 / @doggosnoodles12 / @soupieoopieisloopie / @zhungxi / @bandaids-n-porcelain / @marvelous-maniac / @opossumclown / @m4x-3dw / @nothingbutcloud / @reivelmin / @grimometry / @walmartjim / @adelezzxd / @reiofsuns2001 / @bunni-teeth81 / @marshnest / @satorisgirl / @symphology / @pen900 / @sometimesminsan / @creat0r-cat / @lackingoriginalthoughts / @fries11 / @sunniskyies

choose your own ending / contains fluff and angst (w/ happy ending)

part two | part four

The three of you sat in the impressive living room, Ford and you sitting on the couch while Fiddleford lounges in the loveseat, his feet propped up on the coffee table.

“You were able to sell those patents to the government and that’s how you got this place!” You say in glee, your lips spread into an excited smile, “I told you your inventions were going to get you places, Fiddleford!”

“Aw shucks, you flatter me too much. Glad this noggin of mine finally got put to good use!” Fiddleford said bashfully, knocking on his skull, “So Stanford told me you got a job in the National Parks! Find any gold while surveying?”

“No gold yet but I’ve found a few gemstones that I ended up pocketing instead of just documenting them.” You admitted with a sly smile.

The two of you laughed and chatted like time had never passed. Meanwhile, Ford watched with a wistful smile, wishing to hear you be just as comfortable with him as you once were. Though in the back of his head, he recognized that once your memories return, you may never want to speak to him again.

“Ford, what did you end up doing after all these years? I’m sure something exciting with 12 PhDs.” You ask with a curious tilt to your head. You tried to loop him back into the conversation, feeling guilty that you and Fiddleford had spent most of this time catching up with one another with Ford sitting there observing quietly.

“Oh… well..” Ford stammered, caught off guard by the question. He glanced over at Fiddleford who gave him a sympathetic look before giving a nod of encouragement, “I decided to study anomalies with my grant money. Gravity Falls is actually chalk full of them, hence why I ended up here. Fiddleford actually came out here from Palo Alto to help me with my research.”

“Really? I’m surprised we didn’t meet when I had visited him years ago but you must have been busy with your research, right?” You question, not knowing the weight of the situation that you had left years ago. Ford and Fiddleford exchanged tense glances which caused you to sit up right, “Is.. everything okay?”

-

The previous evening, Ford had decided to give Fiddleford a call preemptively before bringing you over to get some answers of his own. 

After the second ring, Ford heard a “Yello?” from his old friend and sighed, trying to keep his composure. He was ready to start a tirade of questions but he attempted to remain cool, not wanting to alienate his friend that he just got back.

He didn’t want to go in blind with the assumption that Fiddleford’s memory erasing gun was the cause of your memory loss, when there could be a laundry list of potential conditions you may have that could have caused this amnesia.

“Sorry to disturb you at such a late hour, Fiddleford. I have some news that can’t wait until the morning.” Ford says, leaning against the wall while twirling the cord of the phone in between his fingers.

“Sure, what is it, pal? I’ve been working on a new patent so I need a break anyways,” Fiddleford says on the other end, removing his green glasses and moving to the rocking chair in the corner of the room.

“Well, do you remember Y/N? Our friend from Backupsmore and my… ex-lover.” Ford hesitates during the last part. 

Ford hears a hitch in his friend’s voice along with shuffling on the other end before hearing a response, “Yes, I remember her.”

Ford inhales sharply before letting out a deep sigh, “Well, she’s in Gravity Falls. My brother stumbled upon her after her car broke down in the woods and brought her back to the Mystery Shack.”

“W-Well, isn’t that exciting. We should catch up, shouldn’t we?” Fiddleford says with an anxious edge to his voice.

“Fiddleford…” Ford’s voice is stiff as his worst fears feel like they are already confirmed, “Why does she not remember me?”

Apologies spill from Fiddleford, the anxiety in his voice mounting, “I-I’m so sorry, Stanford. At the time, I thought it was the only way we were going to get through everything we saw, everything we experienced.”

Ford swallowed the lump in his throat, not knowing whether to comfort his friend or to lash out on him for doing such a thing. Hearing those words was like swallowing a bitter pill. He remained silent, letting Fiddleford ramble on to get more details.

“She came to me in tears… she just kept saying over and over that she wanted the pain to go away.” Fiddleford explained, beginning to pace around the space. 

“So you just took her memories, just like that? Specifically her memories of me? Because she remembers you just fine!” Ford’s frustration finally comes out. His right hand balled into a fist, his left clutching the phone tightly. 

Fiddleford winces at the harshness in Ford’s voice, memories of their last fight flashing back but he knows he has to face it rather than running away like he did all those years. He takes a deep breath before sighing, “Stanford, she asked me to erase her memories.”

Ford feels his heart drop and his stomach in knots, almost dropping the phone. 

Is this what heartbreak felt like?

Why would you want to forget him?

Was what he did all those years ago so horrible that you wanted to erase his very existence from your mind?

Ford struggled to find the words but was able to muster out, “It’s… not your fault, Fiddleford. It’s mine. I put you both through hell during my quest for knowledge.” 

Fiddleford paused before responding back shakily, “You don’t need to keep apologizing, friend. Bring her over tomorrow, hopefully we can jog her memory.”

Ford let out a sigh, “Alright, also if you have literally anything from our time from college, please retrieve it to show it to her. That’s what helped bring back Stanley’s memories - any physical reminder of the memories.”

They both said their good nights before hanging up the phone. Ford slides against the wall in defeat, reaching up to run a hand over his face underneath his glasses before pausing as he feels the wetness against his eyes. 

He hadn’t even registered the tears that began to prick the inner corners of his eyes.

-

Fiddleford gets up from his seat, excusing himself abruptly to retrieve something in the other room. Your question remains unanswered and hangs in the air as Ford refuses to meet your gaze, seemingly invested in the stray thread on his sweater.

“Something must have happened when I was out here all those years ago…” You mutter, staring down at your feet, “It affected us, didn’t it? Whatever we were…” You trail off. You had put some of the pieces together that your relationship with Ford prior must have carried a heavy history.

Ford continues to play with the thread, the silence slowly eating away at him before he finally responds, “It did. Not only you and I but my friendship with Fiddleford as well.” He wrapped the thread around his index finger, “It might come as a surprise, but Fiddleford and I just rekindled our friendship this past summer.”

Before you can reply, Fiddleford comes back into the room, holding a cardboard box in his bandaged hands. He unceremoniously dumps it onto the table before flopping back down onto his chair. His light-hearted demeanor had shifted to one of anxiety. 

“Listen, Y/N… I have to admit something to you that you might not like… ah jeez..” Fiddleford stumbles over his words, craving an escape from this situation. 

“Whatever it is, as long as it gets me closer to understanding what’s going on, I promise I won’t be upset at you.” You try to reassure your friend, looking over to Ford to help back you up. Ford’s gaze softened, nodding in understanding, “It’s going to be alright, Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford feels comfort in his close friends’ reassurance, taking a deep breath before rambling out an explanation that’s barely coherent, wanting to get it off his chest immediately, “I created an invention that wipes people’s specific memories called the Memory Gun! I even used it on myself and my mind was gone for decades. Basically I erased your memories all those years ago and that’s why you don’t remember Stanford! There I said it!”

Ford winces at his friend’s delivery, realizing maybe he should have taken the lead to reveal this information to you in a more tactful way. 

Your eyes darted between Ford and Fiddleford, letting out a nervous chuckle, “Real funny guys… did you two plan this prank over the phone last night?” The story presented to you seems preposterous, out of a science fiction novel.

However, when Ford and Fiddleford stare back at you with solemn gazes, you realize that this story is the truth. 

It explained the gaps of time during your time in college that you could not recall.

It explained the dreams you had every night of a person that you could never see the face of.

Your memories of Stanford had been somehow wiped from your brain.

You sit there, processing this information in silence. Fiddleford almost seems like he’s bracing for impact, ready for you to lash out at him for doing such a thing. Ford sits rigid beside you before getting up suddenly. Both you and Fiddleford look up in confusion as he reaches into the box that Fiddleford placed on the table.

His fingers pluck out what seems to be a photo and walks over to you. His warm, calloused hand brushes against yours, placing it into your hands. Staring down at it, you see younger versions of yourself, Ford and Fiddleford.

Ford was decked out in a doctoral graduation cap and gown that swallowed up his frame, a wide grin spread across his cheeks. He had his arm around Fiddleford’s shoulder, who wore a green button up shirt, brown slacks and a pair of cowboy boots. In his hands he held a sign that said ‘10 Doctorates Down, 2 More to Go’. You were wearing a flowy dress and were on Ford’s left side, his six fingers holding you by the waist.

“This was taken on one of my many graduation days, you and Fiddleford attended every single one and were cheering me on in the crowd.” Ford explains, beckoning Fiddleford to come over and look at the photo. Fiddleford hesitantly gets up from his chair, sitting next to you.

“Listen, I know you may have a lot of questions about how this even happened. I promise that in time, Fiddleford and I will tell you everything that led up to the erasure of your memories. But you need the rest of your memories for any of this to make sense.” Ford says, staring into your eyes and resting a hand on your shoulder. 

His mantra after Bill wreaked havoc in his life had been Trust No One.

Yet he asks you to do the one thing that he could not do back then, “Can you please trust us?”

A mixture of emotions - confusion, hurt, anger - ran through you and you weren’t sure which one to listen to. As you looked back down at the photo, your thumb ran over where Ford was, covering up his face. Without him there, the image looked… empty.

You look up at Ford, “I’m trusting you and Fiddleford… I want to get my memories back.” You pause before continuing your statement, “How I feel about the both of you after I get them back, we’ll have to wait and see.” 

Ford nods in understanding, knowing that you rightfully had your guard up. Fiddleford breathes a sigh of relief, still feeling the need to apologize, “I’m really sorry for putting you in this predicament, Y/N… I hope you’ll forgive me.” You stare at your old friend, knowing from experience that this man had a heart of gold. As confused as you were, you try to believe that Fiddleford had to have done it for some good reason.

