#amnesia trope

[pannman]

You know the memory wipe trope but can we get a version of it where the two characters hated each other and forget that they hated each other and fall in love. "I don't know you and this gonna sound foward but you're very attractive" "omgsh thanks so are you!" Then their memories come back later their just like "uhhhhhhhhmmm...."

[bamsara]

I had ideas for an Au of the TROD AU or just regular AU that involves the amnesia trope that I'm spinning in my head so I'm gonna post it here for safe keeping.

First idea is permanent amneisa, second is if it was temporary

Hold these. I may or may not make a one shot or something

[fanaticsnail]

Remember Me

This was requested by @aishabbbb, which I linked back to here for the full description of the prompt.

Word Count: 6,600+

Masterlist Here

Echoes of gruff laughter lingered in the air as tankards of ale clanged against one another. It had been a while since the Red-Hair Pirates had made port and as they viewed a rowdy port full of lively music, contagious laughter and bursting at the seams with a variety of pleasurable company; they could not resist.

This port had been known for some time to be a lawless town, accepting of any journeymen as they resupplied their vessels, sailors selling their wares and even the odd Marine here or there had graced the town with their presence. The World Government paid no mind to the comings or goings, knowing should the port be shut down; their supply of rum would slowly dwindle away.

The Captain of the Red-Hair Pirates sat upon a stool at the rear of the room as he stared into the bottom of his tankard, watching the amber liquid slosh from side to side. He withdrew into himself; his former joy and carefree attitude no longer present on his features this night.

A woman with a painted face sauntered over towards the captain, swaying her hips as she overemphasized her intentions.

“Care for some company, sweetheart?” she asked him in a sultry tone as she took his hand in hers that still clasped the tankard. He made eye contact and smiled from the corner of his mouth before withdrawing the hand from her grip and drew his drinking vessel to his mouth.

“Not today, love,” he said, taking a drink from his tankard, “but I can point you in the direction of someone who would be more than happy to share your time.”

She smiled as Shanks gestured to his senior officer, who had a black bandana featuring a white jolly roger insignia atop his lengthy blonde hair. His expression was one of a displeasing grimace, black glasses concealing more of his irritation behind them.

“See if you can bring a smile to his face, would you?” he laughed slightly as she nodded as she made her way to her next target.

Plonking two fresh pints down on the table before him, Benn Beckman sighed as he sat on a stool facing his Captain; taking one of the pints and gesturing for Shanks to do the same.

“You turned her away?” Beckman questioned his Captain, “I thought you’d enjoy a pretty blonde giving you attention this time.”

“I’m not as open today as I have been any other day to the company of a painted lady,” Shanks laughed in response raising his pint and clanging it against his First-Mate’s, “or any other man or woman you’ve since such sent my way. You know this.”

“Oh,” Beckman uttered, eyes widening before looking down at the table, “I didn’t realise it was today. Sorry Cap’n.”

“Don’t apologise, Beckman,” he smiled at him before drinking from the tankard. He moaned slightly as the cool, bubbling liquid hit his lips and he tasted the bitter flavour of the hoppy amber ale.

“How long has it been since-?” Beckman began, halting his words in search for the more appropriate way of phrasing it.

“How long has it been since my bride was claimed at sea?” Shanks offered to complete his First-Mate’s sentence. Beckman nodded in response, gesturing with his pint for Shanks to offer his answer.

Shanks sighed and leant back in his stool, his back thumping against the small railing at the back.

“This day marks ten years,” he added with a sad smile. A silence fell between them as they reminisced the day the Captain of the Red-Hair Pirate’s wife was lost to him.

After a brief pause, they commenced their drinking as they surveyed the movements of the patrons and crew interacting with one another.

Beckman raised his tankard to his lips and begin to gulp with gusto at the frothing liquid. He trailed his eyes throughout the bar as he did so; looking to Limejuice as he grit his teeth tightly at the blonde woman’s incessant and unrelenting flirtation was thrust upon him.

He continued his assessment of the room before his attention was caught by a group of sailors laughing amongst each other, a woman throwing her had back at the joke uttered by one among them. Benn Beckman spluttered into his tankard, coughing as the amber ale entered into his wind pipe and corrupted his lungs with it. He continued to draw in his breaths while maintaining visual contact on the situation unfolding before him.

“Benn,” Shanks addressed his choking crewman, “you alright?”

The First-Mate continued coughing and spluttering, managing to relieve his lungs of the bitter substance and gasping in a long breath. His pigment all but fled from his face as he continued staring blankly at the bar in horror.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Shanks laughed, placing his tankard down on the table before clapping a hand against the upper arm of Beckman’s shoulder.

“I-I think I have,” Beckman stuttered slightly before bringing his attention to his captain, “look to the bar and tell me if you can see her too, Captain.”

Shanks furrowed his brows in confusion, laughing lightly at the confession of his crewman before turning and immediately having the playful expression pulled from his lips.

“You see her?” Beckman asked him in a voice just above a whisper.

The Captain wordlessly rose to his feet, almost toppling the stool over in the process as he made his way to approach the woman. His bride, his queen. His whole world was carelessly and unaware of his presence as the melodical laugh fell from her lips; a sound Shanks never thought he would once again experience.

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

You tapped the chest of the older sailor in front of you as you continued to laugh at his joke.

“Harold,” you gasped, wiping a tear from your eye, “and that’s the reason you only have three toes on your left foot?”

“Honest to goodness, lass,” he continued to rumble laughter, his eyes twinkling with utter mischievousness, “the bloody crab nearly carved the whole lot off, if not for my quick thinking!”

He imitated the pinching movements of a crab’s claw and crooked his head to make himself look as crab-like as he could, prompting another roar of laughter to erupt between the sailors and yourself.

“Alright, I’ll get you that drink then,” you teetered your laughter and turned to address the bartender you had come to know, “Mary, give us a couple schooners of ale- the pale stuff if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Right you are, my love,” she acknowledged your order and began pouring the foamed liquid into two smaller cups.

It had been ten years since you found yourself lying upon the shore with no recollection of who or what you were before your arrival. Thankfully enough, your body was strong. You knew how to hold your own when it came to unwarranted and unreciprocated attention, often brawling with men to assert yourself among them.

As you needed a job to afford food, you managed to bully Captain Harold of the Angelfish Shepherds Fishing Crew and would accompany them out to sea, bringing in several catches a day and selling their many items throughout town. It was only when the sun would disappear behind the horizon, you would come home to the tavern: "Mary’s Resting Track" and make yourself comfortable with your crew at the bar; drinking well into the night.

Just as Mary had finished pouring from the keg, you felt an arm placed upon your left shoulder, prompting you to turn to face it's source.

“My bride,” a tall, red-headed man gasped in a voice above a whisper as he drew you in to place his lips against yours. You squealed at the tender impact, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth at the sudden softness and passion you felt from the unknown man. You pushed on his chest slightly before creasing your brows in confusion.

“Steady on, Sailor. Save it for your wife,” you laughed at him, collecting the two schooners from the bar and placing one into the hands of Captain Harold, “or at least buy me a drink first!”

You laughed, prompting your crew to do the same as they raised their glasses and took a drink. You rose yours to your lips and drank from it, keeping playful eye contact with the sailor before you.

He was handsome, his red hair immediately drawing you in. He had a black cloak shrouding his left arm from view and a three-point claw mark over his left eye. His face held a shocked, sobering expression on it as if he was staring at something extra-terrestrial in make.

“Y-You,” he stuttered out, “Y-You’re.”

The words caught in his throat as he again reached his right hand up to attempt to secure a fallen strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You swatted his hand away from completing the action.

