#temporary memory loss

[cuspidgoddess]

Chapter 10. March: Remember Me?

[whateverithinkof]

Daily Fanfic Rec (Day 6)

Yuri On Ice

4/30/2024

Masterlist

Title: Perfect Match

Author: Brittanica2015

Words: 1,623

Chapters: 2

Completed?: Yes

"Yuuri and Victor just got out of surgery and don't remember each other.

'That's Victor, your husband.'

'What! Really?'

'Really.' Phichit nodded, capturing everything with his phone.

'Are you sure?'

'Definitely.' "

-- -- -- -- --

A lighthearted take on a temporary amnesia fic! This one is def cute and has some amazing moments (it doesn't hurt that Phichit records Viktor and Yuuri's disbelief at them being husbands...) with a dash of Yurio for good measure.

[bafflement]

Deaged Oz AU - The Experiment

"Are you really sure about this?" Oz sounded highly dubious even as Ozymandias tried to reassure him.

"We need to know if it would work as a defence against Salem, child. Besides, this way we are doing it in a controlled environment, around those that would help you if the worst happened. Not that I think it would, but that remains an unfortunate possibility none the less." Ozymandias sounded defensive, but there was an odd note of worry to his mental tone that made Oz wary, too. What they were attempting had never been done before, after all. What if it went wrong?

"And you're sure you can reverse this?" Oz asked out loud, voice echoing in the empty room.

"Yes. That much, I'm very certain of. There are a lot of interesting theories concerning... never mind, child. I'll tell you later, but whatever happens, you will be just fine. If this doesn't work, then we'll just have to hope that Salem only sees what most people do when they meet you. No offence, Tip, but... you are a rather small child currently, after all."

Oz pulled a face at that. but couldn't deny the accuracy of the statement. People tended to find him cute, of all things. it was highly embarrassing. At least Nora had more or less stopped calling him 'little cute boy Oz'? Even if everybody still called him pocketsized... though at least that was a nickname Qrow had given him, so it was rather more acceptable.

"So, you want this to happen in the same room as the others, correct?" Oz asked, already moving towards the door. The others barely glanced up as he entered, though he was aware he looked nervous as he sat in a chair at the table and cleared his throat pointedly.

"What's up, pocketsized?" Qrow asked, looking up lazily. A lot of that laziness vanished, though, when he noticed just how worried Oz looked and he shot to his feet, looking alarmed. That managed to stir up the rest, several half rising, Ruby making an abortive reach for her weapon as she did so. Oz winced but made a negating motion with his head, which settled most of the kids back down. Oscar, however, didn't seem to want to sit and was already moving to lay a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"I'm fine, Oscar. There's merely something Ozymandias wishes to attempt, which was felt to best occur around company. He is attempting to remove himself enough that I am merely Tip, in case it works as a shield against Salem."

"Yeah, no, pocketsized. That doesn't fill me with confidence. Besides, how do we know we'll get Tip? We might get Winter... and either way, you won't know any of us."

"Apparently I should? He's taking most, not all. Enough to convince her that I'm not Ozpin, but not enough to damage anything. I think."

"I'm hearing a lot of doubts, there, Oz. Hey, can I talk to Ozymandias a second?"

Oz's eyes flashed, ceding control to Ozymandias, who found themselves being snarled at by a very protective Qrow, much to his confusion.

"Listen to me, king or not. If what you're attempting hurts Oz in any way, I will find a way to make you regret it."

Ozymandias blinked Oz's amber eyes, looking almost impressed. "i will endeavor not to harm the child, child." Qrow glared at him for the comment, but Ozymandias sighed. "You are a child, to me. All of you are. So very young, to bear my war..."

The eyes flashed gold again and Oz was back, still looking rather impressed with Qrow. His eyes and smile were very soft as he looked at him, though, making the kids feel like they might be intruding on something. It wasn't a good feeling, but at least it passed quickly as Oz got a highly focused look on his face again, eyes suddenly far away.

"Now, child? I need you to let go, go to sleep." There was a soft looking bed in the meeting place in Oz's mind, looking inviting to the boy. He looked down, blinking as he saw adult proportions, before shrugging and doing as he was told. He could feel himself relaxing almost instantly, blinking sleepily up at Ozymandias for a moment before his eyelids got too heavy to keep open. Ozymandias hovered, gazing down at the sleeping form, first Ozpin, then briefly... worryingly... Tip, then flickering back to the headmaster. He just hoped that flickering wasn't indicative of any problems out there.