You quickly envelop Fiddleford into a tight hug, squeezing him tightly. He squeaks in surprise and you mutter, “Whatever the reason you erased my memories is…I know you have a good heart. I’ll forgive you, Fiddleford.” You feel his flimsy arms return the embrace, and you two sit there for a bit before pulling apart.

“Alrighty then, let’s get those memories back!” Fiddleford says, getting up and rummaging through the box to retrieve a textbook that spelled out ‘Quantum Mechanics.’ 

You all collectively shuddered at the sight of it, groaning in unison, “Ugh, quantum mechanics” before bursting out into laughter at your shared reaction.

“Dear god, that class was terrible! Not because of the content but our professor!” Ford groaned, “I swear he spent more time teaching us about his conspiracy theories than actually covering the equations needed for our assignments.”

“Stanford, I think you might be the only one who actually enjoyed the content of it, me and Y/N were ready to pull our hair out every single class.” Fiddleford chuckled before passing the textbook over to you.

You look down at it, brushing off the dust. A wave of nostalgia hits you as you flip through the pages, remembering the sensation of your cheek being pressed against those pages before jolting up, trying to wipe off the stray drool that had accumulated on the corner of your lip. You had fallen asleep in class again, a gentle hand shaking you awake.

You pause before staring up at the both of them, “Oh my god, I think I remember something.”

“You would wake me up whenever I’d fall asleep in lecture, Ford.” You say, the memory coming back to you with more clarity, “I always nodded off in that class since it was 8 AM and I usually stayed up the night before studying for exams.”

Ford and Fiddleford both look at each other before grinning widely. “It’s starting to work!” Fiddleford says excitedly, ready to fish out another object out of the box.

“Jeez, how much stuff do you have in here?” You chuckle, getting up from your seat to crowd around the box. Your eyes scan through the assortment of objects - old textbooks from physics and mathematics courses, decor from Backupsmore and a few older photos strewn about.

“I didn’t realize you kept all these things from college, Fiddleford.” Ford says, following behind you. “I didn’t either, guess I lost track of where everything was after my mind got scrambled. Tate found most of this stuff in a box that I apparently had stashed underneath my cot when I was living at the shack.” Fiddleford chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

The three of you spent the next hours sifting through the contents of the box and with each item plucked from the box, a memory from college returned as you pieced together the fragmented slivers in your mind. Some memories did not come as quickly, causing you some frustration but you put them to the side, cataloging it for later.

Soon the sunlight that leaked through the windows began to turn into a warm orange, signaling the sunset approaching. Ford had tried to hide an embarrassing photo from you and Fiddleford which resulted in you trying to wrestle it out of his hand playfully. You ended up snagging it from his six-fingered hold after he got flustered when you started getting closer to him, practically on his lap, to try and retrieve it.

The last photo was a polaroid of Ford with his face buried into your neck, a few beer bottles littered around him. Fiddleford was clearly holding the camera, his thumb sticking out in the foreground in a thumbs up. ‘Happy 21st, S.’ was scrawled out at the bottom, slightly faded over time.

“You were a light-weight, weren’t you?” You say cheekily to which Ford crosses his arms in protest, “It was my first time drinking, what did you expect?”

Fiddleford watched contently before seeing the sunset start to creep in, “Aw shucks, the sun’s about to set. Ya’ll should head out before it gets too dark. I know this one isn’t the best at driving in the dark.” He said, jerking a thumb over at Ford.

“I didn’t realize this was a gang-up on Stanford Pines session.” Ford huffed, getting up from his seat on the floor. You follow suit, grabbing the stack of photos that had piled up and placing them in the box before asking Fiddleford, “Mind if I take the box with me, Fiddleford? I’m hoping the more I look at them, more memories will pop up.”

Fiddleford nods eagerly, “Absolutely, Stanford can give you my number if you have any questions for me. I’m sure you’ll have a ton… after you get all your memories back.” He trails off, knowing the journey ahead to recovering your memories may come with some mixed emotions.

You give Fiddleford another tight parting hug, squeezing him almost like you may not see him again. You follow Ford out, placing the box carefully into the back seat of the red convertible before driving back down the hill.

You spent most of the drive taking in the sight of the golden hues over the lush forest. Occasionally, Ford uses his peripheral vision to take a glance at you, seeing how the gemstone around your neck glows against the sunlight. 

You catch him glancing once and he quickly shifts his focus back on the road, his chest puffing and his posture stiff. Your lips curl in amusement at how he tries but fails to be subtle. It’s quite charming - you were starting to see how you fell for him in the first place. “So… our relationship clearly wasn’t platonic, was it?” You ask suddenly.

Ford almost swerves off the side of the road at your question, quickly straightening his wheel as your hand reaches for the grab handle. “I didn’t realize you had put that together already..” Ford stammered before apologizing for his driving.

“Even if none of my memories had come back today, it’s pretty easy to pick up from the photos, especially the last one.” You chuckled softly before pausing. You mull over what to say next before finally speaking up, “I’m guessing we… didn’t end on the best terms, did we?”

Ford’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, his expression tense. He looked defeated - weighed down by the weight of the negative effects that his desperate chase for knowledge had on his loved ones. 

Stanley, Fiddleford, you. 

Ford lets out a heavy sigh, “No, we didn’t… and it is my fault. I was on this never-ending journey trying to prove my worth but in the process, I pushed away those who saw my worth just the way I was.” He looks out into the horizon, seeing the sun begin to disappear between the Floating Cliffs. “If you will allow me, I really hope I get the chance to undo my mistakes and mend our relationship… just like Fiddleford and I have.” His eyes meet yours and your expression looks conflicted… almost like you can still feel the remnants of pain that he had caused all those years ago.

“Listen, Ford… I would like to start on the path of healing what happened in the past but I just got back memories from college. I am sure there’s a few more years of history up ahead… one step at a time, okay?” You explain, wanting to level his expectations. Ford nods in understanding, giving you a sad smile, “Understood, apologies for getting ahead of myself.”

As you made your way back down the winding hills, you both sat in silence the rest of the way back to the Mystery Shack. Pulling in front of the cabin, Ford shifts the car into park and clears his throat, catching your attention, “You aren’t planning on leaving tomorrow, correct? Stanley had mentioned that you had a whole trip up to Seattle ahead of you.” 

You stare deadpan over at him, “Ford, I literally was just told today that a good chunk of my memories are gone. Do you really think I’m worried about my trip?” You say with an eyebrow raised. Ford blinks at your response before rubbing the back of your neck, “That’s very true, I just want to make sure I wasn’t holding you hostage in figuring this out.”

You shrug casually, “Unfortunately, I can’t just pick up and leave knowing I don’t have a good chunk of my memories.” You smile, despite everything, you were grateful for this unexpected detour. You got to reconnect with an old friend, still got to enjoy some beautiful scenery and the free lodging didn’t hurt. “Besides, Gravity Falls seems like it has its own charms I can appreciate. I’m curious about the anomalies you came out here to study - everything seems pretty normal other than those floating cliffs we passed on the way down.”

A spark lights up in Ford’s eyes the moment you mentioned anomalies, seeing him grin in absolute glee. “Well, there’s a whole bunch out there, the Floating Cliffs is truly only scratching the surface of what oddities this place has to offer. I would love to take you anomaly hunting some time. Obviously nothing too intense, I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” He realized what he had just said and began to stammer, backtracking his offer, “B-But only if you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

You giggle at his awkward charm, “I would like that. Maybe tomorrow?”

Before Ford can reply, both of you are startled by the sudden rapping of knuckles on the glass of the driver’s side window. You quickly whip your heads to see Mabel grinning, her braces on full display as she stares at the two of you through the glass. Ford rolls down the window, “Mabel, how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Mabel says before whipping out her phone to reveal a slightly blurry photo of you and Ford smiling at one another from an awkward angle, “to take this photo!” Ford blinks, his eyes adjusting to look at the photo before staring at it perplexed, “I still don’t quite understand how this small contraption holds a camera in it.” 

You laugh at Ford’s statement, leaning over his shoulder to take a look at the photo, “What, you don’t know how a cell phone works? Are you sure I'm the one who had their memories wiped?” Ford’s cheeks feel warm as he can feel the heat and weight of your body pressed against his back, “Great photo, Mabel. How was the roller rink?” You quickly change the subject, starting to pick up on Mabel’s matchmaking  tactics.

“It was great! My friends, Grenda and Candy, and I had a slurpee chugging contest to see who could get brain freeze the fastest!” Mabel explained excitedly. “I’d love to hear more about it, how about we head inside?” You say before pulling away from Ford to exit the car and follow Mabel back into the Mystery Shack.

Ford sat there in disbelief, his brain short circuiting over how your body felt against him as well as the prospect of going on a pseudo-date with you, before resting his head directly on the steering wheel, the horn echoing through the forest. You look back in alarm and glance over at Mabel, “Uh, is your Grunkle okay?” 

Mabel looks back and shrugs, as if it’s a common occurrence, “Probably, Dipper does that too against the wall when he’s overthinking something.”

You sat on the floor of the living room, listening to Mabel excitedly tell you about her adventures with her friends with Ford joining shortly after his malfunction in the car.

Dipper came downstairs, having spent most of the day reading over a strategy guide for Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons that he wanted to go over with Ford, which led Mabel to recount her day again to the new audience member. 

“So, Y/N, was the trip to see Old Man McGucket a success? Did you get some of your memories back?” Dipper asks. You blink before realizing he’s referring to Fiddleford, nodding in response. “Yeah, thankfully, he had some stuff from your Grunkle Ford and I’s time at Backupsmore that helped jog some memories. Not 100% there but we’re getting there.” You share, “We actually brought some of it home to help continue to jog my memories.”

“Wait, are there photos? I wanna see young Grunkle Ford and Old Man McGucket! Grunkle Ford lore!” Mabel asks excitedly. You turn to Ford who seems reluctant to share with the kids, “Well, up to you if you wanna show them.” Ford hesitates for a second but the moment he sees Mabel flash the dangerous puppy dog eyes that Stanley warned him about, he’s easily persuaded, “Alright, I’ll go get the box.”