“No,” you said firmly, playfulness leaving your face as your eyebrows collected themselves with a frown, “no one touches my hair. It’s out of bounds to even those who know me, and know me; you do not.”

You swiped his arm away fully away from your face while keeping a warning, reprimanding look on your features. He continued to stare at you, his eyes swelling slightly as they fluttered between your own; pleading with you and searching within them for a small shroud of recognition.

“She’s saving it for her beloved,” your crewman mocked you in a high-pitched tone, bringing humour once again to the room. You laughed at his jest, prompting you to turn away from the red head to scold his imitation.

“I don’t sound like that,” you laughed at him, prompting your crewman to again mock you by wobbling his head from side to side and scrunching up his face.

You turned back around to see the man again gazing with a fierce intensity born deeply into your eyes and managed this time to tuck a strand of your hair behind your left ear with his right hand. At this, you brought your own hand firmly up and struck the side of his face, all humour once again leaving you.

At the crisp strike, chaos erupted at the bar. A crew of pirates drew their pistols, pointing it towards you; while your crew of sailors pulled their own from their belt and aimed it at them in response. You kept your eyes completely fixed on the red-haired pirate as his face continued to hold a yearning expression.

“She gave you a warning, Sailor,” your Captain spat at him, “I don’t care how much ale you consumed, you respect the wishes of a lady.”

This seemed to shatter whatever illusion was held on the redhead in front of you as he looked to the assortment of pirates behind him. He held up his hands in defence of himself, taking a step back from his proximity near you and nodding his head in a deep bow.

“Easy, lads,” he smiled, “put them away. We don’t bring out our guns at one little slap.”

The crew focussed their attention on you as you shook your head and creased your brows at his address. He again turned to you, and bowed his head slightly deeper as an apology.

“You’ll have to excuse me, miss,” he uttered, “I didn’t mean to cross your boundary. It was reactionary, and for that I offer my most sincere apologies.”

Your gaze softened at his words as you gently used your pointer finger to raise his chin to look at you once more.

“Apology accepted on the condition of buying me and my friends a round of drinks,” you scrunched your nose with a small wink. He laughed at your remark, shaking his head and smiling once more.

“I would have to agree, miss. Definitely the next one on me,” he continued to gaze into your eyes as you withdrew your finger from his chin and tapped his nose with it playfully.

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

You didn’t remember him. That must be the only reason you didn’t hoist yourself into his single arm and cling yourself against him. Why you didn’t lean into the kiss and allow him to lace his hand into your hair and relieve your face from it shrouding your vision. The act so intimately solidifying your relationship in the early days, holding onto it as you spoke your wedding vows.

No-one was to ever touch your hair apart from yourself and your beloved were the words you spoke while dressed in your white, lace dress aboard the Red Force; Beckman performing the ceremony all those years ago.

You were married in your youth, relationship blossoming from friendship to something more on the Oro Jackson under the watchful gaze of Gol D. Roger. The subtle glances turned into subtle touches, turning into kisses stolen from within the hidden halls of the Oro Jackson as you would press each other against the walls and roam your hands along your bodies.

He was obsessed with your hair, and with each caress, each embrace, he would find himself absent-mindedly playing with it. You vowed alongside your commitment in matrimony that only he and he alone would be allowed to tuck your hair behind your ear in adoration; and you be the only one permitted to place a kiss atop the crown of his head.

Shanks had to contain himself as his soul screamed within the chasms of his chest to embrace you, to hold you against him and cry out in joy at your return. He didn’t touch another woman in the ten long years it had been since your last departure; the notion turning to ash in his mouth at the mere suggestion. It had only been until recently that Beckman prompted him to seek out someone to relieve his tension, but he felt it would’ve been an insult to the beautiful memories you shared with one another.

You were even in the process of early conversations on what starting a family would look like aboard the Red Force with his assortment of rowdy crew.

You would bicker at having the ship make birth permanently at a port, returning every two weeks to the solid shore as Shanks refused to halt his travels. He wanted you and the children aboard, rearing them alongside his crew; an idea you immediately shot down as you understood infants waking and crying at every interval and the disruption would not be fair to bring to the crew.

Shanks remembered Beckman adding to that conversation with: “We’re already getting sleepless nights from the sounds echoing the halls originating at your quarters!”

He chuckled at the memory before he remembered the fear on your face as the storm threw you overboard in your attempt to raise the sheet from the topmast and secure it in place. The black sky and torrential winds making it impossible to see your form as you struggled against the waves. He didn’t see what happened, only noticing your departure once they successfully made it through the storm and into the central eye of it.

The roar-like scream rumbling throughout the chest of the Red-Haired Captain still reverberating within the ears and memories of the entire crew as they recollect it every year. The pain shared amongst them as their captain bore his grief openly; drowning in rum every night before Beckman pulled him out of his rut with the reprimand: “this is not what she would have wanted.”

It mattered not what happened to him from that point. The pain of loosing you was far greater than any earthly injury could bring forth. He didn’t even bat an eye as his arm was claimed by a great Sea-Beast; consuming his flesh within it’s belly. He was more upset by the fact his golden wedding band perished at its disappearance.

And here you were, not a scratch upon you; laughing as if you had not a care in the world.

You had no memory. That was the only explanation Shanks had as he gazed lovingly at you, drinking your free ale at his expense.

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

You shook your head at a comment made by one of your crewmen as they suggested to hold a drinking competition between the red-haired pirate’s crew and your own.

“I don’t think I have enough booze in the house for that,” Mary laughed from behind the bar.

You smiled at her comment, turning back around to see the far off look in the red-head’s eyes.

“You know,” you nudged him with your shoulder, bringing his attention back towards you, “for someone that leads in lips first, you’re awfully quiet.”

He chuckled at your comment, expression softening but with a hidden depth you couldn’t quite understand.

“I’m not usually like this,” he scrunched his nose up with a smile.

“Rough time at sea, then?” you asked him, gesturing to Mary with two fingers to indicate your intentions of purchasing the next round for you and the red-head.

“Not particularly, its just-,” his words trailed off, prompting you to gaze your eyes; flittering them between his own two deep brown orbs before he took a deep breath and looked forward at his crew interacting with your own.

“You gestured for the good stuff, right?” she asked, placing two short, round glasses down on the counter; spiced rum swishing in the base as she did so.

“That I did, love,” you replied, placing down your berry on the counter and taking the glasses from it. You went to place the glass into the red-head Captain’s hands, noticing it was already occupied with a half-drunk tankard of ale.

“You keen on a rum?” you asked him, bringing his gaze up. He gasped out a quick hum, raising the tankard and downing the remainder of his ale with haste and placing the empty vessel atop the bar. He rose his hand to accept your offer and his fingers brushed against your own as he claimed the drink from your hand.

He looked down to your collar bone and noticed a single gold ring hung from a piece of fine leather around it. He furrowed his brows at it as to inspect it from his great distance.

“The gold band around your neck,” he gestured down to your left hand, “are you married?”

“Not to my knowledge, Sailor,” you laughed at him, “I was found with it.”

You sipped at the rum and creased your brows as the heavy alcohol entered your system.

“I apologise for slapping you,” you uttered, “I, uh. I made a promise, you see. I don’t really know what about or to whom, truthfully.”

He hummed at your comment, fixing his eyes on your face as you spoke. He trailed his eyes over your body, looking at you with an expression completely unreadable. Somewhere between: bewildered, surprised, great sorrow, relief, curiosity and apprehension.

“I don’t actually have a lot of that – knowledge, I mean,” you reiterated with a smile, “For the better part of ten years, I’ve been building back what I think I used to be like. I have no idea, though. I could’ve been some prissy young lass with a string of twelve children; or some standoffish, uptight cow-.”