The boy's eyes shot open and he stared around at the room, looking terrified as he did so. His eyes seemed to pass over most of them without truly seeing them, but locked on to Weiss with a startled cry of relief.

"Willow! I... where, where are we?" Weiss couldn't quite supress the flinch at his words. So, not Tip, then...

"... Winter? It's alright, you're safe here. Something happened, but we'll fix it. Nobody is going to hurt you, I won't let them."

"You... you're not Willow, are you? Where am I?" He was visibly starting to panic now, trembling from shock as much as from anything else, eyes wide and terrified.

"Ozymandias, now would be a good time to stop..." Qrow growled, making, brothers, Winter Schnee flinch. The boy's eyes met his briefly and there was the barest flicker of recognition before it faded.

"... Qrow?" He sounded fragile, hopeful, for a second, before shrinking further in the chair, making himself as small as possible, still trembling. He seemed to derive some comfort from Oscar's presence at least, even if nobody was entirely sure he'd actually noticed it yet.

"Yeah, pocketsized. It's me." There was no recognition now, though, whatever it was Ozymandias had been trying to accomplish had obviously gone very, very wrong.

"... Tip?" Oscar ventured, tentatively, and the boy stared at him as though only seeing his presence now he'd spoken.

"I'm... Winter, I... who are you? Where am I? Please?"

"I'm... I'm Oscar. I'm your brother, or at least I usually am? You don't remember me, do you?"

Winter just shook his head, looking overwhelmed. Oscar held his arms out to the younger boy, but Winter didn't take him up on the offer of the hug, still glancing at Weiss who'd also come over to join them.

"You're not Willow. But you look like Willow... what?"

"You, you are in the future, Winter. We're trying to fix things, but you will be alright. I'm Weiss, I'm your niece, Willow's daughter. I'm pleased to meet you, uncle." Her smile was tremulous but her eyes were genuine. After all, she never thought she'd ever meet the version of her little uncle that had been truly Winter.

In Oz's mind, Ozpin flickered again, first Tip, then Ozpin, then Tip... Ozymandias groaned. Whatever was going on, it was time to wake them up. The experiment had obviously gone very wrong somewhere. He reached out and shook the thin shoulder, blinking as it bulked up in his hand. The man in the bed flinched and shot upright, screaming. Outside, Winter screamed, too, then collapsed into sobs as Ozpin got up. His mind felt like a jumbled mess, disorganised scraps of thoughts fighting to make themselves heard amongst the sea.

He was Tip. He was Winter. He was Ozpin, Ozymandias, Ozaryn...Ozma... so many others. He was lost in the storm of memories and felt things start to click into place. Whatever else had happened, the merge was certainly far nearer completion now.

He waited, hoping that he'd be Tip again. That was all he could do.

Finally, the storm settled. Tip blinked around at the shocked looks on the other's faces, eyes aching from tears, throat sore from sobbing.

"My... apologies, my friends. I do believe that was a failed experiment." Oscar hugged him fiercely at that, Weiss laying one trembling hand on his hair. Qrow looked vaguely homicidal and Tip flinched.

"Let me talk to him, pocketsized."

"Not if you plan to scream at him, Qrow. To an extent, this worked. I wasn't Oz, I was someone else."

"You were Winter, pocketsized. That was... terrifying. No, the experiment failed. He doesn't get to do that to you again." Tip rooted in his bag for a second, finding his teddy bear and cradling it, looking lost and young and so very fragile and Qrow sighed. "That's not fair, Oz... you don't get to guilt me like that. Listen, I promise not to yell at him, but I really do need to talk to Ozymandias, okay?"

Tip nodded, eyes flashing gold.

"Never. Again." Qrow growled out, though at least Ozymandias looked apologetic.

"No. The experiment was, in certain areas, a success, but no. We'll find another way."