You spend the rest of the evening showing the twins memories from the past with Ford filling in some of the gaps you couldn’t quite remember still. Dipper and Mabel laugh at the sight of Fiddleford with a horseshoe mustache with Ford insisting that it was in fashion at the time. You smile at the sight of the family bonding before realizing a member was missing.

“Hey Dipper, is your Grunkle Stan not back yet? It’s getting a bit late.” You ask suddenly. Dipper takes a moment before snapping his fingers, “He mentioned something about not waiting up for him. He didn’t say where he was going, just said he was gonna be out late.” You look over to Ford who simply shrugs, “My brother is one of the toughest people I know, throws a mean left hook. He’ll be fine.” Based on everyone’s nonchalant reactions, you decide to trust that this was a normal occurrence.

The night ends with Mabel gushing over the polaroid that she found of you both, leading Ford to chase her around the Shack trying to retrieve it from her. Dipper and you doubled in laughter, watching the antics unfold.

Ford ended up stuffing it in his pocket, wanting to have at least one piece of your shared history to hold onto himself.

-

He wasn’t in bed… again.

You wake up yet again to the left side of the bed empty, the sheets feeling cold to the touch. The moon barely seeps light through the triangle shaped window, allowing your eyes to adjust quickly to the sight. Your eyes glance out the window. The forest is dusted white, snow coating the treetops and causing the glass to frost.

You begin what felt like a nightly routine at this time, sliding out of the bed. Your eyes are still heavy with sleep, rubbing them roughly. You slide on your slippers and make your way to the basement.

At this point, you don’t even need a light to guide the way, navigating through the dark cabin with ease. The wind howls harshly outside, its echo traveling through the quiet house. 

You finally arrive, shuddering at the sudden temperature drop from the upstairs to the basement. You push open the metal door. The lab is quite messy, sticky notes with equations plastered all over and triangle-shaped figures littered around it. You see the familiar figure, frenetically writing in the red journal in front of him as the metal door creeks to signal your presence.

“Ford?” You call out, walking towards him, “Are you alright?” You ask, something felt off with the way he was acting as you walked in. Even when he would reach a breakthrough in his research, he would jot notes down with a quick yet methodical manner. Just glancing over his shoulder, the writing looked messy & chaotic compared to his neat cursive.

You placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to halt his actions. His hand reached up, placing it atop yours. 

However, rather than stroking the back of your hand like he normally would, he gripped it tightly, causing you to wince in response.

“Ow, Ford, what the hell?” You mutter, trying to shake your hand loose.

The grip only tightened as Ford’s head turned, bright yellow eyes staring back at you.

“Well, well, well, nice to finally meet you, Y/N.” 

You jolt awake, a thin sheen of cold sweat coating your body. Your heart practically jumps out of your throat as you look around frantically. For what, you’re not sure but your body goes into fight or flight, tossing the blankets off. The air around you feels thick and the room feels like it's closing in on you.

Your feet move automatically, rushing quickly out of the room and ascending up to where the attic floor is. You make your way down the hallway, slipping past Dipper and Mabel’s room to a hatch in the ceiling. You tug on the rope that dangles from the handle, opening it to reveal a set of stairs. You make your way up them before pushing a door that brings you to the rooftop ledge.

A gust of fresh air hits your face and you finally feel like you can breathe as you take a seat on the ledge. Placing a hand over your chest, you attempt to slow down your breath, inhaling through your nostrils and exhaling through your mouth. After finally grounding yourself, you stare up at the night sky, trying to make sense of what you just dreamt.

That was clearly a memory but why was Ford acting that way?

Why did it terrify you to the core, a knot in your stomach as you remember the yellow hue in his eyes?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of car tires running over the lawn. You look down to see your car with its bright headlights illuminating the bottom of the Mystery Shack before shutting off. Stan steps out of the car, wearing all black attire and a set of black gloves, whistling nonchalantly as he makes his way to the trunk to pull out the car battery.

He hasn’t noticed your presence yet so you decide to call out, “Late night, huh?”

“Hot belgian waffles!” Stan semi-curses, almost dropping the car battery on his foot as he whips his head around before staring up to see you sitting on the rooftop in your pajamas. “How the hell did you get up there? Why are you even up there, it’s like 2 AM?”

“Did you really just say hot belgian waffles?” You can’t help but say with a tired grin, Stan’s antics taking your mind off your anxiety attack. “Had a bad dream, needed some fresh air… somehow I remembered how to get up here, my memory’s starting to come back somehow.”

“I try not to swear in front of the kids, come up with whatever euphemism rolls off the tongue.” Stan says with a shrug, “Guess today was a success, mind if I join ya? I can never fall asleep right away, got too much adrenaline in my system.”

“Sounds like you had a wild night, you sure you just got my car battery?” You chuckle before nodding at Stan’s question, “Go ahead, I could use the company.”

Stan makes his way back into the Mystery Shack, putting the battery near his toolbox to work on tomorrow before trekking up the stairs. He winces, his back aching as he makes his way up the stairs, cradling his lower back, “Jeez, I should really install one of those stair lifts at this point.”

“I don’t think you’re quite that old to justify having one of those.” You grin, scooting over for Stan to have a seat next to you, both of your legs dangling off the ledge. “If I did, Mabel would probably just put Waddles on it and have him ride up and down the stairs the whole day.” Stan chuckled.

“So any new embarrassing stories about my brother I should know about?” Stan asked out of curiosity. Despite them spending the whole past year catching up, there were still parts of Ford’s life that were still a mystery to Stan. Almost 40 years of their lives and they had just scratched the surface. 

“Well, I learned he drank about 3 beers on his 21st birthday and was pretty much on the verge of passing out.” You shared, tapping your chin, “He also got into an argument with a professor when they asked him to write his papers in print instead of cursive.” Stan chortles, “Yeah, that sounds like Ford alright. I got to see how much of a lightweight he is this past year. I had to carry him back to the boat after we had a couple of drinks at a bar near the dock.”

You laugh, hearing that time had not changed much in that aspect. “I’m sure there’s more. College is a lot more clearer but everything after that is still a blur.” You trail off, still having mixed emotions about it.

Stan shifts slightly before speaking up, “Hey, uh…I’m guessing you found out that you got your memories erased, right?” You nod, eyebrow raised in confusion at how Stan knows this. 

“Well, from one person who had their memories erased to another, don’t be too hard on yourself when you can’t remember. I swear there’s still stuff that the kids will tell me that takes me a minute to recall. Sometimes I don’t even remember and just try to play it off so they don’t worry.” Stan offers in a sympathetic tone.

“Jeez, Fiddleford used the Memory Gun on you too? How many people has he used it on?” You say in surprise, even more confused than you were earlier about the whole situation.

Stan sees your state of disbelief and chuckles, “I had the same look on my face when my brother roped me into all this. Ford’s actually the one who used it on me… it’s a long story but the point being is that, you’re gonna find out a lot of things that are gonna confuse the hell out of you. You’re also going to remember… a lot of painful memories.” 

“My brother and I seem close now but we weren’t talking for years… and I had to relive and relearn all of that when getting my memories back. It sucked, it felt like I was being punched in the gut every time.” Stan sighs before smiling sadly, “I’m sure you’re gonna feel the same way… I don’t know what exactly happened between you and my brother but I know Ford’s gonna try whatever it takes to make things right by you.”

“Thanks, Stan. I appreciate it, makes me feel less guilty for not remembering everything.” You say with an appreciative smile before shivering slightly at the sudden breeze that picks up. Stan notices this and shrugs off his leather jacket. Shaking your head in protest, you’re quickly silenced as Stan places it on your shoulders.

You bring the material close to your frame, feeling how warm it is from Stan’s body heat. “Thanks again, I’m really looking forward to getting my memories back..." You glance at your car, a reminder of your original plans for the summer. "Well, guess I gotta return all that camping gear I bought.” You chuckle, gesturing towards the camping gear mounted to the top of your car.

Stan looks at the gear and then back at you before offering, “Why not just go camping out here? There’s a campground like half an hour away we could set up at - I’m sure the kids would love to tag along too, they’ve been itching to do stuff while they’re here for the summer.” 

“Like all of us go? You think Ford would be up for that?” You ask, actually liking the idea of camping with the Pines family instead of going solo. 

“If he gets to spend time with you, yeah, he’ll go.” Stan scoffs.

You pause before grinning, “Guess we should start planning.”

[ellecdc]

Come Back, Be Here (part 4)

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7 // p8

Sirius Black x fem!reader - First Wizarding War Order of the Phoenix - 6.2k words

CW: mentions of past abuse/torture, amnesia, hurt/comfort, fluff, banter, Walburga Black, use of Y/N

Synopsis: After sacrificing yourself to save your friend and Order partner James months before, you're found on the brink of death. Now, you're moving in to 12 Grimmauld Place.

The group watched as the row of townhomes groaned and stretched to expose 12 Grimmauld place in all her glory. Sirius was certain he could hear his mother and father rolling in their graves to know that he – their disinherited blood-traitor son – was the last Black and official heir once again to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. He grimaced at the title. 

“Two disgraced Black’s returning to the scene of the crime.” Ted Tonks joked, both Sirius and Andromeda gave him a look. 

“Feels like the beginning of a bad, racist joke.” James mused.

Sirius groaned in response. “What happens when three blood-traitors, three muggle-borns and one half-blood half-breed walk into a bar?” 

“Get drunk, I hope.” Lily muttered miserably. 

“Well, Sirius, welcome home.” Andromeda announced as she made her way up the stairs to the front door. Sirius pushed the door open and stepped inside a house he hadn’t stepped foot into since he was sixteen years old. He had been so sure at that time that he’d never return; he wished he had been right. 

The house was just as dark and gloomy as it had been when he left it, but it was now also covered in a thick layer of dust.