“-You were never like that,” the red-head interrupted you, prompting you to snap your gaze up to meet with his.

“Do you know me, Sailor?” you asked him, your brows creasing together.

“Shanks,” he corrected you, “my name is Shanks.”

“Alright, Shanks,” you corrected yourself, “Do you know me?”

He sighed, drinking a small amount of liquid from his glass and looking to the rowdy crowd as their boisterous laughter echoed throughout the walls.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m going to need two things,” he said, downing the remainder of alcohol from his glass in one quick swell, “another drink, preferably a bottle this time.”

You laughed at him, before asking; “and the other thing?”

“Privacy,” he uttered with a small hint of sadness. You expressed concern within your eyes before patting him on the back and rubbing small circles in comfort to him.

You weren’t sure why you brought your hand up to comfort him, it seemed almost reactionary. A natural instinct of familiarity; organic.

“Alright, Shanks,” you began, making eye contact with Mary once more, “I’ll buy you a bottle under one condition.”

“And what might that be?” he chuckled warmly.

“That you give me a small glint of information before we proceed to the beach,” Mary placed the bottle on the counter and you placed down more berry in response, “I need to know if you are threatening me with a good time, or if you plan on executing me to reclaim some debt.”

“Were we enemies?” you asked him, bearing your gaze at the wall behind the bar.

“Sometimes,” Shanks shrugged his shoulders, prompting you to snap your gaze back to his. He erupted a full belly laugh from his diaphragm at your reaction. He let out a deep sigh before he suggested; “let’s make to the beach and I’ll fill you in.”

Mary smiled, looking between the two of you before the beckoning of Captain Harold and several bottles of the cheapest rum called her from her place before you.

You nodded, neglecting to collect glassware while you grasped the neck of the bottle; not once removing your eyes from the red-head next to you.

You made your way down towards the beach, walking in step with Captain Shanks, as the crew bid him goodnight. You noticed several members of his crew gawked at you as if they had seen a phantom or something of the make.

Once gazing into the open sea, the Captain plonked himself unceremoniously on the sand, legs spread wide as he sat with his knees bent upwards. You smiled at him before crouching down to sit beside him, uncorking the fresh rum bottle in your hands and offering it to him. He smiled as he took it from your grasp and brought it to his lips.

You trailed your eyes over his form, trying to conjure a whisp of memory from the recesses of your mind. After having no image return to you, you rose up your voice.

“So-,” you began, only to be cut off my Shanks.

“You were – are,” he started to relay, laughing at the fact he spoke over you. You nodded to him to continue.

He paused, sighing before again voicing what he was attempting to confess to you.

“It’s been ten years to the day since I lost you,” he sighed, looking down to the sand near his knees, “and not a day went by that my thoughts were not drawn to you.”

You looked at him, puzzled at what he was telling you.

“Your gold band,” he gestured with his hand towards your neck grasping the bottle, keeping his eyes fixed on the sand below him, “was gifted to us by our former Captain we served under: Gol D. Roger. He had a lot of love for you and I.”

“The King of the Pirates?” you asked him, eyes wide before adding, “and us. What do you mean, us?”

He sighed again, this time bringing his head to slouch back as he gazed at the dark and cloudless sky above you.

“I can’t tell you what happened right now. It’s-,” he paused between the words, prompting you to inch forward and look at his face. He turned his face away from you as you attempted to gaze into his eyes; “-it’s too painful today.”

You frowned and instead reached down to the hand placed upon his hand, and swiftly reclaimed the rum bottle from within his grip. He turned his head towards you at this and trailed his eyes up to yours as you placed the lip of the bottle and downed two large gulps of the liquid. You squeezed your eyes as the strong alcohol burned its way down your throat and into the pit of your belly.

He laughed at your actions, finally the forlorn expression eclipsed by glee.

“You haven’t changed,” he uttered, reaching his hand up to your hair before recoiling it back again. You watched him do this, as processing the boundary you expressed earlier still lingered within his thoughts. Instead of reaching your hair with his hand, he fell his grasp to your hands as they held the rum bottle.

“Is there truly nothing you remember of me?” He asked you, looking down to where his single hand rested upon your own. You furrow your brows and search your mind through closed eyes, willing yourself to remember any aspect about him. You hissed out a growl in frustration as you found no recollection.

“I want to,” you whispered to him, “you seem a decent kind of man, if not a little forward with the kiss and all.”

He chuckled at your comment, his laughter building to a rumble. His shoulders began to quake lightly as his laughter died and morphed into soft sobs. He attempted to conceal them from you by raising his hand up from where it rested atop his knee and turned to face away from you. You were overwhelmed slightly by this man becoming wrecked with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, bringing yourself to rest on your knees as you pulled yourself closer to him.

You opened your arms and shimmied your legs forward, hoisting them over his bent knees and found a comfortable spot on the sand to rest between them. Your arms circled his shoulders as you felt his right arm wrap beneath your waist and hook up your spine. He held his face flush with your stomach and squeezed his hand to grasp at your body as if you were to slip away at any moment. You felt his shoulders begin to relax into your embrace while inhaling your scent. You looked down the top of his head before absentmindedly bringing your lips down to place a chaste kiss against his hair. He flinched slightly at this impact, tension building in his shoulders before he slumped them forward.

You heard him sigh into your diaphragm as you did so, bringing his face away from its hidden position against you and resting his chin atop your chest to bring his sights to look up at you. For some reason, this man as he held you in an intimate proximity did not have you thrusting him away from your with excessive force as you did with so many others.

You unwrapped your left hand from around his shoulders and set it against his cheek. His youthful smile returning as you caressed him. You warmly smiled in response, feeling the gruff of his stubble against the palm of your hand before he turned his head and placed a brief kiss atop your inner hand.

“I am willing to dedicate the rest of my life to getting you to fall in love with me once again,” he whispered against your hand before turning his head to meet your gaze, “this I swear.”

Your eyes widened at the comment with a small smile toying at your mouth.

“I gather my undying devotion is overwhelming for you,” he chuckled, prompting you to move your hand away from his face and place both hands atop his shoulders.

“It is, to be perfectly candid with you,” you giggled at him, smoothing your arms over his shoulders and tracing circles against them with your thumbs, “I have tried everything to bring a small fragment of the person I once was to the forefront of my being.”

He trailed his hand from its place at the small of your back and rested it atop your left hip, grasping it firmly within his palm and kneading the flesh beneath it.

You brought your attention to the gold ring on your leather necklace as you held onto his shoulder, narrowing your eyes at the metal slightly; pleading within your own mind to bring forth any memory of the man cradling himself against you.

“To put myself in your hideous sandals,” you uttered, prompting him to quirk his head slightly to the side, “you found me, and it’s almost as if you did so only to lose me again.”

“Aye, it is,” he nodded, looking down again and meeting his eyes with the flesh of your forearm. He ghosted his lips over your left arm, dragging it higher within the crook of your elbow. Your hair follicles stood on edge under his ministrations, as he continued to not kiss your skin; but rather feel the way your body tasted below his lips.

“And you looked lovely in my highly practical sandals, last time you wore them,” he smirked his lips against your flesh before placing a kiss against it. He trailed kisses varying in intensity back down your forearm and against your wrist, prompting your breath to hitch in your throat.

That comment was it. After a variety of interpersonal and intimate words shared regarding your prior relationship with the man beneath you; it was the ugly sandals that brought a flitter of memory to grace behind your eyes. Any other comment; the hand in your hair from earlier, the wedding ring gifted by Gol D. Roger before he was executed, anything else; it was the ugly sandals he found in the run of the mill town that he purchased and, much to your horror, wore in public.