[whumppmuhw]

Whumptober Day 8: Dissociation

tw: blood, restraints, dissociation, temporary memory loss

This doesn’t feel real. And yet it was. Whumpee felt like they were dreaming, a hazy dream where any second they would wake up, but they didn’t. They decided to attempt a reality check. Whumpee could feel pain, their body was writhing in it, and the blood flowing from their body seemed real enough. They pulled on the chains keeping them to the wall, and those didn’t give. This must be real, but why do I feel like this? For a moment, Whumpee couldn’t remember what happened to them or how they got there. Their last memory was of being at Caretaker’s place for dinner, laughing and eating and having a good time. How did it go so downhill? Whumpee couldn’t remember, but that was the least of their problems. They were losing blood fast, and they didn’t know how much more they could take. There was nothing around them they could use as a bandage or to stop the bleeding, but they couldn’t process it and panic didn’t settle in. They just felt hazy. Whumpee didn’t know how long they sat there, in semi-darkness, watching their blood pool on the floor. At some point, a door opened, and blinding light flowed around a human figure. The light snapped Whumpee out of it. Everything got real really quickly, and suddenly they could remember the trunk of a car, a sadistic laugh, restraints, pain upon pain and their own screams echoing across the walls. The agony they were in seemed to increase in that moment, and they panicked at the pain they were in and the blood loss. The figure spoke. “You’re losing a lot of blood, I must have gone too far this time.” Whumper laughed, and Whumpee noted that he didn’t apologize. “Let’s get you stitched up before anything bad happens. I don’t want to say goodbye just yet.” This is real. Whumper moved closer, and Whumpee wished they were dreaming.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Don’t get me wrong, I *love* “assumes they’re together after losing memories” fics.

But, I think the reverse could be neat.

Geralt wakes up without memories and is taken care of by a beautiful, kind, talented bard.

When Geralt works up the courage to ask how they know each other, Jaskier claims they’re lovers.

And Geralt refuses to believe him.

“No, really, how do we know each other?”

He just refuses to believe Jaskier would settle for him and is convinced that the bard’s claims stem from pity.

"Darling, really." The beautiful man says with exasperation. "Just end the joke. What are we?" "We're lovers, Geralt! Lovers! We love each other!" "There's just no way!" Geralt repeats. Every time he reiterates this fact, the strange man claiming to be his beloved looks more sad. Because the joke isn't working? Or his.. His evil scheme isn't working? Because it's just not possible that this beautiful perfect bard loves HIM. There's no way. Nothing as good as him could love something like Geralt. Geralt doesn't remember him. That's- That's fine. It's fine. They could've figured it out. But Geralt is just so insistent on the principle that they could never be in love with each other. Jaskier begins to worry that Geralt truly hates everything Jaskier does, and the only way they ended up together is because Jaskier wore him down. That's not what happened, right? Surely not...

[maroontragedy]

HE'S UNBELIEVABLE!

HE'S INCREDIBLE!

HE CAN WIN THIS!

AKUTAGAWA CAN REALLY WIN THIS!

dude, that's your mortal enemy (now go propose or smth)

[wangxianficrecs]

Helping Yourself by nirejseki

Helping Yourself

by nirejseki (@robininthelabyrinth)

Not rated, 1k, Wangxian

Summary: Wei Wuxian leaves the Burial Mounds with a brand new power, but the resentful energies have so corroded his mind that he's forgotten - many things. The name of the cultivator in purple, for example. The reason they hate their enemies so much. All he knows is how he feels about them. And there's this one cultivator in white that makes him feel - something else. Wei Wuxian is pretty sure he knows what that something is. Kay's comments: A super interesting AU in which Wei Wuxian returns from his three months in the Burial Mounds unable to remember the people around him while still remembering the feelings he has for them, which leads to some heart-breaking and some fun conclusions! Excerpt: There was only one problem. At first he’d thought the one in white was the one in purple’s friend – they spent an awful lot of time huddled together trying to think of ways to cure him – but eventually it’d been explained to him that they weren’t. In fact, the one in purple said that the one in white had previously hated him. Wei Wuxian didn’t like that. He had no idea why he didn’t like that, but he didn’t. “You’re not allowed to hate me,” he told the one in white, cornering him one day and poking him in the chest. “You’re not. You need to like me. You understand? You can’t dislike me.” The one in white blinked. He had very long eyelashes, and pretty golden irises beneath them. “I don’t dislike Wei Ying,” he said. “Good,” Wei Wuxian said, satisfied.

pov wei wuxian, canon divergence, memory loss, temporary amnesia, short-term memory loss, propositions, hurt/comfort, hopefuly ending

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[skebbles]

Doodles for chapter 2!

