#Faked Death

[aventurineswife]

aventurine x reader, but they both worked in the IPC together, until Reader faked their death to escape it. Aventurine kinda loses himself for a bit, but is sent on another planetary mission (idk what ipc assignments are called 😔) he notices one of the citizens looks a bit too much like a previous friend

Reader realizes Aventurine found them, and feeling too scared to face him after never saying goodbye, warning or anything, they run off to a secluded area aven follows them to, and boom we get angsty argument, bittersweet love confession, and happy or sad ending up to u!!

i hope this made sense

The Gamble of Lost Hearts | Part 1

Summary: After faking your death to escape the IPC and live a quiet life, You encounters Aventurine years later on a remote planet. Desperate to avoid facing him after leaving without a word, You run, but Aventurine tracks you down to demand answers.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, angst, reunion, faked death, confrontation, bittersweet, passionate kiss, unresolved feelings, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

Warnings: Intense emotions, mention of grief and faked death, brief argument, bittersweet themes, kissing.

A/N: Thank for the request, Anon! Of course it made sense and I hope you like it!! I decided to go for a happy ending but lmk if you want a sad ending too 😇🤭

(Part 2)

The tall silhouette of the IPC headquarters still felt like a ghostly shadow looming over you, even on this remote planet. You'd spent years running from it, from him, leaving behind everything you knew to escape the endless cycles of high-stakes deals and veiled dangers. Faking your death was your only way out. A drastic choice, but one that had kept you free.

For the most part, it had worked. You’d blended into a quiet, new life here, far from the frenetic energy and luxurious intrigue of IPC. But today was different. A mission had arrived from IPC. You hadn’t realized who would be leading it—hadn’t dared to imagine he would come to this far-flung place.

And yet, here you were, ducking down behind market stalls, holding your breath every time he brushed past. His sandy-blond hair, elegant stance, and that gambler’s grin that still haunted your memories—it was all here. And with him came a flood of feelings you'd kept buried for years.

Somewhere along the winding paths of this new city, you’d slipped. He'd caught sight of you, and that glimmer in his eyes told you he knew.

You didn’t waste time running. You veered down alleyways, taking shortcuts and dodging through side streets, ignoring the heart pounding in your chest. The cliffside path outside the city led to a hidden grove where you’d often retreat to watch the waves crash far below. Maybe there, he would lose your trail.

But there was no outrunning someone like him.

“Quite the bold tactic—faking your own death,” His smooth voice sounded just as you remembered, laced with that same easy charm but edged with something new—something raw. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”

You took a breath before facing him, his piercing gaze pinning you down as soon as you met his eyes. He stood mere steps away, looking as striking as ever, the faint roulette motif on his overcoat catching the last of the setting sun.

“Aventurine, I…” The words failed you. How could you explain years of silence? Of leaving him to mourn?

“I grieved you, you know.” His voice was soft, nearly breaking. “I searched, hoping it was all some misstep. Until the day I accepted you were…gone.”

The ache in his words stung worse than you’d anticipated. “I didn’t have a choice...” you whispered, but your words sounded feeble, empty even to yourself.

“No choice?” Aventurine scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. “We were supposed to be partners, weren’t we? You could have trusted me.” He took a step forward, anger blazing in his eyes. “But instead, you turned me into a fool. For years, I mourned a ghost while you built this quiet little life on the fringes.”

“You don’t understand,” you argued, feeling that familiar pang in your chest. “It wasn’t just about leaving IPC. I couldn’t… If I stayed, I would’ve lost myself. That place…it consumed everything.”

“And you think I don’t know that?” Aventurine’s voice softened, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face, a tender gesture that held the weight of all the things left unsaid between you. “Do you think I didn’t want to leave with you?”

You swallowed hard, caught off guard by his words. The idea of Aventurine—the gambler, the thrill-seeker—longing to escape had never crossed your mind. But here he was, his eyes reflecting a deep sadness that mirrored your own.

“I���m sorry,” you murmured, the sincerity in your voice mixing with the regret that had gnawed at you all these years. “But I couldn’t drag you down with me.”

“You didn’t give me the choice.” he whispered, voice barely above a murmur. His eyes searched yours, desperate to find a reason, a justification that could somehow absolve the pain he’d carried all this time. And then, with a hint of frustration, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a fierce, desperate kiss. It wasn’t gentle—it was raw, full of the emotions he’d held back, the years he’d spent believing you were lost.

The kiss stole the words from your mouth, every excuse, every apology dissolving in the intensity of that single, electric moment.

When he pulled back, his hand still lingered at the side of your face, thumb tracing the faint line of your jaw as he gazed at you with a newfound resolve. “If you run again, I’m coming with you.” he murmured, his voice steadier now.

You met his gaze, realizing he meant it. There would be no more running, no more hiding. Aventurine wouldn’t let you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised softly, the weight of your words sinking between you both. “Not without you.”

A flicker of a smile returned to his lips, tempered by the hurt that had yet to fully heal but brightened by the glimmer of hope that you could finally face whatever came next—together.