You remember taking them from his room and fleeing above deck with them in an attempt to throw them overboard to rid yourself of their ugliness forever, only to have your waist caught by your husband as he twirled you around to face the deck again with playful reprimand in the process of doing so.

At the request of your husband, you placed them on your feet and experienced the absolute comfort they bore you; almost shrieking in disgust at yourself for relishing in the feeling; as he belly-laughed at you.

“We’ll get you some at the next port” you heard his voice within your mind, “then we can be matching.”

You remembered him wiggling his eyebrows, prompting you to place your closed fist against his chest and tap him slightly.

“We can even get tiny little ones for when you relent and let me put a child in you,” you remembered his tone, causing a blush to rise presently to your cheeks.

“Something the matter, love?” Shanks' voice brought you from your singular memory and back into the present moment you were sharing so intimately with your husband.

No other memory sprang forward, only a few whispers of certain smells: sea water, spiced rum and stagnant drinking water with the natural smell men aboard a boat. You circled your arms around his shoulders and again pressed him against yourself, smothering his face against your sternum between your breasts. Your mouth fell slack as you pressed your face into his hair and inhaled the aroma of the fragrance he favoured to utilise in his red locks: sandalwood and ginger prominent with his natural scent lingering beneath it.

You began to feel a rough flurry of taps from the man beneath you as he indicated for you to release him. His laughter was unrestrained as his eyes twinkled with mischievousness.

“As happy as I am to once again have my face pressed between your breasts,” he heaved his laughter, “I do require air to sustain me.”

He brought his eyes to meet yours as you stared your eyes on the crashing waves of the beach as the tide began to come in further. Your eyes remained wide as you continued to will a semblance of recollection to come to you.

Once you offered no rebuttal at his comment, he again reached his hand up towards your hair only to halt it once more.

“What is it?” he asked you, now placing his right hand atop your left arm, holding it lovingly.

“I-,” you began, the words now halting between your lips. You brought your eyes down to look down and you continued to flitter them between each of his own.

“I-,” you again said, leaning in closer to him; prompting him to have a sense of seriousness overcome his features, “-will never own a pair of those ugly sandals.”

Immediately his seriousness fell away and his face split into a wide grin as his laughter rumbled within his chest one more.

“Yes, you always hated them. I think they’re wonderful,” he gasped while stifling his laughter. You continued to hold his shoulders as his laughter teetered off into a dull rumble.

“I tried to throw them overboard,” you uttered almost inaudibly, “and you threatened me with buying more of them.”

“You remember,” he gasped out a breathy sigh, “you remember me.”

He brought his torso up further to bring your foreheads to rest against each other. He nuzzled your nose slightly at the impact and squeezed his eyes shut with delight. He began to lean in to graze your lips with his, only to be halted by your gentle touch to bring him back.

“I don’t remember anything else aside from your disgusting sandals,” you whispered, closing your eyes before reopening them again and looking at him half-lidded, “and the way you looked at me when you suggested we begin trying for a child.”

A small gasp left his lips as a single tear fell from his right eye. Immediately he pulled your head against his further, seeking out your lips with his own. He moved his hand from its place at your hip to snake around your waist and hold you firmly against his lap. You felt him moan against your lips as you reciprocated his enthusiasm by lacing your fingers into his hair and tugging lightly at the new growth at the back of his neck.

As your proximity was so flush against one another, you had no choice but to press your full weight against him as he laid with his back against the sand; his hair sprawling out atop the course surface. He expertly maneuvered his right leg beneath yours without breaking the kiss, gasping into it as he darted his tongue out to meet with your own.

A soft whimper flung itself from your lips as he relentlessly attacked your mouth with his own; flittering deep and hungry kisses while trying to taste as much of you as he could with his tongue. You unlaced your fingers from his hair and raked them down his shoulders to his chest, massaging the hard muscle beneath them as you continued in your exploration. He gently rose his hand from its place around your waist and drew itself beneath your shirt and groaned when he felt your tender flesh beneath the material.

Placing your right hand below his cloak, you raked your fingers further along his ribcage and drew them up towards his left arm – halting your movement as you found none residing there.

You squealed into his mouth, feeling him smirk against your lips. You attempted to break from the kiss, only to feel his hand climb higher beneath your blouse and lie flat against your spine between your shoulder blades and continue passionately exploring your lips.

“Shanks,” you murmured a warning reprimand against his lips. He smiled while maintaining his lips against your own, feeling the soft pearls of his teeth as they made contact with your mouth. He continued to chase your lips each time you attempted to flee from his embrace.

You brought your hands up to ball the material of his white shirt within your fists and held him further against yourself, prompting him to let down his guard as he whimpered into your lips at your sudden domination. As soon as you felt him relinquish a small spectrum of control, you pushed hard on his collar bones and pried him from your lips. He first groaned in frustration before his body was wracked with uncontrollable laughter. He collapsed against the ground, prompting you to roll your body from above him to onto your own back in the sand as his laughter became contagious.

And as earlier, the heaving of your shoulders in fits of laughter evolved into heavy sobs from the both of you as you mourned the time lost between you.

“My bride,” Shanks called from beside you as he placed his right hand upon his eyes in an attempt to control his emotions.

“Yes, my groom,” you said as more of a whimper than an address.

He rolled over onto his side and hovered his face above yours, as the tears freely fell down the faces of the two of you; the moonlight cascading over your lover’s hair. Hesitantly, he reached his right hand up to your hair and slowly brought some loose strands from your face and wove it behind your ear. He sighed in relief as he watched you close your eyes and lean into his touch, taking your quivering lip between your teeth as you did so.

“You are as beautiful as the day I lost you,” he whispered with a slight hitch of his voice. You reopened your eyes to watch him smiling through his sorrow. You returned his expression and caressed his chest and ghosting your fingertips over his left shoulder.

“And you are one arm less than I remember,” you beamed a wide smile and giggled a little at your prod. He joined you in your laughter and pressed a chaste kiss against your hair before rising to his feet and offering you his right hand to hoist you up to meet him. You took his hand and allowed him to hoist you to your feet, before he dipped his shoulder down to make contact with your waist and lifted you over his right shoulder. He secured you in place with a crisp slap upon your left ass-cheek as he effortlessly crouched down to retrieve the forgotten, half-drunk rum bottle. He rose again to his feet and began to walk with you over his shoulder, using his teeth to uncork the rum bottle and spitting it against the sand.

“Is this quite necessary?” you asked him, mock annoyance in your tone.

He laughed and took a long swig from the rum bottle and gasped in joy as the liquid burnt its way down his throat.

“Not only is it necessary,” he called to you over his left shoulder, “it is also compulsory.” You laughed at him as he almost jigged back towards the tavern, him joining you in your laughter upon arriving at its steps and flinging open the door with his feet.

The arrival of the two of you had cheers erupting and reverberating from every corner and crevasse of the wooden building. Tankards were thrust into the air, foam sloshing carelessly from the top and onto the floor; much to the many protestations of Mary.

Shanks placed you on the floor after setting aside the bottle of rum atop a cylindrical raised bar table.

“Alright lads,” he addressed the room, “let me reintroduce you to my wife!”

He extended his right hand out for you to place your left hand within. As soon as you did so, he effortlessly spun you into him, your left arm laced over your front as he cradled you against himself.

You looked up to his face, your neck laying against his shoulder as he brought his lips down to meet your own for the first time publicly in a decade. Applause, shouts of glee and delight, more sloshing of ale and verbal reprimands from the tavern keeper echoed the hall as you smiled against the lips of your beloved. Your husband, and his bride.