[impossible-rat-babies]

I am thinking about dirge despite everything that they still have bouts of dealing with the massive cranial damage that occurred at moonrise. like that is still very much there

[badassbutterfly1987]

Sometimes I'll write a character as disabled (or queer or neurodivergent, etc.) because I think it will add an interesting layer to them or the setting. And sometimes it's just cathartic projection.

Me, having a lousy pain day:

Me, looking at the characters I like/am comfortable writing:

Me: "Alright, which of you bastards am I writing as disabled?"

[hes-striker]

But what happens if Striker starts acting distant towards you? What would you do in that situation?

Blitzø: I can handle it! And Striker is way too stubborn to let things go! I’m sure…it’ll all work out…

The soft beeping of the monitors fills the hospital room as Blitzø walks in, a bag of takeout balanced in one hand. His face lights up when he notices Striker’s golden eyes open for the first time since the surgery.

Blitzø: *grinning, voice shaky with relief* Well, look who finally decided to wake up. Mornin’, sunshine.

Striker blinks slowly, his eyes glassy as he scans the room. His gaze lands on Blitzø, then shifts to Wesson and Winnie, who are playing on the floor with their blocks. He frowns, his expression confused.

Striker: *sits up, breathing heavily even with the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth* Who…? Who are y’all?

Blitzø freezes, the bag in his hand nearly slipping. He stares at Striker, his grin faltering.

Blitzø: What do you mean, ‘Who are y’all?’ It’s me, Blitzø. You know, your favorite pain in the ass?

Striker’s brow furrows deeper, his gaze locking onto Blitzø like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

Striker: Blitz? That supposed to mean somethin’ to me?

Blitzø’s stomach twists. He forces a laugh, trying to brush off the creeping dread settling over him. He gestures toward the kids, who have stopped playing and are now staring at Striker curiously.

Blitzø: And them? These are Wesson and Winnie. Our kids. Don’t tell me you don’t recognize them.

Striker’s eyes widen slightly as he looks at the twins, but his face remains blank. He shakes his head weakly.

Striker: Kids? My kids? No… That can’t be right. I—I don’t know them. I don’t know any of you.

Winnie tugs on Blitzø’s jacket, her small voice breaking the heavy silence.

Winnie: Daddy, why’s Mr. Striker acting funny?

Blitzø’s throat tightens as he looks down at her, his heart breaking. He crouches to her level, brushing a hand gently through her hair.

Blitzø: He’s just a little sick, sweetie. He needs some time to get better, that’s all. Don’t you worry, okay?

Wesson frowns, his small arms crossing over his chest.

Wesson: He doesn’t look like he remembers anything. Did he bonk his head or somethin’?

Blitzø chuckles weakly, standing back up and turning to Striker. He leans against the bed, his smile forced but determined.

Blitzø: Don’t worry, cowboy. We’ll jog that memory of yours soon enough. You’re not gettin’ rid of us that easy.

Striker looks at him, unease flickering in his golden eyes. He says nothing, and the room falls into an awkward silence.

[zealctry]

the question that no one has ever asked themselves but needs to be addressed: Would Hidan survive a bullet through the brain? and the answer is yes, yes he absolutely would, and in time, he would recover from it perfectly, as if he had a blueprint of his prior neural connections that merely needs to be replicated/restored.

but in the interim, he might have the weirdest behavioural and cognitive changes/abnormalities, depending on the affected brain region(s) (either directly or indirectly) - that I, as a neuroscientist, can't help but be highly intrigued by.

[cherienymphe]

I wish I was that anon that just recently discovered your work so I could experience it again for the first time 😫 like there is literally no other feeling like finding a writer you love 😭

You guys flatter me

[sapphireginger]

Title: Peter & the Sunflower: Chapter #6 | 1901 - Post Battle, Neverland

Summary:

Killian watched the Never Boy pacing back and forth, knowing that there wasn’t much he could do to calm the boy’s nerves.  Peter finally froze and turned to face the man. “What if we’re too late? What if we waited too long?” For a moment, Killian wanted to refrain from answering but throughout the ritual he had felt a kinship form with the boy, now feeling almost like a father figure to him. “I can’t promise that we aren’t too late but what I can tell you is that I know from experience the feeling of not trying at all would be worse than being too late.”