“Okay, please, for the love of all that is holy: Lily, Y/N, Remus, Ted: you are to touch nothing until Andromeda, James or I have checked it first.” Sirius said before pausing, “Scratch that. Touch nothing until Andromeda or I have checked it – okay?”

This earned him an indignant ‘hey!’ from James and a quick agreement from everyone else. 

“YOU DISGRACEFUL, WRETCHED BOY!” Sirius’s face drained of all colour at the all-too-familiar sound of his mother’s screeching.

“That old hag is supposed to be dead!” He shouted as he and Andromeda ran up the stairs following the sound of his foul-mouthed mother.

“HOW DARE YOU STEP FOOT INTO THIS MOST NOBLE AND ANCIENT HOUSE, YOU FLITHY BLOOD TRAITOR!” the screeching continued.

The source of the chaos came from none other than an awful magical portrait of the very late Walburga Black, Sirius’ mother and Andromeda’s aunt.

“Oh, thank Godric, she is dead.” Sirius sighed in relief, though he wasn’t sure what he was going to do about the very unwelcome company haunting this house.

“Maybe we can remove it?” Andromeda mused as she tried to pull the portrait from the wall. 

“GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF OF ME; SULLYING YOURSELF WITH THE LIKES OF MUDBLOODS YOU TRAITOROUS WHORE.”

“Charming as always, Aunt Walburga.” She muttered when her pulling was for naught. 

Sirius attempted a silencio which seemed to work for at least a little as Walburga’s face contorted with rage and she continued spewing what Sirius could only assume was foul hatred for all things not Voldemort related. 

“Okay so that will last like, not long enough at all. Merlin, I wish we could just burn this place down with her in it.” He muttered as they made their way back downstairs. Ted and James were cooing over a crying Harry who must have been upset at the screeching of the house’s previous occupant, while Remus and Lily muttered quietly to each other. You leaned against the wall with your arms crossed, appearing bored for all intents and purposes, but Sirius could tell you were straining your neck to peer into the rooms you could see from your post. 

“Okay, semi-false alarm. Walburga is indeed still dead.” Sirius stated which was met with a cheer from James causing Harry to clap in comradery.  

“However, she has cursed us with a magical portrait of herself stuck on the wall with a permanent sticking charm.” He finished, causing James to groan and Harry to start crying again. 

“Okay, so, ignoring the unpleasant company for now, where do we start?” Lily interrupted. 

“First of all, Red, as I said you will not be starting anywhere.” Sirius rallied. 

“Sirius, this place is huge, and we need to clear a space for six of us to sleep tonight.” She countered, but the argument was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. 

Everyone exchanged nervous glances. “Literally, no one should know we’re here.” James muttered. 

“It could be Moody?” Remus offered nervously. 

“Should Kreacher answer the door, Master.” A crotchety old voice sneered from behind him, causing Sirius to yelp and jump what felt like a foot in the air. 

“Merlin’s tits.” James muttered as Harry started shrieking again. 

“Godric, I’ve never seen you not hanging off my mother’s bosom; I sort of hoped you had died with her.” He muttered, rubbing his chest trying to convince his heart to return to a normal pace.

“Sirius.” You scolded from your place against the wall. 

“Kreacher lives to serve the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, even if it’s occupants are filthy blood-traitors and their mud-bloods.” The ancient house-elf muttered. 

“New management, new rule Kreacher, no more mud-blood talk.” Sirius barked.

“Yes, Master.” The elf sneered before heading toward the door. Sirius quickly pulled you and Lily, who was now holding a sniffling Harry, behind him much to the chagrin of the two women. 

“Master, the wizard tells Kreacher that he’s a curse breaker sent by a Moody.” The elf mumbles over his shoulder. 

Sirius relinquished his hold on the two witches and allowed the man entry. 

Sirius reiterated to the curse breaker that Lily, Remus, you, and Ted were not to touch anything in any room until the curse breaker, Sirius or Andromeda cleared it first. The curse breaker showed James, Andromeda, and Sirius a few detection spells and a few simple reversal charms before they set off to different levels of the house; Sirius and Andromeda decided to focus on the bedrooms and bathrooms whilst the curse break started in the shared living spaces on the first floor, and James went to the kitchen with Kreacher. 

Sirius felt like he was making decent progress. He and Andromeda had cleared out three bedrooms and two bathrooms between the second and third floors, and he had worked up a decent sweat. He had two boxes of dark artifacts to be either destroyed, uncursed or donated. The screeching had started back up in earnest again when the silencio wore off an hour after casting. 

“You miserable hag.” Sirius muttered as he marched over to his mother’s portrait to recast the spell. Once the ringing in his ears stopped, he heard another shriek and a bang.

“Y/N!” Lily could be heard shouting, and Sirius bolted down the stairs. He arrived in the parlour at the same time as Remus and James. 

“What happened?” Remus demanded. 

“She touched a book!” Lily tattled. 

“I’m fine.” You muttered as you sat up and cradled your right wrist. 

Sirius sighed, fear melting into frustration which quickly melted into fondness. “You sneaky little witch.” He muttered as he moved to crouch beside you. “Let me see.”

“No.” You pouted. 

“Y/N.” 

“No. I’m fine.” 

“Let me see your hand.”

“Bugger off.” 

“You minx.” 

Sirius sat there biting his cheek trying to suppress a grin at the sight of you sitting petulantly feeling embarrassed being caught having done something naughty. 

“What did I say?” Sirius scolded.

You muttered something under your breath.

“What was that?” He smirked, leaning his ear closer to you for dramatic effect. 

“Not to touch anything.”

“Uh huh. And what did you do?” 

“I touched something.” 

Sirius was full on beaming at you now. 

“Thought so, let me see.” 

You let out an indignant huff and held your wrist out to Sirius, who despite his crassness, took it so unbelievably gently in his own hands. It appeared that you had touched something that was cursed with a knock-back jinx, which twisted your wrist violently on impact. It could have been worse, small mercies. 

“Dollface, I could have gotten you a book if you were bored.” Sirius commented as he reduced the swelling with a quick flick of his wand and placed a glacius charm to help with any more inflammation. 

“Don’t tease me.” You whispered miserably, and Sirius looked up to see that your eyes were glassy. 

“Are the tears because you’re hurt, because you’re scared, or because you’re embarrassed?” Sirius whispered back. Your eyes met his and a single tear fell. He lifted his hand which was met with a mild flinch before he gently wiped it away with his thumb. 

“I’m not teasing, love. And you don’t have to be embarrassed; if it hadn’t been you, it would have been Moony.” Which was met with an indignant ‘Oi!’ from the werewolf who had moved down the hall in an attempt to give them privacy. “You also don’t have to be scared. Alright?”

You held his gaze before nodding with a sniff. He massaged your wrist and hand gently, recasting a glacius over the injury. 

“Did I teach you this?” You asked quietly, causing Sirius’ head to shoot up from its lowered position.

“Do you remember?” He asked unbelievingly. 

You moved your head back-and-forth as if to say so-so. “I remember...uhm-”

He waited with bated breath watching your face as you organized your thoughts.

“Bludgers. The smell of cigarettes and broom wax. And a broken wrist.” 

Sirius was sure he heard angels singing. Her first memory is resurfacing. And it’s when I broke my wrist playing quidditch at Potter manor.

“It was you, wasn’t it? Who broke their wrist?” You clarified. 

Sirius nodded dumbly. “Yes.” He croaked. 

“I think you got hurt often.”

Sirius chuckled, “Yes, I certainly did.” 

“That must have been exciting.” You mused. 

“I’m sure I was exhausting.” He countered as he continued massaging your arm. He could probably stop now, but he really didn’t want to. 

“Please; you got hurt because you were playing quidditch, I got hurt because I touched a book after I was specifically told not to touch anything.” 

Sirius barked a laugh. “Oh, come now. It’s my fault really; I should have known better than to try to tell you what to do.” 

You both sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments; Sirius continuing to work out tension in your arm. 

“Which book was it?” He asked you finally. He seemed to catch you off guard, as you looked at him inquisitively. “Which book were you trying to read?”

You blushed but stood up and pointed to the offending book. Secrets of the Darkest Art. 

“All this fuss over a book, babe?” he smirked at you as your blush intensified. He cast a quick counter curse over it like the curse breaker taught him and handed you the book. 

“Now please, for the love of Merlin, don’t touch anything else?” He asked with a smile which was met with a shy smile of your own.

“Thanks, Siri.” You mumbled. His heart soared at your use of his old nickname, and before he even realized what he was doing, he bent down and placed a kiss on your forehead. 

“Read up, my little swot. I think I heard Kreacher muttering about making dinner. Hopefully it’s not poisoned.” He said as he exited the room. 

Turns out, dinner was not poisoned, and it was actually quite good. They all thanked Kreacher even though the elf acted as if the simple act of feeding them would be the thing to damn him straight to hell. The Tonks’ were quite eager to leave after the fourth rousing of Walburga and left before the dinner was served. Andromeda and Sirius had managed to de-dark-art-ify all the bedrooms on the second and third floor plus the bathrooms. They opted to leave his parents room, and his and Regulus’ rooms untouched. As much as they teased poor James, he accomplished quite a lot in the kitchen and main living room, while the curse breaker focused on the hallways and various parlour rooms on the main floor. Lily mentioned that she wouldn’t mind brightening the place up if Sirius was open to some redecorating – to which he responded with a quick “If it were up to me, Red, this place would be in flames by now”, so she advised she’d make some plans tomorrow. You and Remus fussed over Harry to save Kreacher from anymore toddler ear yanks, but if the house-elf was grateful for the interference, he didn’t show it. A message arrived stating that the cottage in Godric’s Hollow appeared to be secure; Lily looked like she wanted to cry at the prospect of being reunited with her things. 

Remus said goodbye to everyone after dinner, stating he couldn’t leave the flat unattended since Sirius appears to be willing to neglect it for the next foreseeable future, which was met with a two-finger salute from Sirius and boos from James which were then chorused by Harry. 

“It’s meant to be a slumber party, Moony. Just like the old days.” James whined, which sucked the air out of the room; it suddenly became very obvious to Sirius, James, Lily, and Remus that they had been betrayed by their closest friend, who was possibly responsible for the death of some of their other friends. 