[escespace]

Merlin and Arthur in the part 3 of this:

Arthur hasn't let anyone treat his wound. It's not serious but he can't bandage it on his own either and, as always, the risk of infection (in an era where even minimal hygiene did not exist) is present.

Not that it matters because he basically feels nothing. He doesn't feel the voices of his knights moving around him as they tie up the rebel knights (remember we agreed to call them haters); he does not feel the damp earthen floor on which he is lying; he does not feel Leon hovering around him waiting for the right moment to pounce on him and bandage him like a spoiled child. And, above all, he doesn't feel as if his chest is compressing as if it wants to fold in on itself like a disposable scroll.

Isn't that on that scroll where all of his story is written? Oh, that story that includes Merlin, the Merlin he thought he knew better than anyone else, to whom he has told things he hasn't told anyone else, the one whom he believed that would be there for him even when no one else was. Was this his Merlin? His Merlin had no magic, his Merlin would know him and remember him...

But this Merlin has been in the farthest corner of the room since he tried to get close to Arthur and Arthur drove him away by attacking him with his sword. He was not the only one, really in his frustration and pain Arthur did not want anyone near him so he kept them all a sword's length away.

Only Lancelot has come close to Merlin. They have been whispering or, rather, Lance has been whispering to him while Merlin has limited himself to a couple of nods or grimaces that seem to be a language that only Lance knows

Before, he would have thought it was a language he knew too. Merlin is always expressive and his opinions, even if they don't come out through his lips, are expressed in his features. Now he doesn't know how to read him because probably never could before.

Hours pass, Leon finally manages to bandage Arthur when he became too apathetic to continue threatening with his sword.

They began to question the haters when they woke up, none of them spoke. While the fear of the Camelot crown was evident, it seemed that there was something they were more afraid of. That is until one of them, the one who had completed the most violently during the fight and who since they had awakened had been the most contemptuous, began to vociferate, spitting on the tomb of the already dead magical people or cursing those who remain alive.

He spat and thrashed around to such an extent that the knights of the round table had to stop trying to hold him back because he broke Elyan's nose. To the point that perhaps they saw some foam at the mouth like a rabid animal.

They understood something among the fanatical babbling he was throwing out.These haters served someone with power apparently and in return this person with power helps them go unnoticed in their rounds of clandestine executions. His tirade also included a lot of "monsters," "corruption," "abomination," "injustice," "imbalance," and other words that Arthur would never admit he had heard from his own father's mouth. (Nor would he admit that in a brief flash of thought it occurred to him that his father probably sounded just like that nutcase)

Merlin, at the end of his patience, ends up slamming his palms against the table, everyone's attention on him and it's as if they were seeing him for the first time. Squared shoulders, deadly gaze, even showing some teeth when speaking. It's like watching the biggest animal walk into the room without even having to make a move.

«Monsters you call us. Imbalance you scream and point your dirty finger at our abilities. But it's us those who heal the ancestors who have not yet understood which plants helped or how to treat conditions" and with that his eyes lit up and Elyan's nose was healed as well as the scratches from the previous fight In all of them except Arthur.

«And you, those born among silks and banquets, are the only ones with the right to learn to defend yourself»

«Say again, who is what »

Gwaine takes the initiative to gag the haters and the rest prepare to approach to plan their next move when Arthur interrupts the silence again

«After all that magic has done to Camelot, what it has done to me! You cannot deny that magic is, in fact, a power that disadvantages, takes from the defenseless, corrupts! Merlin, How could you learn magic after all?»

«You said it, prince, magic is a power, but it is not the only power and it is not what corrupts. Is magic what increases the tax to the point of not allowing the people to survive the winter? Is it magic that decides when to start a war that devastates the lands and innocent lives? Or is the one who wields with impunity the sword that has murdered so many people without trial, just because of false accusations? »

«Power is holding something above the heads of others, put them at a disadvantage, and decide what to do with it. Not many do anything good with it. Magic doesn't corrupt, the power it gives you maybe does, but the power has more than just one way. You have power, and Your lords and knights... Tell me, Arthur Pendragon, are these not your knights? Have they not exercised their power in a corrupt way?»

«That's not... We're not... I asked a question! How did you fall so low to learn magic?! »

«If you think I learned magic, then maybe we were never as close as you've been leading me to believe until now»

.

.

.

.

.

Continuation

[shouts-into-the-void]

I love Spirit Hunter: Death Mark's approach to the amnesia trope and the question of "If you can't remember who you were, are you even the same person?"

A lot of narratives play around with the weight of that, only to turn around and say "Of course you're the same, who else would you be?" The character gets their memories back and they're suddenly exactly as they were before, maybe with a life lesson along the way.

But Death Mark doesn't. Without all the knowledge and experiences of Masamune Kujou, Yashiki is fundamentally a kinder and less apathetic person, without any sort of prompting. Even when confronting dangerous spirits out to kill him, he takes the time to learn their stories and show them some small form of kindness. He listens to the recording of who he used to be, and he can't reconcile the callousness that Masamune had towards the deaths caused by his mistake with the way he feels about them, to the point where he doesn't even go back to using the identity that he's worked so hard to remember. Even when the game gives you the option to forgive Masamune, the options are still "It had to be done" and "I can't forgive him" because Kazuo Yashiki and Masamune Kujou are not the same.

And I think that's a way more interesting take than the protagonist just reverting back into the same person they were despite all the experiences we saw them go through.

[staytrueblue]

Part 1: not all who wander are lost

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x Reader. tags: amnesia. established relationship. memory loss. happy ending (I promise) wc: 1019

Christmas music, the crinkling of wrapping paper, and the scent of musky perfume consumed Kyles’ senses as he waited for the salesperson in front of him to complete their work.

He prides himself on his patience; the ability to lay and watch through a sniper scope for days was arguably unmatched. But as the older woman carefully folded the edges of the sparkling paper around the box, pressing in each corner gently he felt like he was being tested.

Feeling himself start to fade he watches her work with glazed eyes. Now a measuring tape was being pulled out to adjust the length of the sparkly white ribbon that soon began to twist and wrap around the small box. Rushing white noise enveloped him.

“...Garrick?..Mr. Garrick? Sir?”

Kyle blinks, and the woman in front of him slowly comes into focus. Her forehead tense with concern, further creasing her already lined face. Barbara, her name tag helpfully stated, was holding out the pristinely wrapped present to him.

“Thanks love.” His mouth helpfully supplies as he slips the package into his inner jacket pocket, pulling his wallet from his jeans.

Barbara smiles, tilting her head in confusion as he pulls out his card, “You’ve…it’s already been paid for sir.

He blinks at her, fighting to pull the memory of the purchase forward. The season is busy, amongst everything not remembering an already paid purchase is the last of his concerns.

“Happy Christmas.” He murmurs, shoving his wallet back into his pocket. Bing Crosby croons through the overhead speakers as he makes his way through the maze of shoppers to escape into the outside. Finally breathing in the scent of pine and mulled wine he blew into his hands, willing them to warm against the winter chill.

“Kyle!”

He twists toward it, your familiar voice above the noise of the crowd and the distant jingle of bells, finding him. It wasn’t hard for him to seek you out among the people.

With a big grin on your face, cheeks rosy and bright you jumped on your toes waving at him. Kyle couldn’t help but smile as the red thick scarf burying you to your chin bounced along with your movement.

He shoulders by shoppers and tourists, meeting you halfway. He loops your arm through his as you begin to pull in the direction of some paddocks. “Look at them!” Your excited chirp emphasized your motion toward reindeer, brought in for an authentic Christmas experience.