Square Filled: Love Realization

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Warnings:

Character Death Past Character Death/Past Death of a Child Reference to Intentional Injury

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Steter [Stiles Stilinski + Peter Hale]

@thebo3bingo

1901 — Neverland, Post Battle

The battle didn’t last long. The woman—Kate Argent—was felled by the Sióg’s magic but it came at a cost to Pan who now laid unmoving in the center of the forest. He was so tired. A breeze caressed his cheek and a voice whispered in his mind. 

“Rest now sweet child of the sun. Rest now Leanbh an Domhain . You’ve done well. Sleep.”

So, Pan surrendered the last he had to give, greeting the abyss like an old friend. 

✨ 🍃 🌻 🍃 ✨

Peter winced as he ran through the trees, uncaring of the cuts on his face from the branches or the blisters forming on his feet from the harsh earth. He couldn’t fly and he had no idea why, but he just knew something was wrong and he needed to know what that something was. He had woken up and searched for a sign of Kate but found none, had searched for a sign of Pan but alas, found nothing. The only thing he discovered was a letter that had slipped into a crack in the floorboards. It was a handwritten letter to Kate from someone named Gerard. The words had sent him into a panic, his lungs constricting as he read.

𝘋𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘞𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘪ó𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘐’𝘮 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴.  𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘰𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘥, 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥. 𝘐 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥. 𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴. 𝘉𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘥𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯. 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘴 𝘝𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦. 𝘐𝘵𝘢 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳. 𝘐𝘵𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘢𝘵. 𝘊𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘮 𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴. 𝘋𝘦 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘴 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴 𝘙𝘪𝘥𝘦. 𝘕𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘮 𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘚𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘵 𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘴. 𝘋𝘰𝘮𝘶𝘴 𝘈𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘪, 𝘩𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘶𝘴. 𝘎𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘈𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵,  𝘗𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵

Peter had rushed to the basin and thrown up until mere acid and bile remained. How could he have been so blind, so naive, so stupid? Kate had tricked him. “Oh goddess. Pan! Pan!! Pan? Pan?!” His gaze had whipped around the small home looking for his friend, still unable to find him. He needed to find Pan which was what led to him racing through the Never Forest. Bursting from the foliage, he skidded to a stop in the clearing at the sight of a broad back. “Hook?” 

Said man’s shoulders tensed and then dropped. “Hello, Peter.”

The boy moved closer, uncertain about what was going on. He and Hook rarely interacted and when they did it was hardly pleasant. It hadn’t been easy until Pan. Pan had made them friends. 

“What’re you doing out here?”

Hook didn’t look at him or give any reply as Peter stood beside him. His gaze was fixed upon something at their feet. 

Peter followed the man’s gaze to see a series of sunflowers that had sprung up from the earth. They were in the shape of a P. 

Despite knowing what it meant, Peter refused to give it acknowledgement. It wasn’t real. Pan was fine. He was probably in the house—their house—and overslept on his feather cushion again. 

The tears on his face showed how little he believed the lie. An arm went around his shoulders and though they were not close, Peter let himself be comforted by the man. 

“He saved us all, Peter. Did you know, Neverland has never had sunflowers before?”

Peter hated them but he loved them. His voice was shaky as he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Panteleimon. I miss you. I love—” He froze at the near admission. He loved Pan? He. Loved. Pan. Oh goddess. He loved Pan. Now it was too late and that thought ripped through him like a dagger had been shoved into his gut, pain lacing every fiber of his being. 

The grief overwhelmed Peter and he began to sob until he couldn’t cry, scream or speak anymore. His eyes fluttered shut and he curled up on the ground next to the P shape, his only thought and feeling being that of regret. What was he supposed to do now?

✨ 🍃 🌻 🍃 ✨

Hook watched the Never Boy with a curious expression. His eyes flicked between the flowers and the boy as an idea formed. It was said that none could raise the dead but for Sióg, for an Leanbh an Domhain, an earth child, nature would often bend the rules if the need was great, and the intentions were pure and true. 

They could bring the Leanbh an Domhain back, but the question remained…should they?

✨ 🍃 🌻 🍃 ✨

“Do you know the story of Peter Pan?” Hook asked the Never Boy curiously. The two of them sat within the Pirate Captain’s wooden home, Hook on a wooden stool before the fire and Peter sitting curled up on the floor, leaning against the stone fireplace. 