“Pads, we can’t keep paying for a flat that no one is using.” Remus argued.

“Uhm, I can, and I will, thank you very much. What’s the point of inheriting all of my family’s dirty money if I can’t waste it on whatever I want?” 

Remus sighed, “Fine. I’m going home tonight, though. I can’t leave the cat and the plants.”

“You’re such a good daddy.” Lily smirked from the end of the table. 

“Shush, you.” Remus said as he ruffled her hair before smoothing it out and kissing the top of her head. He moved to Harry and placed a kiss there too, before James stuck his head up as if he, too, was waiting for a kiss. Remus rolled his eyes before pecking both James and Sirius on the head and pausing at you. 

“What? No kiss for me, Moony?” You smirked and teasingly batted your eyelashes at him. Remus laughed and placed a kiss on your head before waving and promising everyone he’d be back tomorrow, cat and plants in tow. 

Much to Kreacher’s chagrin, Sirius and James insisted on cleaning up the kitchen themselves which got a “filthy blood-traitor’s” being cursed at them. He then announced he’d be going to the house in Godric’s Hollow to retrieve their belongings – surprising James and Sirius into silence. 

Lily and James took the farthest room on the second floor, it was the largest which left plenty of room for a crib for Harry, and it had their own washroom. Sirius held the bags containing your things and watched as you inspected the other rooms, allowing you to choose next.

“Which room do you suppose Remus would like?” You asked him.

“Vix, it doesn’t matter. You choose.”

“If he has plants, maybe this room? It would get nice light in the evenings; I don’t think he’d appreciate the morning light.” You mused as if he hadn’t said anything at all. 

Sirius couldn’t even celebrate the fact that you seemed to correctly remember something about Remus before he nagged you. “Y/N, for the love of Merlin, pick a room.” 

“Well, which room are you taking?”

Sirius paused. “What?”

“Which room will you take?” 

Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. “I have my old room upstairs. I was just going to stay there.” 

You paused. “You aren’t going to stay down here? With us?” The ‘with me?’ was unspoken but Sirius heard it anyway. 

“Oh, right. No, of course. Erm.” He looked at the three rooms. It appeared you had already decided the middle room was Remus’ – what with the sunlight for the cat or the plants or the sleeping or what-not. There were two other rooms kiddie-corner to each other. The one at the end of the hall was the largest of the two, and had windows on two walls, versus just the one wall containing windows in the other room. 

“I think I’ll take this one.” He said, motioning to the smaller room. It was directly across the hall from the washroom, which was beside the last room – your room – which meant he would be close by. 

“Okay.” You nodded, looking into the room you essentially forced Sirius into picking for you. “I’ll take this one then.” You smiled at him as if you chose it for yourself.

“Good choice, gorgeous.” He said as he placed your bags on the four-poster bed in the middle of the room. “Can’t wait to see what Lil’s comes up with for this place – all the Slytherin green needs to go.” 

You hummed and looked around the dark room. “I don’t know, the snakes and skulls are really warm and inviting, Sirius. Don’t fix what ain’t broken.” You finished the sentence in a poorly done southern American accent.

The two of you quipped back and forth about the décor in various accents as you unpacked your bags. Sirius found the scene to unbelievably domestic and lovely, basking in the effervescent glow that was your company until you both retired for bed.

Sirius pushed the door open as quietly as he could and stole a glance at you; your breathing was even as you slept curled up in the fetal position on the bed where he’d left you several hours ago. 

With a sigh, Sirius made his way down the stairs to the large parlour room – not coincidentally the one he knew had his late father’s liquor stored in an antique bar cart. He knew he shouldn’t – James and Lily fussed over him for months after you went missing, watching him spiral into himself as he tried to drink away his issues. He had to work hard not to end up completely dependent on alcohol – and it still wasn’t enough for him to stay in his supervisor’s good graces. 

“You’re a good Auror, Sirius, and a mighty strong wizard – but this is getting out of control, and I cannot allow you to continue putting the rest of my staff at risk.” Moody had told him, and he was placed on a medical leave until James could confirm to Moody that he had gone a full four weeks without a drink. 

Sirius sat with a crystal glass of fire whiskey and cast a quick incendio to light the fireplace. I feel like the ghost of my father he thought darkly. The Black’s were all basically carbon copies of each other – the only difference between the two Black sons and Walburga was that they had their father’s silver eyes. If Kreacher walked in now, he’d probably think he was looking at a down-and-out younger Orion Black, if Orion Black ever wore checkered pyjama pants and a band tee. 

The fire whiskey was leaving a comfortable warmth in his stomach and esophagus as he leaned his head back against the chair. He felt so incredibly guilty. 

Guilty for trusting Peter. Guilty for ever thinking the spy could be anyone but him. Guilty for believing you to be dead all of this time – when he could have been looking for you, should have been looking for you. Guilty to shouting your business in front of your friends. Guilty for ever introducing Peter to you. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

His musings were interrupted by a gentle knock on the parlour room doorframe. His eyes shot open, and he pointed his wand toward the disturbance, only to find the silhouette of you donned in pyjama shorts and a pullover jumper. He sighed in relief and unceremoniously tossed his wand back onto the side table. 

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” You offered quietly. 

“No worries, love. I think everyone’s a touch jumpy these days.” He muttered, taking another sip from his glass. 

You surveyed him from the door for a few moments before moving to sit in the matching wingback chair beside him, separated by only a small table. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” You asked.

Sirius hummed, “Not well. Not for the last five months. Maybe longer.”

You nodded in agreement as you watched the flames dance in the fireplace. You hadn’t seen Sirius like this – not since you’ve been back, at least – but something about this mood of his felt familiar to you.

“Are you alright?” 

Sirius laughed humourlessly. “The captive of an evil terrorist organization is asking me if I am okay because I happened to have my feelings hurt?” 

He looked over at you, expecting to find signs of frustration or annoyance at his flippancy and obvious deflection. But - like he should have expected - all he saw was patience and understanding, and it broke him. 

He hiccupped loudly and put his elbows on his knees, holding his face in his hands. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered miserably. 

“What is it you’re apologizing for?” You asked quietly. 

“For losing you. For allowing it to happen. For introducing you to Pete. For trusting him with any of you. For believing you were dead. For feeling at all sorry for myself because I simply missed you whilst you were out there fighting for your fucking life. For telling you any of this.” He moaned.

You chuckled softly. “You do realize you’re apologizing on behalf of a lot of other people right now, right?” 

Sirius raised his head to look at you.

“Don’t let them off the hook that easily.” You added seriously.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re apologizing for the way Peter treated me as if it was your fault – by doing so, you’re relieving him of an awful lot of responsibility.” You stated simply. Sirius watched the flames dance in your eyes as you watched the fire. 

“You believed me to be dead, and you mourned me – that’s not a punishable offence, Sirius. In fact, I think I’d likely be miffed if you hadn’t seemed affected at all.”

Sirius smirked at that.

“And finally, you don’t need to apologize for telling me things when I was the one who asked you to.” 

Sirius shook his head. “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.” He muttered. 

“You can do that tomorrow.” You stated plainly with a shrug. 

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” 

You sat in companionable silence as you both watched the fire. It wasn’t often Sirius found himself to be comfortable with silence and empty moments. Silence growing up always meant room for scrutiny – or it was due to his parents ignoring him to teach him a lesson. But it had always been so, incredibly refreshing with you. He always felt safe with you when neither of you felt the need to say anything at all, and just exist together in silence. 

“At the meeting, you asked me if we were just friends before.” Sirius asked quietly. He continued when you hummed in acknowledgement. “Is that because you remembered?”

You considered his question for a moment. “Perhaps a bit. I don’t necessarily remember the moments or conversations, but I think a part of me remembers the feelings.” 

Sirius hummed. “And the other bit?” He prodded as he turned to look at you. You smirked in response.

“Well, you’re not exactly subtle, love.” You winked at him. 

Sirius barked a laugh. “No, I don’t think subtlety is a trait I possess.” He agreed. 

“Lucky me.” 

He stared at you for a long while.

“I don’t know how good at it I was.” He admitted. 

“At what?”

“At loving you.”

You both let that hang in the air as you held each other’s gaze. 

“But it was the best thing about me – getting to love you; being loved by you.” He added. 

“That’s what woke me up.” 

Sirius furrowed his brows. “Hm?” 

You turned your gaze back to the fire. 

“In my dream – or I suppose it was a memory. You and I were fighting; I accused you of only loving yourself. You laughed before you said ‘Actually, Princess, I hate myself. The only person worth love here is you.’”. 

Sirius remembered that fight. It was after you had finally started talking to him again after the Worst Day of His Life™. You both decided to hash out exactly what happened that night with the stupid eyelash batting Hufflepuff that ended with you sleeping in Lily and Remus’ embrace after they had to clean up his mess. 

(The boys dormitory, Hogwarts)

“It doesn’t matter, Sirius. What happened, happened, and it’s in the past.”

“It does matter though, because it hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, it doesn’t matter; I’m over it and it clearly meant nothing to you.” 

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Decide what means something to me.” 

“I didn’t, Sirius. You did. That night – you decided what I meant to you, which apparently wasn't much. It’s fine, you’re allowed to sleep with whoever you want. The relationship clearly meant more to me than it did to you – that was my mistake.” 

“You weren’t mistaken!” 

“Then why wasn’t it me!?” You finally shouted at him, tears begging to fall from your lower lash line. 

Sirius didn’t have an answer for that. You scoffed at his lack of response and wiped angrily at your face. 

“I don’t know why we’re even doing this.” 

“Because it’s important.”

“It’s not important. It’s history. I’m over it.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say you’re over it.” The ‘over me’ in Sirius’ plea was left unsaid.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you, Sirius.”

“I just want things to go back to the way they were before. What can I do to fix this?” 

“There’s nothing to fix, Sirius.”

“Bullshit.” 

You stayed quiet.