Smiling he felt the small package pressing into his side as you clung to him. “Let’s see if they let you pet them love.” Smiling at your squeals of delight he presses a kiss on top of your head and pulls you closer to him, feeling his heart bursting full of adoration.

Traumatic Brain Injuries were weekly if not daily in the special forces, yet the entirety of the military has elected that an intervention or supportive medical assistance was not considered a priority for their soldiers, veterans, or otherwise. Leaving loved ones, law enforcement, and homeless shelters to deal with the cleanup.

It’s only been six months since Kyle was medically discharged and diagnosed with a TBI. He considered himself the luckiest man in the world to have you; you have been so understanding, so sweet, and yet firm when he needed you to be. Through brain-strengthening tests, games, and physical therapy you have been a steady presence in his healing.

It’s always felt natural with you. At this point, you had been together for three years, and Kyle couldn’t imagine himself with anyone else.

Heart thudding in his chest he felt the weight of the small package in his pocket. If he could wait this long he could wait a little bit more.

—

It is going to be perfect, he has timed it perfectly. The hike had been long and draining, but as you both made it to the last hill he could see the bright red sunrise peeking over the top.

Calls from morning birds and chirps from hidden forest creatures filled the silence as you set down your bag on the flat rock of the mountain. Kyle set his own next to yours as you approach the edge of the rocks, oo, and ahhing at the view of the mountain and sunrise.

Kyle pulls out the small box he had purchased months ago. He hopes you can forgive him for dragging you up the mountain so early, pulling you from your warm bed. He had thought a lot about where he would want to propose but realized all he really wanted was just to be with you.

You turn, eyes bright and cheeks glowing from the exertion and morning air, mouth opening to likely urge him to come closer when you see him.

Kyle kneels on one knee, willing his voice not to crack as he sees the realization on your face. Your hand covers your mouth slowly, not even looking at the ring he was offering but into his eyes as yours sparkle with unshed tears.

The box cupped in his hand trembled as he held back his own, willing his voice to be strong. “You have been my strength and my love since the moment I met you. There is nothing more I want in this world but to spend forever with you. Will you do me the greatest honor in marrying me?”

“Yes. Oh, Kyle yes of course!”

There was no hesitation as you accept his proposal. He slips the ring on your finger, hands shaking, the sunrise casting you both in a reddish hue.

You cling together in celebration and love, the sun rising in the distance casts the red away making the sky above brighter and brighter and brighter until Kyle forces his eyes shut against the light.

White noise rushes through his ears, filling his thoughts, and overwhelming his hearing.

His muscles lose strength, you slip from his arms.

He trips through light and sound as he reaches for you.

Distantly he hears your voice calling out to him, he stretches further, grasping at air until…..

Silence.

Part 2

[emloafs]

hawkmetri amnesia trope continues 👊

i finally wrote chapter 8 of im wanting it back while avoiding my other responsibilities so pls enjoy

read i'm wanting it back here

[the-fluff-piece]

Tropetember 8

Law's Amnesia

Also check out my stories and headcanon masterlists

Law gets knocked out and gets - AMNESIA! But not the boring medical kind, the fun quirky kind of tropes. He shows the crew a different side as he forgets who he is and what hardships he had to endure

"Kind of sucks when your doc is the one who would need help..." Shachi mused as he and Bepo monitored Law's condition.

He got a massive hit in the head from Luffy - by accident, the other captain swore. Now he was out and sleeping it off.

Bepo put his paw on Law's forehead, patting his captain for comfort.

You've offered to take over so the others could get some sleep. Taking a book and some tea with you, you prepared for an uneventful night.

Law had a light bruise in his head but it didn't make him any less handsome. His face looked stern, even when he was unconscious. His fine features were heartbreaking as always and you allowed yourself to let your fingers trail down his cheek - only to check his temperature and general condition of course.

When you felt his groomed goatee under your fingers, he twitched lightly, making you jump.

He grimaced in pain and groaned, opening his eyes slowly and lifting his head.

"Law, you're awake!" You stated the obvious as you tried to keep him down. Of course, your captain had to wear a half open shirt and of course, you happened to touch his bare chest.

"You need to stay in bed or you'll get dizzy!" You warned him.

"What?" He asked, his eyes looking at you with a confused expression.

With soft force, you pressed him into the bed again, while his eyes were fixed on your face.

"Who are you? Where am I?" He asked, the softness and higher pitch of his voice sounded unfamiliar to you.

"Captain that's not funny, it's me, y/n" you still had to press him down, he was surprisingly strong for just waking up.

"Captain? Who?" He pushed against you and sat up, shaking his head.

"Wow, cool stuff!" He looked around his own medical bay as of he was seeing it for the first time.

"And who are you again?" He asked you, looking you up and down with open interest.

"Are you some kind of mechanic? Is that your tech stuff?" His voice sounded excited and light, absolutely not like his usual self.

As he moved to get out of the bed you pressed him back down with all your power and only succeeded because you surprised him with a jump.

"Whoa, babe, slow down!" He chuckled as you found yourself half on top of him, both hands on his chest.

"You uhm.. you need to lie down, you took a serious blow to the head" you explained with urgency.

"So you're like...my girlfriend?" His eyes beamed like a little boy's in a candy store.

"You're cute!" He said as he grabbed your shoulders and drew you into an embrace.

"CAPTAIN" you screamed, trying to wiggle out of an iron grip.

"Where?" Law let go and looked around.

You jumped down from the bed and caught your breath - he has lost his mind!

And he was already swinging his feet out of the bed, energetically looking around like a 5 year old on sugar.

"I have to see the rest of this thing!" He ran towards the door, and you couldn't hold him back. He was far stronger and faster than you, instead he grabbed your hand and dragged you with him through the door.

"Wow, where am I?" He asked.

"The polar tang - your ship!" You said as you tried to keep up with his long strides.

"My ship? And my girlfriend! I'm so lucky! Just the name of the ship is weird" He laughed. He dragged you down the corridor and to deck, where he stopped dead in his tracks.

"A bear!?" He looked at Bepo in disbelief. The white bear sat on deck and enjoyed some cool night air. As soon as he heard Law's comment, he blushed and stammered excuses.

"Ca...captain??? You are awake?" He eventually got a hold of himself.

Law approached his first mate really carefully.

"A talking bear!" He said.

"SORRY" Bepo bowed down.

"Hey whaaa...?" Bepo blushed until he became a fleshy pink.

As he bowed down, Law grabbed his ears and was squeezing them thoroughly while making "awww" sounds and giggling.

"What's going on here?" Shachi appeared in the door, looking shocked. "He isn't supposed to be up yet!"

"He just...I think he has amnesia!" You said.

"Amnesia?" Shachi rubbed his chin.

"Could be. In any case, you need to get back to bed Captain!" He said to Law.

"Who's this captain?" Law looked around and finally stopped molesting Bepo, who sank to his as a whimpering white mess.

"You are! And we need you! So please go back to bed, you need rest!" Now Shachi helped you to push Law back in the direction of sick Bay.

"Me? Captain? Wow, my life is awesome! I have a cute girlfriend, a ship AND a crew???" He looked like he could burst from happiness and excitement.

"...girlfriend?" Shachi asked.

"He kind of decided that I am his girlfriend" you answered, blushing.

Shachi seemed like he wanted to make a sassy comment when Law suddenly dug in his heels and stared at his reflection in one of the windows.

He studied the tattoos on his chest and hands and let his hands run through his hair.

"I...I..." he seemed overwhelmed, "I look like a crook! A gangster! A...a..." he seemed at a loss for words.