Peter tilted his head. “Of course, I do. A boy named Peter Pan fell for a girl named Wendy as he listened to her telling stories from his place in the shadows of the windowsill.”

Killian, Hook, sighed and shook his head. “It’s as I feared. You know the version not lost to history, the story put out there to try and cover up the horrors contained within the real story.” With his gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace he began his tale. 

“Long ago, not here, not there, not then, not now, there were two young boys named Peter and Pan. They were two halves of a much greater, more divine whole. However, for all that their love was pure and true, the hate their enemies possessed was also quite powerful. Many were jealous of the love that Peter and Pan had, and others saw it as an abomination to the term love. So, hate did what hate did best, and broke the love by creating dissension and doubt between the lovers. The one who held the most hate in her heart was like the snake in the garden. She played Peter like a fiddle, and he fell into bed with her, leaving a broken-hearted Pan to discover them and die of a broken heart.”

“No,” Peter whispered, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Say it isn’t so. Tell me it’s a lie!”

“I cannot Peter. The death of Pan brought a new life from the depths of the sea and formed what we call home, Neverland. Soon, knowledge of Peter’s Pan as they called him, faded away to myth by all except the ones who housed hate in their very souls. Those of House Argent whose hearts are black and who bleed ash, never forgot and it is they who slithered into our home once again. It is they who nearly killed Peter’s Pan before he had begun to live, and it is they who we just rid ourselves of at least but at a cost. All magic comes with a price. Yes?”

Peter nodded. “Yes. This all happened before?”

“Yes and no. We call it the circle of life, while others call it reincarnation, but I simplify it as best I can by calling it a story. However, I tell it as it is not as the fairytale would have you believe. You are Peter, yes and Panteleimon was Pan, but you are neither of you the original lovers in the sense that most would think of. It was the Argent Family’s belief that magic as pure as the love between Peter and Pan would become the complete opposite when shattered beyond their definition of repair. However, they couldn’t have been more wrong because the love of the broken heart didn’t destroy a thing. It was the purity of their love that created Neverland. It was said that one day the sunflower would return to Neverland.”

With a furrowed brow Peter asked, “How could it return? You said there had never been a sunflower in Neverland before.”

Hook smiled and nodded sharply. “Exactly, and I was telling the truth. For you see, Panteleimon, Pan was the sunflower but as it was his broken heart and pure magic that created Neverland, he himself had never lived here but he did return in a way through his ninth lifetime.”

“Ninth?”

“Yes. Reincarnation, Peter.”

Peter was in shock, his jaw dropped, and his eyes were full of awe. “Holy Jiminy Cricket.” His mouth clicked shut and he inhaled sharply. “Then I’m the descendant of…”

“No. Not the descendant of Peter. You are and always have been Peter himself.”

“What about Wendy?” he asked, confused how the two stories could be so vastly different, focusing on that instead of how he was supposedly the original Peter. 

Killian’s eyes darkened and his expression clouded over. “Wendy was an Argent, born in France and grew up in London under the cruel guidance of her father who told her she was too old for silly things like fairy tales. He took her curiosity and quite literally killed a cat, took her joy and turned it into pain, took her love and devotion and twisted them into a sickly obsession that he shared. Wendy was not her name either.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No. Wendy means friend and what better name to give the villain you wanted to be the heroine than one that meant friend? As always, the Argents had a hidden agenda behind everything they said and did. When they realized that the magic had not caused the destruction they wanted, they had to find a way to cover things up. So, after hearing of Peter’s Pan whose love so pure and true created Neverland from nothing, they decided to spin their own tale. It would distract the world at large and allow them to continue the search in the shadows. They weren’t good people, but they were good at what they did. It was they who entombed thousands of Siógs in their Helianthus blossoms, leaving only one alive and I still don’t know if that was intentional or not.”

Peter hugged his knees to his chest, absorbing the information as best he could. It was a lot and he felt adrift, unsure of himself in a way he never had been before. “So, Pan, my Pan came here and thrived only to once again die?”

Hook took a drink of stale ale more for something to do than to savor the bitter taste. “Pan isn’t necessarily lost to us forever but, as I said, all magic comes with a price.”