“So, what? Am I not worth it then? Am I not worth fighting for?” He accused. Your eyes narrowed at him.

“Sirius, that’s not fair.”

“You’re not giving me anything else to go off here!” 

“What about me!?” You shouted. “I need to look after myself for a change, Sirius. Because what all of this has taught me is that the only person you’re truly able to love is yourself.”

Sirius couldn’t help himself. He began to laugh; a real, loud belly laugh that began to hurt his sides. 

“What the fuck is so funny?” 

“You’re so far from the mark you can’t even see it anymore.” He laughed as he collected himself. “You couldn’t be more wrong. In fact, Princess, I hate myself. The only person worth love here is you.”

(present)

Sirius sighed. “Why couldn’t your first memory of me be me doing something awesome; like the time I caught you when you fell off your broom or something.” 

You laughed. “I had bruises from your death grip after that fall for weeks. And you were so annoying – you would hardly let me walk down the hallway without your constant supervision.” 

You both seemed startled at your recounting the memory, but neither commented on it.

“Well excuse me, love. What makes you think I should trust you on the moving staircases with your nose shoved into a book if you couldn’t even handle a simple flight session on a school broom a mere twenty feet off the ground, 

“Oh please, I didn’t have my nose shoved into a book.”

“You did too.” 

“And I was definitely at least fifty feet off the ground – probably more.”

“Nope, wrong again.”

“Stop gaslighting me.”

“Must be exhausting being wrong all the time.” 

“You son of a bitch.” 

The two of you laughed; the familiarity of the banter and joking felt like a warm hug for you both. You fell into a companionable silence until the crackling of the fire was interrupted by a yawn you tried unsuccessfully to suppress. 

“Come on, love. Let’s get you back to bed.” Sirius said as he stood, standing in front of you and offering you his hand. 

You jokingly whined but allowed yourself to be pulled up by the black-haired man. 

“You look like a hockey player” You blurted as you walked hand-in-hand up the stairs. 

“Pardon me?” Sirius asked incredulously. 

You ran your fingers through his hair, and he relished in the feeling. “The hair cut – it’s like a hockey player’s; they call it a ‘flow’.” 

“A flow?” He smirked. 

“Mhm.” 

“Do you like it?” He asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Love it.” You offered immediately as if it was the most obvious answer. 

You paused at your respective bedroom doors, neither seemingly wanting to part ways. Well, Sirius knew he didn’t, and he assumed the tightening of your hold on his hand meant that you felt the same. 

He wanted to hold you. He wanted to wrap you up in bed and stay there with you until the world ended. He wanted your hands to be fused together so that he’d never have to be without you by his side ever again. But he also didn’t want to push you; this was your call – he would let you choose; always. 

“I don’t want to be alone.” You admitted quietly, almost as if you were embarrassed by the admission. 

Sirius gave your hand three quick squeezes – a code the two of you had made when you realized that Sirius sometimes struggled to express his feelings verbally. 

“Three taps or squeezes means ‘I love you.’” You had said to him simply.

“Babe, every breath I take means ‘I love you.’” He countered before placing a searing kiss to your lips. 

“Funny, that. Neither do I.” He replied.

“Stay with me?” You asked him, eyes shyly meeting his.

“I’d love nothing more.” He said, as he placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “Come on, love. Let’s try to get some sleep.” 

James had tossed and turned all night, waking up in cold sweats. He had been eager each time to change Harry’s diaper or do a feeding, bouncing him a little longer than strictly necessary just to avoid having to be alone with his own thoughts again. But by the third time he woke Lily up in a panic, she’d kicked him out of the room.

“Potter, I love you, but if you don’t fuck off right now, I’m going to live the rest of my life as a widow.” And with that, he was banished from their bedroom. 

He padded his way down the hallway, poking his head into the other doors. The room in the middle of the hallways was vacant; probably Moony’s he mused. The next room was also empty, but the sheets were disturbed as if someone had been sleeping in here, but also couldn’t sleep. 

He poked his head into the last room and spotted two figures curled up in the bed, holding onto each other as if one of them could float away at any moment. 

There was a voice in James’ head that told him he should leave them; they were likely having just as hard a time sleeping as he was. Also, it’d be weird to join them. However, there was a louder voice in James’ head that was screaming to climb into bed with them; so that’s the one he listened to. James had never been very good with boundaries. 

He crawled onto the other side of Sirius and slid under the covers. 

“Are you serious right now?” He heard his mate mutter groggily. 

James smirked as he curled up behind him. “No, you’re Sirius.” 

Sirius groaned. “Five points from Gryffindor for the terrible joke that only I’m allowed to make, and another five points for touching me with your cold ass feet.” But he didn’t tell James to leave, so he took that as a win.

“How’s she?” He asked quietly. 

“So good, considering.” Sirius answered.

“I can’t believe him...” James started quietly, but he needn’t finish; they both knew who he was talking about.

Sirius took a deep breath. “I feel, guilty. Bad. Y/N says I shouldn’t.”

“Of course she would, she’s perfect.” James offered easily. 

Sirius smiled into the top of your sleeping head. “She is.” He agreed.

“I can’t believe she survived, all that time.”

The two men sat, marvelling at your perseverance. “I’m dying to know who her allies were.”

Sirius hummed. “Me too. I don’t know how to feel about them yet.”

James nodded. “That’s okay, I don’t much know how to feel about a lot of things.”

Sirius snorted and then tensed, worried about waking you, but your breath remained even. 

“Do you blame me?”

Sirius eyes flew open at that.

“Pardon?”

James sighed before repeating himself. “Do you blame me, for Pete?”

“What about him.”

“Well, I’ve been wondering, would you and Remus ever had made friends with him had I not dragged him along with us?”

Sirius laughed. “Okay, if it were left up to Remus, no one would have ever talked to him ever and he would’ve made exactly zero friends, so I don’t think you’re asking the right questions.”

“Pads...”

“No. Of course not.” Sirius stated. James remained quiet and tense behind him. 

“I think Peter made a choice. He made a lot of choices, but he made a choice.” He said as he thought of your earlier words. Don’t let him off the hook that easily. “He has a lot to atone for.”

He could feel James nod and they sat in silence for some time, watching the lights move from the street below them.

Sirius was pretty well asleep when James spoke up again. 

“So, are you guys like, back together?”

Sirius scrunched his face. “What in the hells are you talking about?”

“You and Vix? Does this mean mom and dad are back together again?” 

“James, she doesn’t remember me.”

“Well that just can’t be true.” James argued.

“Why’s that?”

“No one who doesn’t know you would let you sleep in their bed, Pads. You look like a bad idea.”

Sirius groaned. “She remembers some things.”

“Nice! Anything about me?” James asked excitedly. 

“Yes.” You muttered sleepily. “I remember that you’re unbearably annoying.” 

Sirius beamed and pressed a kiss to your hair. 

Lily began to redecorate, though she muttered unhappily the entire time about not being able to run to the shops. Every wall was painted white, causing each space to look far brighter and bigger than it had before. James took down every framed piece of art and gave it to Harry and Sirius to paint over – what were once paintings full of dark objects and pureblood legacy were now Gryffindor logos, the Hogwarts castle, a golden snitch, owls, self-portraits, or, in Harry’s case, a big truck. (If you close your eyes, you can absolutely see it). 

Sirius insisted the house was still chock full of “bad vibes”, but everyone else already felt less suppressed. 

Your memories were slowly returning to you, and much to everyone’s chagrin and to his absolute delight, Remus seemed to be the first of your friends you completely unravelled. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” James cried.

“I’ve never been so offended in my life.” Sirius muttered.

Lily refused to speak on the matter...but she also (playfully) refused to speak a word to you at all.

“I mean, really, what’s Moons got that I don’t?” Sirius whined as he watched the golden coloured orb on your scan get accessed by the travelling lights without incident. 

“Class, obviously.” Remus claimed haughtily.

“Oh, I’ll show you class.” Sirius barked before launching himself at Remus who was sitting in an armchair with a book in his hand. 

The two boys men struggled with each other, Remus never leaving the armchair nor dropping his book, before Sirius began whining.

“Say it.” Remus said with a smirk.

“Moony!”

“Say it.”

“Uncle! Uncle!” Sirius cried and Remus released his hold on his arm. 

“Real classy boys.” Lily said with a roll of her eyes. 

It had been about a week since Vix had been home and it was about a week until the next full, so Remus could not figure out why he felt so itchy. 

“Maybe you’ve got fleas.” James offered as he shoved roast potatoes in his mouth.

“I don’t have fleas, you sod.” Remus muttered.

“No, that’s usually a Padfoot problem.” Lily chortled

Sirius elicited a dramatic gasp and held his hand to his chest.

“I have never once in my life had flea’s you hag.”

“Don’t call my wife a hag!”

“Then tell her not to act like one!”

“Can we not do this at the dinner table?” You moaned with a roll of your eyes. Both men stopped the antics and looked down at their plates, shame faced. 

“Sorry mum.” They chorused. 

You smirked and looked over to Remus, who still looked unsettled. “It’s not usual for you to get like this, this far from the moon.” You commented.

“No.” Remus muttered miserably. “I don’t know, something just feels off.” 

“Our world has been flipped upside down multiple times this week. I think it will take some time for us to get our bearings again.” Lily admitted.

The adults nodded in agreement; Harry shook his head violently. 

“No? You don’t think so Haz?” James asked his son.

“No!” Harry squealed happily, lifting a handful of crushed roast potatoes in his hand.

“Don’t mind him. That’s his favourite word right now.” Lily explained. 

“Is miss finished?” Kreacher’s voice appeared beside you, causing you to jump in your seat.

“Oh!” You breathed, holding a hand to your chest. “Uhm, yes. Kreacher, thank you.”

The house-elf grunted and took your plate to the sink, before returning and pulling your chair out for you. James and Sirius shared a look at the odd behaviour.

“What are you doing, Kreacher?” Sirius asked.

You looked just as confused as Kreacher helped you stand.

“Kreacher has been asked to retrieve the mudblood.” He said plainly, and with a snap of his fingers, the two of you were gone. 