"A pirate?" You helped him.

"Yes! One of those! That would be awful!" He said it with such upstanding distaste that you and Shachi just had to exchange a glance to come to the same conclusion.

"Of course your not a pirate. You're a...fashion model!" You told him.

"Woah, really?" Law seemed to relax again - and become more docile.

"Yes and I am your girlfriend! Let's go to bed, it's late!" It still felt strange to talk to him that way, but he seemed to like what he heard and followed you like a lamb back to his sick bed.

"See? That wasn't so bad. Now you just have to lay down again so you can rest." You indicated the bed with your outstretched hand.

"It seems really small" Law said.

"It's big enough for you" You said.

"And you?" Law blushed.

"What about me?" He confused you now.

"I mean...since you are my girlfriend, you sleep in my bed" He grinned.

"Uhm..." You had to swallow and looked at Shachi for help. He grinned, to. That bastard.

"You two are so in love, you squeeze into a tiny bed" He chuckled maliciously and slowly walked out of the room.

"So romantic! I love cuddling. I think" Law was absolutely on board and threw himself into the cushions, his arms open to receive you.

"Uhm...why don't you go to sleep while I work some more?" You said.

"I am hurt and need rest. You said so yourself! I need you to sleep" Law stated like a kid that just outwitted a grown up.

"Fine." You awkwardly settled on the bed, when Law shook his head.

"Your boiler suit is dirty. You don't sleep with that" He indicated some oil stains on your suit.

You never wore more than underwear and a shirt under that thing. It could get hot. But he really needed to sleep, so you pulled down the zipper under Law's lusty gaze. When you finally slipped it from your shoulders, he commented with another "wow" as he stared at you with undeniable adoration.

He opened his arms again and tucked you into his side as soon as you settled on the bed. Immediately you noticed his cold, clammy hands.

"Law, you're so cold, are you hungry? Are you dizzy?" You asked.

"So...sleepy...with...girlfriend..." he rested his head on your shoulder as he pressed against you and seemed to pass out again. You waited until he breathed deeply and evenly and slipped out of his tight grip.

He looked relaxed and content as he slept and you resumed your watch over him.

-----

Yes, I'm pretty sure that head injuries don't work like that, but this is tropetember so Law has the right kind of Amnesia and will be fine xD I hope you enjoyed it

Taglist@yeeeeezly @waitingmydemons @stariski @livwritesfics @violetmatcha

[justonemorewallflower]

Y'all I just came up with a devasting BSG Kara Thrace centered fic idea.

MAJOR BSG SPOILERS BELOW!!!

***

During her accident/death in her Viper she suffers a major head injury and so when she returns to Galactica a few months later she has retrograde amnesia and doesn't remember hardly anyone except for a select few (or no one at all, I haven't decided yet). She remembers basic functions ofc and all that and how to pilot a Viper, etc. but beyond those things she only remembers that she isn't a Cylon, and that she somehow knows the way to Earth.

She doesn't remember Sam at all so she doesn't know he's her husband, etc. And while she can't remember most people her heart remembers and she's confused because Sam is trying to tell her that he's her husband but she knows/feels Lee is more important to her and that she has stronger feelings for him. Lee tries to tell her that's just because they've known each other for longer and while that is definitely partially the case, it's also because he can't deal with Kara finally voicing her feelings and being confused about why she and Lee aren't together (since it had been her fault/choice). It also doesn't help that when she first returns she initially mistakes Lee as her husband.

And at some point she asks Lee why she didn't chose him and he bluntly tells her that he still wonders the same thing, causing her to feel bad. But he doesn't let her, since it's in the past and she doesn't remember it anymore.

And as much as Lee wants to he tries not to do anything with Kara since he is still technically with/married to Dee. And for that reason Kara forces herself to try and be happy with/remember her feelings for Sam, but she doesn't until a little bit before he gets shot sending him into that coma. But of course her feelings for Lee aren't gone either and when she comes to terms with the fact that Sam probably won't make it, her feelings for Lee come back in full force, especially as she starts relying on him as her only comfort source.

***

I saw an Instagram reel the other day that had an amnesia prompt/story and it inspired me to look up some prompts and I immediately was like wait ooh what if Kara came back from her death with none of her recent memories/no memories since the Cylons attacked the Colonies.

As y'all know I love all things angsty and depressing so the idea excited me, especially since this fic could potentially be as long as my fic The Journey To Life since they both follow the same timeline of the end of Season 3 all the way to the end.

Would I finish it is the question since again I suck at finishing long works but I've done it before so I can do it again potentially lol. But what are y'all's thoughts on this? Do you like this idea or nah? Would you be interested in reading something like this? Let me know! I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts, feedback and ideas!

[phoebepheebsphibs]

I never wrote it down, but I thought up a Rise fic idea where Donnie was angry that his brothers constantly ragged on him for his mistakes and so he created a neuralyzer device (like from MiB), where he could erase their memories of his mistakes and keep the idea that he was the perfect brother in their minds. However, the more he used the device, the worse the effects got until he accidentally gave his brothers memory problems, causing them to forget him altogether.

Mikey had a form of dementia, Raph had that thing from 50 First Dates where after 24 hours his memory reset itself, and Leo had your basic amnesia where he forgot everyone and everything.

Donnie became so desperate to save his brothers and their memory that he subjected himself to a repurposed form of his mind-reprogramulator device and he ended up giving all of his memories to his brothers as a way for them to slowly heal and cope while a better solution could be found. But the procedure essentially deleted Donnie’s mind and he went kinda comatose.

…I never came up with an ending for the idea so it probably wouldn’t see the light of day for a while. I’m not sure how everything would be fixed, but I love happy endings so somehow the guys would get their memories back and Donnie would be restored.

[shewolf-sinclair]

need a fic of jason first coming back

specifically his memory

like the year he was with the LoA he was kinda. in a trance?? the pit messed him UP. bad. and i think he didn’t really remember everything. at least not well. not right. he only had a foggy idea of who he was. of what happened to him. he was like a blank canvas for Ras and Talia to shape. But then he remembers some and comes back to gotham. and slowly starts to remember more. details and specifics. eventually he gets it all back.

even angstier if you want; he doesn’t remember everything. for a WHILE. like the whole time as Redhood he’s remembering more like its slowly coming back to him as hes going through the motions. then for a while. thats it. like he’s hit a wall. so while he has enough to function and do his shit and kinda be himself again… hes still missing. and hes doing his best to guess and fill in gaps. but he doesnt know. until he comes back to manor and it falls into place. like mabel and stan with the scrapbook at the end of gravity falls.

[ariahforaries]

Is there any amnesia Saurondriel fanfiction where Galadriel loses her memories?

If not, there should be 👀 imagine it happens while she's with Hal/Sauron due some powers that be bs, and after, she looks at Hal/Sauron, and goes like 'now who might you be, stranger?' It would be like a Christmas gift for him. The lies and plots he'd spin...😯

[ikilledyvette]

Saw a poll about who you'd pick to have an amnesia story on 9-1-1, and while my instinct is to say Buck because he's my favorite character to whump (emotionally or otherwise), I actually wonder if Maddie might be the best choice here. There's the obvious drama, of course, in learning that she has a little girl and a happy marriage now, that she killed the hell out of her last husband, that her baby brother already knows the Big Buckley Family Secret, etc. And that would all be fine, and it'd be great to give Maddie a real storyline outside the call center, too, but—

What I really want MORE THAN ANYTHING is to see Jennifer Love Hewitt's hilarious reactions to all the constant insanity around the 118. Buck making Maddie whole charts so she can keep up with who's had what trauma. Buck could make her flashcards, too, and he would give impromptu pop quizzes. "I'm sorry, it was your HUSBAND who was abducted by a serial killer. *I* was the one struck by lightning, Mads, keep up."