“I’ll pay anything to have him back. Anything for the one I love.”

Hook nodded gravely and gestured to the Never Boy's chest. “It’ll require you to be pure of heart, soul and intention. It will ask for a piece, for a sliver of your heart, thus leaving your heart cracked as it has never been before in order to fix the fractured heart of the one you love.”

Listening carefully to Hook’s words, making sure he understood them and believing that it would be so, Peter nodded and plucked the small ruby handled dagger from his belt. It had been a gift from Panteleimon. “I shall pay the price,” he vowed as he presented the dagger to Hook. 

✨ 🍃 🌻 🍃 ✨

Killian watched the Never Boy pacing back and forth, knowing that there wasn’t much he could do to calm the boy’s nerves. 

Peter finally froze and turned to face the man. “What if we’re too late? What if we waited too long?”

For a moment, Killian wanted to refrain from answering but throughout the ritual he had felt a kinship form with the boy, now feeling almost like a father figure to him. “I can’t promise that we aren’t too late but what I can tell you is that I know from experience the feeling of not trying at all would be worse than being too late.”

“What do you mean?” 

“When I was a lad, I was thrown in jail for stealing to feed my mother. While there, I was seen by a soldier who brought me before the king and queen. I was prepared to lose my hand for such a crime and didn’t fight it. As you can see, I lost it all right. I was then put to work in the castle, a lowly servant and I was still grateful because I was able to help my mother. 

“Then, at the age of fifteen, after serving them for five years, I began an apprenticeship under the commander of the royal ships. I learned a lot from the man and trained with him until I was eighteen. At that point, I returned to share news of our victory at sea. However, upon entering the throne room for an audience with their Majesties, I learned of their fate. There had been an invasion and the queen had been poisoned, while the king had been beheaded. Their son in law and their daughter would be there in a fortnight but that meant, for the time being, the kingdom was being ruled by the princess, the granddaughter of the former rulers. 

“Her name was Emma and the moment I saw her, I fell for her. She knew of my deeds and elevated me to the royal guard. I missed the sea, but I wanted to be near her more. Once the kingdom began to stabilize, we began to see each other, though at first in secret for fear her parents would not approve but the day we were caught and my other hand was nearly removed, her mother stepped in to prevent her father from carrying out his sentence. 

“That day I learned the love story of Snow and Charming. Love at first sight was their story too. At the age of twenty-one, Emma and I were married and a year later she gave birth to our daughter, the crown princess, Hope.”

Peter listened with rapt attention, never having heard Killian speak so freely or openly. 

“She was the brightest, happiest and most special child I’d ever seen and that wasn’t just my biased speaking as her father. The kingdom adored her as much as her parents and grandparents had.”

Killian fought back the grief that had become an old friend and foe all at once. “Then, five years after her birth, I was summoned to depart on a ship that was set to sail where the tides took us. It was to be my last assignment, but I didn’t know that Emma had snuck aboard.”

“She what?!” Peter exclaimed in horror and shock. “W-What about the little girl, your daughter? What about Hope?”

“Hope came too, for Emma did not want to spend so many fortnights apart. The seas were rough, and I was afraid that I’d lose them both. I was right to fear such a tragedy for the sea was unforgiving as it crashed against our ship in the dead of night. I dove into the water after my wife and child, but I was too late. I nearly drowned myself, but I had to try. However, without them, I wondered what I even left to live for.”

“Killian I—”

Killian shook his head. “For many days and nights, for many moons, I drifted on a piece of the ship. It was all that had remained after the seas were calm once more. I was ready to die but the goddess intervened and when I awoke, after embracing the end, I was aboard the ship you have seen in the harbor. The blinders had been removed and I found myself on course for here. Neverland has been my home for the last several hundred years.”

Peter stared in awe at the man who was still living despite the loss of the ones he loved the most.  “How did you keep going?” he asked, needing to know just in case they were too late to save Pan. 

“I had a purpose, a duty to protect.”

“Protect what?”

“Not a what, a who.”

“Who?”

Killian locked eyes with the Never Boy. “You, Peter.”

“Me? Why?”

“You won’t remember soon, Peter.”

“Won’t remember what? What are you talking about?”

Killian smiled sadly. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that unlike me, you weren’t too late.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Goddess knows.” Killian glanced at the open door and Peter turned to look. 