Continue to part five here.

[cameronspecial]

Saw your post asking for Zach Maclaren request so here I am!

What about reader getting run over by the car instead of Zach and she looses her memory kinda like the movie but reversed? She thinks Zach is her bf cause she has a bf named Zach but he’s an asshole.

The Other Zach

Pairing: Zach MacLaren x Reader

Warnings: Swearing and Getting Hit By A Car

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3.2K

Masterlist

Yet another argument with her boyfriend. Yet another time she is walking home upset. Even worse, it’s three in the afternoon so everyone on the street can watch her sad walk home. She feels like everyone around her is staring, judging her for staying with such a dick. As she walks across the parking lot with her head in the clouds, a soccer ball comes rolling toward her. Y/N’s eyes dart up to see Zach MacLaren walking over to her with a big smile, pointing down at the ball to ask her to send it over. She bends down to pick it up, but as she starts to straighten out, a sudden force from behind her sends her head smashing to the pavement. 

Zach watches the whole thing happen before his very eyes. He screams at his sister’s soccer team to stay there and runs to make sure the driver doesn’t try to keep reversing over Y/N. Everyone knew her. She works at the cafe on campus and is known to brighten everyone’s day. Once the driver knows he hit someone and is on the phone with the dispatcher, Zach goes to check on Y/N. She is out cold and this causes him to panic. He checks for a pulse. Relief floods him when he finds one and it is only a matter of her waking up. Her eyes flutter open and her vision is blurry. There is a face over her that she can’t make out. “My name is Zach,” she overhears the unidentifiable face. Her boyfriend. He must have gone after her to apologize. She starts to see more clearly and she wraps her arms around his neck. Her lips try to find him, but he pulls away. “Hey, take it easy. You got hit pretty hard in the noggin,” he advises, looking up at the sound of the ambulance.

——

The paramedics are about to take Y/N away, but she stops them from taking her. She looks at Zack, “Aren’t you going to come with me?.” He looks at her and his heart is pulling him to enter the vehicle, but he doesn’t feel it is right. He has no relation to her in any way. The paramedic counsels it might be better if he comes to help keep her calm and now, he feels he has no choice. “Of course, I just need to make sure an adult can stay with my soccer team. I’ll be right back,” he informs. He heads over to the field’s sidelines, talking to one of the waiting moms about what happened. He is reassured that she will make sure all the kids get home safely, so he heads back to the ambulance. 

After the doctor does his assessment, Zach and Y/N learn she has a concussion and probably amnesia. Zach could definitely a test to the last part since she seems to think he is her boyfriend. “Sweetie, what happened are you okay?” an older woman, who looks like Y/N, frets, rushing to her. Zach assumes this is Y/N’s mom and goes in to reassure her, “She has a mild concussion and amnesia.” The man with the mother raises his eyebrow. “And are you her doctor?” he questions. Zach shakes his head, “No, I’m Zach. I was with her when she got hit by the car.” The man nods and her mother’s eyes light up. “So you’re the boyfriend. It is so nice to meet you, I’m Kim and this is Gary. We are Y/N’s parents. She’s told us so much about you,” Kim introduces. Y/N goes on to complain, “Way to keep it cool, Mom.” “I’m sorry, Sweetie. But he is so cute and seems nice,” Kim apologizes. Zach feels strange about just letting the family believe he is actually Y/N’s boyfriend, but there isn’t exactly a good time to say that while in the hospital. The doctor returns to speak with her parent, so Zach excuses himself to call someone for advice. 

“Guess where I am,” he whispers into the phone. Zoey checks the time, “Coaching your sister’s soccer practice?” “No. I’m at the hospital,” he replies. She sits up from her lying position on the couch, “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine. It’s just that Y/N Y/L/N got hit by a car. Now, she and her whole family think I am her boyfriend.”

“Elle says she is dating a Zach. Zach Davis. He’s the captain of the hockey team. She just sent you his Insta.” 

While Zach scrolls through the other Zach’s profile, the doctor catches his attention. “Oh, and Mr. Boyfriend. Make sure she stays calm. We wouldn’t want anything stressing her out and making her conduction worse,” she instructs before walking off. Zach groans into the phone, “What am I supposed to do if I can’t stress her out?” “Okay, calm down. Just take her parents aside and let them break the news to her,” Zoey explains. Calm washes over his face, “Yes, that’s a great idea. You are one smart cookie, Zoey Miller.” They bid their goodbyes and he heads back to the Y/L/Ns. 

“Zach, you’re back. We were just talking about you. How would you like to come over for dinner tonight?” Kim asks, helping Y/N sit up so she can get ready to be discharged. It’s like the perfect opportunity falls into his lap.

——

He walks into the Y/L/N’s residence, helping Y/N onto the couch. “Your parents have a nice house,” he looks around the room. As soon as they are settled on the couch, a little boy pops up from behind the couch with a scream. A man a little bit older than Zach sets himself on the chair beside the couch. “Connor, don’t scare her. She has a concussion,” he chides the younger boy. Y/N sighs, “Zach, this is my little brother, Connor. And my older brother, uhh…” “Jared. His name is Jared,” Connor offers with a devious smile. Y/N nods, “Right, Jared. This is my older brother, Jared.” Zach sees Connor’s giggles and leans towards her, “I think he is messing with you, Baby.” “Oh. I think you are right,” she rubs her forehead, trying to remember her brother’s name. “Jack. His name is Jack.” Jack lets out a cheer and holds out his hand for Zach to take. 

Soon, dinner is served and Zach sits beside Y/N. As Connor is recounting his day, Y/N goes to whisper in his ear, “Thank you for keeping up with my strange family. I know you didn’t want to meet them, but it means a lot that you are here.” Zach feels bad at the words she says. Why wouldn’t her real boyfriend want to meet her family? They are so kind and funny. And Y/N is amazing. Even with a concussion, she is so bright and genuine. He has always had a little bit of a crush on her, ever since she gave him a coffee on the house when she saw he was having a hard day. She wrote his name with a happy face and little hearts, which made his day. Sometimes he finds himself going where she works just to see her smile. 

“No problem. I think your family is great,” he says, looking at her with a smile. She grins back at him and slides her fingers through his hand on his lap. “Well, if you think we are so great, why don’t you come skiing with us this weekend?” Gary suggests, overhearing the whispers between his daughter and her (not) boyfriend. Zach knows the words about to come out of his mouth shouldn’t be the ones that follow, but he really does like her family and he wants to get the opportunity to get to know her better. He knows it is wrong to take Y/N’s moment of confusion and to take it as a chance to fill his delusion. However, he really doesn’t see any harm in pretending for the weekend. 

——

“Are you sure you don’t want to hit the slopes? You don’t have to stay behind just for me,” Y/N double-checks, looking at him behind the couch. He sits on the back of the couch and lets himself flop back on the seat cushion. He nods, “Yep. I think it would be nice to hang out with you.” “Really? Well, I’m a very busy gal, I have to check my schedule,” she teases, taking out her phone to look at her calendar. “Oh, look at that the only thing I have planned is to have a concussion. I guess we can hang out.” He grins at her and sits up, scooting closer to her. She scoots over to sit beside him, putting herself under his arms, which makes him happy. “What should we do?” he inquires, looking down at her with a smile. She plays at putting thought into it and drags him to the game room. 

They head over to the air hockey table, but she notices Zach’s gaze toward the foosball table. “We can play foosball if you’d like. I just thought you would like air hockey more since you are on the team,” she explains, changing way toward the other table. Zach has to quickly cover his tracks, “Uh, yeah. I do like hockey, but I’m better at foosball than air hockey.” 

The game they play fills the room with laughter. Zach would yell at her for cheating by spinning her knob, while she would argue she is just using her tools to her advantage. After her last spin causes the tiny ball to sail through the hole for the goal, Zach runs around to her side and picks her up by the waist. “That is the last time you cheat!” he playfully reprimands. Her laughter stops and her hand flies to her head. She starts to move in a dizzy-like motion with her hand still stuck to her head. “Are you okay? Did I grab you too hard? What can I do?” he worries, removing his hands from her to look into her eyes. The tiny giggles she lets out make him feel like she is evil, “I’m just playing with you. I’m sorry. But you can make us something to eat. I can’t use any screens and I have absolutely no recipes memorized.” 

—— 

She watched him in amazement as he made the pizza. She found it incredibly hot to watch him toss the pizza dough in the air. He flicked a little flour at her and she ran away with a shriek. After getting the pizza out of the oven, he helps her up onto the counter and cuts the food. She takes the first bite and the moan she lets out absolutely kills Zach. He finds the pizza held out in front of his mouth, taking a bite at her encouragement. He really hopes the food hides his blush. “This tastes great! Where did you learn how to cook?” she praises, going in for another bite. His blush deepens, “I took lessons as a kid. It was really fun.” Her eyebrows raised. “Really? I always saw you as a more, I will only do hockey because hockey is my life kind of guy.” 

“Right, hockey. I love socc- I love so much hockey, but I don’t think hockey is what I’m going to do after graduation.” 

“Why not? If you like it so much, why don’t you go pro?”

“I do like it, but let’s be honest, I’m not good enough to get drafted. Truth is I don’t know what I’m going to do after graduation.”

“I haven’t seen you play hockey much or really understand how it is played, but I’m sure that isn’t true. But anyway, if you don’t think hockey is your thing, I think opening a pizza place is your path. This is great.”

Although she doesn’t know he is talking about soccer, he loves that she can see him passed the athlete and see a different part of him. Most people he knows are just interested in him because of his sport. “So what do you want to do after graduation?” he questions, picking up another slice for himself. Her eyes light up, “I’m not too sure yet. I know I’m a computer science major, but I really just chose it because it can be a useful fallback. I think maybe I want to travel around the world and take pictures.” He is touched that she is so open and honest with her answer. He likes that even though her future seems uncertain, she is still hopeful about it. “That sounds amazing. If you need a travelling partner, then I would gladly go with you. I’m sure you are an amazing photographer,” he encourages. Again, a confused look crosses her face, “I thought you hated going outside of the US. You said that nothing good happens outside of America.” Zach fears that his lies are going to start to unravel. The universe seems to come in for the assist because her family comes back at that moment. 