Maddie meeting Tommy again (since we were denied this). Maddie's face hearing about her hospital room wedding. Maddie's face hearing about The Kim Situation.

I just ... I think it could be GLORIOUS.

[martinakl13]

Inej returns to Ketterdam for the winter to find out that something is not as it should be.

Do you want to know what Kaz Rietveld would have been like if he hadn't become Dirtyhands? Just hit Kaz Brekker hard in the head and you can have it.

[radashes]

Book Review: God of War by Rina Kent

Guys, if you know, I always tell you how irritating childish, spoiled female leads are to me. And I've got a perfect example to show. Ava Van Doren.

Setup:

Ava wakes up from an accident and has amnesia. Eli — the man she supposedly hated — is now her husband. She has no memory of falling in love or marrying him. Naturally, she wants answers.

Vibe:

Marriage of convenience

Broody hero x sunshine heroine (Spoiled)

Force proximity

Amnesia

Praise kink

Ava Van Doren: This girl gave me a migraine. Like, genuinely. I thought she was going to be this badass, messy, chaotic heroine with an attitude to match — especially after she smashed Eli’s Bugatti and said she hated him. That gave me hope. But no. She turned out to be the biggest disappointment of the book.

Spoiled? Absolutely.

Childish? Yes.

Petty? Constantly.

A doormat? Unfortunately, also yes.

She mixes with bad friends, knows they’re trash, and then acts shocked when people call her a brat. Jeremy and Eli called her out, and she cried victim every time. It’s not that she’s a sunshine girl — she’s a delusional girl.

She made threats like “I’ll destroy Eli,” “He’ll suffer,” “I’ll get my revenge,” and then spent the whole book eating candy, reading romance novels, playing dress-up, and begging for his attention. Where was the revenge? No, really — WHERE?

And the way she folded every time Eli gave her crumbs? Spineless. He could say the nastiest, most degrading things (I don't hate degradation kink, but his words were insulting), and she’d melt because he touched her thigh and said, “Mrs. King.” Girl, what happened to your dignity?

Every time someone tries to help her, she turns it into a power struggle. Even therapy couldn’t fix her at this point.

Also —I’m sorry, but the baby fever was suffocating. Every chapter she was crying about wanting a child. Yes, motherhood is a valid desire — but her entire character was reduced to it. It replaced growth. Replaced healing. Replaced everything.

Eli King: I thought he was going to be this dark, layered, dangerous guy. What we got was a flatline of a character with a God complex and a superiority issue, but no real charisma to back it up.

He was VILE. He said genuinely horrible things. He called women “holes,” treated Ava like trash, and the few “sacrifices” he made for her? We never saw them. Cecy told us about them in passing. No emotional impact. No POV. Just... here, feel sad because we said so.

He doesn’t grovel. He doesn’t redeem. He just takes up space, sulks, and growls “You’re my wife.” That’s it. His idea of love is controlling her outfits and telling her she’s being attention-seeking.

What Didn’t Land:

Ava’s entire character arc. She goes from brat to… slightly less brat. That’s it. And somehow we’re supposed to believe she’s matured.

The amnesia trope — wasted.

Dialogue was cringey at times. “Mrs. King” this, “stripper” that—no thanks.

Emotional healing = sex + vague apologies.

They’re supposed to be “forbidden soulmates” or whatever—but I felt nothing. More tension between me and my Wi-Fi router than between these two.

💬 Final Thoughts:

Rating:⭐ 2/5 stars

The book had the bones of something great, but the execution was straight-up awful. Even while I accepted Eli, I couldn't bring myself to connect with Ava at all. She would act irrationally on each page.

It would have been fantastic if the main characters had been a little more likable.

Would I recommend it?

👉 Only if you’re committed to finishing the series.

Will you yell “GIRL WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” 47 times while reading?

👉 Without question.

Will it entertain you?

👉 Maybe. If you're into really spoiled female leads.

Now excuse me while I reread 'God of Wrath' to heal.

[staytrueblue]

Part 3 Final.: not all who wander are lost

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x Reader. tags: amnesia. established relationship. memory loss. happy ending (I promise) wc: 717 part 1. part 2.

Kyle’s back pops as he rolls his shoulders, he shifts and leans his way off the couch. Another afternoon nap, which likely explains why his joints and limbs ache and creak so badly.

As he stands the smell of apple pie baking sends him in the direction of the kitchen like a looney toon character who floats along a scent to it’s destination.

Your back is to him as he enters and pauses for a moment to take you in. You hum as you scrub away dutifully at a pan at the sink, back hunched slightly.

“Now, what is this.” He nuzzles his face into your neck and breathes in your familiar scent as he wraps his arms around your stomach.

“Your favorite.” The smile in your voice was contagious, he hid his own against your shoulder as he peered at your shared reflection in the window pane.

Strangers peered at him in the reflection. Unfamiliar and too close.

Kyle lurches, fear and adrenaline hits his system. His only thought is to protect you and get as far away as possible when he feels your hand press against his, now sandwiched between yours and the warmth of your soft belly.

“Kyle.”

Shaking his head he rubs against your shoulder, hiding in your neck like a child. A sense of confusion starts to build in his chest.

“Darling.” At the softness of your tone, he tilts his head up slightly, weight leaving your neck. Something deep down and familiar tells him that he trusts you, that he should trust you. He brings his gaze to the window, meeting eyes with the unfamiliar woman in the reflection.

“Watch for a moment. Okay? You’re safe.”

The woman's mouth moves matching the words leaving your lips in front of him. He clings to you as he inspects the woman, her face framed with soft white hair and laugh lines lining her cheeks and crinkling smiling eyes.

He feels you drag your linked hands together up your body, the couple in the window following the movement exactly.

Something itchs at the back of his mind as his eyes flicked to the man behind the woman. White tight curls, white facial hair shaped into a familiar style.

Kyle closes his eyes as overwhelming sensations start to roll over him like waves, his body aching with age.

“My love.

His eyes meet yours in the reflection, your name falling from his lips in a whisper. “You’re gorgeous.”

Your smile lit up your face, just as it did those many years ago. He feels you squeeze his hand as he stares in the reflection. A lifetime has passed, and Kyle felt his heart clench with the realization.

“You stayed this long for me?”

Turning around you wrap your arms around his neck, trailing your fingers through his curls. “It felt like small short moments in time my darling.”

Swallowing, he cradles your face gently and tries to take in all that he had forgotten. How much had he missed? “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more in your life.”

“Oh darling, you gave me so much. We had a lifetime of adventures together.” You motion around the kitchen and rooms beyond, bringing frames of people, and mementos on shelves to his attention.

“And I think you proposed about..” You tap a finger against your chin thoughtfully teasing him..” eight times. And of course, I said yes every time. You’re lucky that our son's partners have similar tastes so they can stay in the family.” Your eyes twinkle knowingly, watching as his face drops into one of awe.

“You’ve been wandering love, but you’ve never been lost.”

Kyle clasps your hand in his and brings it to his chest, closing his eyes against the words. Your voice is a balm over his racing heart as memories he never knew he had forgotten piece back together.

Moments of laughter and joy and sorrow. Of baby coos and prom nights. And slow dances and silly fights, doctors appointments and diagnoses.

Overwhelmed with emotion he leans in and presses his forehead against yours. “Our life has been one hell of an adventure.”

You smile as you lean in to press a soft kiss against his lips. “And I wouldn’t want it with any other person besides you Kyle Garrick.”