“Hello,” the glow said and when the shimmer faded, there stood the one they had been waiting for. It was—

“Pan!!” Peter cried as he leapt up, ran over to the other man and hugged him. 

Killian grimaced and clenched his eyes shut as the next words were spoken. 

“Uh…” Pan started as he froze and tensed. “Let go of me.”

Peter stiffened at the other man’s tone and pulled back. “Pan? What’s wrong?”

“I should be asking you that. Do you always hug strangers like that? I don’t know who you are, but I came to see Killian.”

The Never Boy’s heart shattered, and his confusion mounted as the other man passed by him and joined Killian on the wooden bench. “Hello, love,” Killian said softly. 

“Hello, Killian.”

Peter had to fight back tears. ‘Was this what a broken heart felt like?’ he wondered to himself. Peter placed a hand over his chest and rubbed, feeling the missing sliver of his heart now more than ever. Not that he would have taken it back even if he had the option. At least Pan was alive even if that meant he didn’t remember Peter and the mutual love between them went unconfessed once more. 

He stood to the side as Killian packed up his small house and watched as Pan did the same but not even the sight of Pan taking the cardinal feather bed with him could soothe the brokenness he felt down to his soul. 

Still, he said nothing as Pan boarded Killian’s ship, said nothing as they pulled out of the harbor and said nothing as they faded from sight. Even if he had wanted to say something to Pan, as soon as the ship was swallowed by the fog, he no longer knew of Pan. Peter only remembered Hook, the pirate who had been the rival, turned friend, turned father figure. Peter also remembered himself slightly differently as he no longer remembered being Petronius, Petruccio, Petrick, Petgiel, Petolmerch, Petion, Petrine, Petrice or Peter. Yesterday he was Peter but that was not who he was now. Now, he was Peter Pan. 

✨ 🍃 🌻 🍃 ✨

So, Pan had been brought back, the sliver of Peter’s heart fitting seamlessly into the large crack that had formed in Panteleimon’s heart all those centuries ago. Peter had been hopeful but when Pan returned to them at Hook’s home, he didn’t remember Peter. Hook’s job, Hook’s purpose in Neverland had been fulfilled. So, Panteleimon had boarded the ship and sailed away with Hook. 

With a heavy heart, Peter watched them go and then his memories shifted once more as they had done so many times before. Though he didn’t know what was missing, he knew something was and as each day passed with no answer as to what that something was, his hope dwindled. Pan didn’t return but Peter never stopped loving Pan, even if he couldn’t remember him and because he loved him so, his heart remembered. This led to his decision to change his own name to Peter Pan. 

Hook never returned to Neverland either, but Peter saw him from time to time though only from a distance. Years passed and Peter Pan rescued lost boys and girls who had no one, bringing them to Neverland and offering them a safe haven.

[movedtoferinehuntress]

⌜ ♥ @summonedglory ⌟ ―― Caitlyn & Mel ► Continued Ask = ❝ When memories are lost ❞

Pain echoed against the back of her head as she leaned back against the wall. Her fingers brushed against the back of her head and withdrew her hand to see her fingers coated in blood. She had hit her head hard, too hard. Her other hand was covered in blood, her blade drenched in it. If she had remembered, the zaunite that attacked her was dead from self-defense; but she was dealing with the aftermath. The sound of the name didn't get her attention at all but it was clear the other woman was talking to her. "I'm sorry, but… I don't know you," Caitlyn shook her head as she flinched slightly away from her, not sure if she should trust her.

Her empathy echoed in her mind (though she didn't know she had it anymore) though that told her she could at least trust the woman. Why, how she didn't know. But something told her it would be okay.

"Jayce?" The question left her lips as she frowned. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember. I… I don't know where home is or," her voice hesitated a little not sure if she should admit it. "I don't know who I am," The pounding headache made her head thrum with pain as she pressed the back of her wrist against her head, trying not to smear blood on her face. Her clothing smudged with dirt and blood, some of it torn as she couldn't tell Mel how it even happened right now. But she had done something and she didn't know if it was a good thing. Was she even someone Mel wanted near her?

[teabutmakeitazure]

revisiting the past is always such a cruel thing. the times were tough, but I had all that I do not have now. I never want to go back there. I wish was I still there. I wish I still had everything I had back then.