“Hey, you two. What did you do today?” Kim ponders, giving Y/N a kiss on her cheek. She smiles at her mom, “What didn’t we do?” Everyone over the age of eighteen widens their eyes and Zach helps clear things up. “All PG.” Completely missing the moment Connor pats his pockets. “I left my gloves at the lodge. We have to go back,” he panics. Zach jumps off the counter and pats his back, “Don’t worry, Con. Y/N and I can go with you to get it.” 

They get to the lodge and Connor runs inside to get his gloves. Zach turns to Y/N to find her making a snowman. “Need some help?” he proposes, walking over to her. She nods with a smile and they get to work on the snowman. She makes the middle part while he forms the bottom and once she is done, she picks it up to bring it to him. She trips over her feet and goes flying toward him. He catches her as he falls back. The snow from her ball smushes between them. They both sit up while laughing. Her hair falls over her face and he brushes it out of the way, leaving his warm hand on her cheek. The sun lightens her hair and this moment feels perfect. He has been avoiding kissing her to not take advantage of her, but it felt right in the moment. His lips find hers and fireworks spark between them. He scoots forward to deepen the kiss, bringing his other hand up to her cheek until Connor comes out and ruins the kiss. 

——

The weekend comes to an end too fast for Zach. The group recounts their highlights of the mini-vacation, laughing that Connor’s favourite part was playing Battletoads with Zach. Zach is helping Y/N with her bags when the engine of a car catches their attention. “Y/N Y/L/N, you haven’t been answering my texts,” a low voice growls. Y/N freezes at the voice and turns toward the man. Distress washes over her, “Who are you?” She takes a step closer to Zach and he wants to curl his arms around her to make her feel protected. “Who am I? I’m Zach Davis, your boyfriend,” he shouts with his eyebrow knitted. Now, her family looks confused. “You can’t be her boyfriend because he is her boyfriend,” Gary points out, looking toward Zach. Her real boyfriend lets out a low laugh, “Of course, that bitch is cheating on me. Why am I not surprised?” Anger flushes through Zach. 

“Hey! Don’t talk about her like that. She isn’t cheating on you. It’s my fault she isn’t answering your texts; I lied to her. She got hit by a car and lost her memory. My name is also Zach and she thought I was her boyfriend. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth,” Zach clarifies. “I’m sorry for lying, Y/N. I just wanted to get to know you and I’m glad I got to because you really are the most amazing person I have ever met. I’m going to go now before I make this more awkward.” Before Zach is out of hearing distance, he can hear Connor complaining that he is better than Y/N’s actual boyfriend. This causes a sad smile to form on Zach’s face.

——

It has been weeks since he last saw Y/N. He has been too embarrassed to go back to her parents’ house and only goes to class then back home. Zach is used to being the gossip of the campus because he is on the soccer team, but it feels a little different when people are talking about his deception. Zoey enters his dorm to find Zach watching a cooking show while eating ice cream. “You can’t just stay up here for the rest of your life,” she critiques, opening his curtains. He ignores her gaze, “Yes, I can. She said that I could open a pizza store.” His mind is blank except for thoughts of her. “I know she did. You’ve told me that a hundred times already,” Zoey gives him a tight-lipped smile.

“Why did I have to mess up so badly?”

“Because you were blinded by love. I can’t believe I just said that. But you like her. That’s why.”

“Right, and I had to lie to her, which broke her trust. Now, she is happily off with Zach Davis.” 

“You know they broke up, right? Like literally right after the ski trip.” 

“Really? Why?”

“That’s only a question that she can answer.”

——

Zach has been thinking about it all day and has decided to go see Y/N. Her bright smile is the first thing he sees when he enters the coffee shop. It makes his heart leap when it doesn’t drop at the sight of him. Instead, it softens, somehow getting warmer. “Hi,” he awkwardly greets, hand shooting up to the back of his neck. She breaths out, “Hey, I’ve been looking for you.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, really. You disappeared on me the other day.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t think you would want to see me after you found out the truth.”

She whispers something to her co-worker and rounds the counter, taking off her apron on the way. She stands in front of him and takes his hand in hers. “I was a little upset at first, but then I realized that I couldn’t be mad at you. Do you want to know why?” she confesses. He nods his head like a child in anticipation. “Cause you are the Zach I want to be with. You helped me realize how much of an asshole Davis was to me. You treated me with so much love and made me feel safe.” Zach is ecstatic at her words and rushes forward to give her the kiss they have both been waiting for. It is soft but passionate, showing the need they both felt for each other. His arms round her body, engulfing her in the safety of his embrace. Zach Maclaren can’t believe he has found love with the girl he has always wanted.

[adventures-in-mangaland]

Even More Dead Boy Detectives Fic Recs

I've discovered some amazing new authors since my last post! And writers I've already recced have published more great stories So here's another fic rec post!

Who? You mean your teammate in the Codependency World Cup? (series) by RoseGanymede95

I couldn't chose! They're all great! Basically a series of Edwin and Charles through the years and on cases pre-show. It scratches that adjusting-to-being-dead/newly-escaped-from-Hell itch and the authors writing is magic! It also fleshes out a really interesting conflict in the payneland dynamic: Charles' drive to protect Edwin at all costs clashing with Edwin's guilt over putting Charles at risk/depriving him of some ideal afterlife. Parts one and four also introduces Constantine/Johanna and part three revolves around an absolutely gut-wrenching temporary break-up. 😢

In Hell I'll Be in Good Company by laylabinx

Charles rescuing Edwin from Hell does not go smoothly. Just. Bucketloads of Trauma for both of them. And for you, the Reader. It's so good though!

your fangs in my neck (like an anchor like a vow) by shadowquill17

Vampire Edwin AU! It's great because it combines the (homo)eroticism of vampiric feeding with Charles' whole bisexual crisis and post-confession Edwin worrying about making Charles uncomfortable. Also Charles is some kind of demigod/immortal agent of divine vengeance which is an AMAZING detail and I desperately want to see some fanart!

The same author's ongoing story to the pain is also excellent though very angsty (cw temporary character death). I'm anxiously waiting for an update!

To Memory Now I Can't Recall by engineering_madonna

This is an amnesia fic and the most recent in an established relationship series. The first two installments feature the boys getting together and navigating their new relationship, so pulling the old 'character A forgets their whole romantic relationship with character B' trope hits especially hard! The whole series is lovely, but I am WEAK for temporary-amnesia.

Lemonade & Sunrises by paraph

A Quiet Place AU! The boys are alive, but they're the only ones. Very bleak but in a way that makes me want more!

1999 au (series) by websters_lieb

The boys figure their shit out in the 90s. Also, Edwin gets to read Maurice and queer theory. The cases in both stories are compelling and the author's writing and characterisation of the boys are excellent.

I also recommend offer me that deathless death which is about the boys' first meeting, Charles' funeral and the birth of the agency.

if I could reach the stars (i'd give them all to you) by ObsessedWithFandom

Charles falls first, Edwin falls harder. This is an AU of the author's excellent Charles' bisexual awakening fic, which I also highly recommend. It has lovely OCs and Charles having a sweet little friendship/romance with the boy he saved in canon, which actually makes his death a whole lot more tragic.

Came up from that lake of fire by ghostinthelibrary

Charles and Edwin get caught escaping Hell and promise to capture a demon-eating ghost called The Deathless in exchange for their freedom. With the added twist that they get to be alive again! An exciting case, high stakes and all the alive-again culture shocks and emotional/interpersonal drama you could ask for.

gig officially gigged by laiqualaurelote

Band AU! It shouldn't work but it does. Which might also be an in-universe review for the band tbh. Idk, I loved Edwin's massive obscure musical instruments and Charles being his unpaid roadie. Peak Found Family Feels.

No Rehearsing It, No Reversing It by DontOffendTheBees

Charles overthinks being in love with Edwin, my beloved. This time with increasingly flimsy pretexts for why they NEED to kiss. Just perfect Idiots in Love, no notes.

The Case of David Bowie's Made up Sexuality by williamvapespeare

The agency attempt to help a living lesbian couple deal with a haunting. Meanwhile, Charles struggles through his bisexual (re)awakening. With bonus past (living) Charles no-homo-ing himself to the nth degree. Pure of heart, dumb of ass, indeed.

The lamps are going out by CasiHuman

Vengeful Spirit Edwin AU! Has some interesting ghost lore and Edwin being convinced his touch is painful to Charles (love that trope!). Also features some of the author's adorable/hilarious fanart at the end.

just frame the halves (and call them brothers) by Anonymous

Crystal stumbles upon the ghost of Edwin's older brother, who hires the agency to free him and his platoon from the battleground they've been haunting. Case fic with interesting details about Edwin's family life and an awkward as hell family reunion.

the case of the very long ferry ride by obsceme

Sex pollen but with skin hunger, so it's more touching turned making out and hand jobs in a bathroom. Interesting use of ghost lore and it's cute and well written.

Form 239, Schedule L by sanctuary_for_all

Charles Rowland's Love Language is Acts of Service: The Fic. So many feels! Plus Afterlife worldbuilding and some quality Night Nurse rep.

don't go sharing your devotions (lay all your love on me) by Hephanna

The boys and Crystal accidentally summon an alternate universe version of Charles. He's very... handsy. Charles being jealous of himself is objectively hilarious and it looks like it could be heading towards throuple territory. Possibly even a foursome, if alternate Edwin figures out parallel universe travel. Which he probably will.

Still a Better Lovestory by Vamillepudding

Hanahaki disease! Charles is on the case but Edwin's being weirdly uncooperative about his own curse. I loved the worldbuilding (there's a whole sisterhood of washerwomen!) and the angst, plus the writing is excellent.

The author has also written Eternal Sunshine, in which Edwin is cursed to feel no love of any kind. It makes for an interesting character study, contrasting cursed Edwin, his public reserve and his actual personality.