[youcallyourselfafilmcritic]

Latest James Somerton Lore Drop:

[greensleevesii]

Y’all let’s be real. James Somerton definitely stole those ass pics

[raikirikiri]

thinking about if konoha ninja who became anbu frequently 'died' so they wouldn't be on any registry and so other villages would get word that notable shinobi have 'died'. they don't do it often, that would be suspicious, but they do it to kakashi. minato assigns him to anbu and apologizes blandly when he tells him his death is going to be faked. kakashi, broken traumatized and depressed, thinks nothing of it.

kakashi 'dies' on a mission months after the death of rin, after obito watched, after he lost pretty much everything and any sense of self he had. his body isn't recovered and the circumstances of his death are unclear.

if im being entirely cruel, this means that no one in the village (guy, asuma, iruka, etc.) would know that kakashi is still alive. they all think he's dead and they grieve him and kakashi... disappears. he doesn't know himself anymore and he can't, because he's dead and he's in the anbu now and that's all that matters. his life for konoha in life and death, always.

obito, being the stalker he is, looks for kakashi. he missed him entering the anbu, he missed the faked funeral, he missed a lot. he tries to find him in his shoebox apartment, stakes out minato's home, sits at the memorial stone and rin's grave. but kakashi never shows up and obito decides he'll check the active missions in konoha, just to know where kakashi is (definitely not to follow him and watch him, that'd be weird, duh). so after sneaking into the hokage's office with kamui, he rifles through the piles of s-rank and a-rank missions, but kakashi's name is nowhere to be found. confused and almost insulted on kakashi's behalf, he checks the b-ranks and below, but no dice.

now obito is getting...nervous might not be the word but he's definitely feel angry at this point. if kakashi isn't home, on a mission, grieiving, or with minato then where is he. obito stalks guy next, finds him sitting on a rock by a stream, glum. he's pale, his eyes are watery, he looks exhausted and obito is definitely nervous at this point. he'd never admit it but for something to get guy of all people down... obito fears for the worst.

through much stalking and espionage, obito finds out where kakashi is.

he's dead.

that can't be right.

he would've heard if kakashi was dead, right? zetsu would've told him. he would've known. kakashi has one of his eyes, he definitely would've known. and obito, pissed, scared, and indignant, opens up the connection between him and kakashi, searching for kakashi's vision, for what he can see. he hasn't done it since that night when rin...

he didn't want kakashi to know it existed, never even wanted to take that chance. but he doesn't care anymore. kakashi isn't dead. it's just not possible.

obito was right. kakashi isn't dead.

but he might as well be.

kakashi has no way out of the anbu now, no way that wouldn't give away konoha's secrets. guy can't help him because guy thinks he's dead, minato can't help him, he killed him in the first place. kakashi will forever live, breathe, and die for konoha. it makes obito's blood boil, he feels reminiscent of the night rin died.

he hates kakashi. he wants to hate kakashi. he can't hate kakashi. he can hate the world, he can despise konoha, he can want to kill minato. but kakashi...

he's never been able to hate him. no matter how hard he tried, how easy kakashi made it for him. when it came to kakashi, his balance between love and hate was never more skewed.

there's a particularly awful mission, kakashi is the only one to return to the village and he's...he's not good. obito watches him laugh hysterically as he washes his hands of blood that isn't there. he's never seen kakashi so broken and it hurts more than he ever thought it would.

obito gets kakashi out of the anbu. kakashi hates him for it, fights him, thrashes against him and his will and ideologies. kakashi doesn't know him, obito was too ahamed to reveal himself. it doesn't matter though, kakashi wants to die. he was happy in the anbu, he says. it'd be a quicker death, a noble death.

you've already died, obito shouts at him, enraged and torn apart. how can't he see it? how can he be so naive and blind to it all?

kakashi doesn't answer, doesn't know what words to say to make this stranger believe he isn't worth the trouble. obito has no choice.

with a shaking hand, he removes his mask. kakashi watches, eyes wide and wet and obito throws the mask to the side to hold out his hand. you've already died, but you can be reborn.

with me.

kakashi, broken tattered and thoroughly sure he's lost it, takes obito's hand. yes, kakashi thinks, he's died. but if this is the afterlife, than maybe things won't be so bad...

[genyawritesshizz]

A Hum of Time. Toshinori Yagi x Reader

Part 4

Summary: An innocent relationship between two workaholics could not possibly be that eventful. Just two individuals finding comfort within each other's company and the occasional cup of coffee. What happens when a secret that could ruin both of their careers brings the whole thing crashing down? In a heart wrenching decision, you must do what is best for all three of you and brave the future alone. Will you ever tell the truth? You might not have a choice.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Tigger Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence, blood and gore! Depression and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

4550-word count

Unleashing the angst MUHAHAHHA >:)))))

He could not just let you go. 

The night his personal world stopped spinning burned itself into his mind. Replaying the memory on a repeated loop until he was inevitably pulled into another mind busying task. All in attempts to shun it from his visage, yet it always came back. Vivid and raw the memory played. 

Coming back from a late night at the office with eyes battling the sting of sleep he wandered into the safety of your shared apartment. Far too tired to think he contemplated collapsing on the couch, yet a growl from his stomach pushed him past the cushions. He had not eaten today, something you’d surely scold him for. A sickening wet crunch under his shoe when he entered the kitchen caused his eyes to fully open, his consciousness returning. Finally taking notice of his surroundings the area was akin to a homicide scene. Shattered glass littered the tiled floor. The wooden door to the cabinet lay splintered. At first glance his frantic mind feared blood smeared on the walls, but as the stinging pungent stench of alcohol and fruit penetrated his nose it was thankfully wine.

“(Y/N)?” He called, voice higher in pitch with panic. The sound echoed through the house yet received no reply. Cold sweat of dread ran down his forehead, his intuition screaming in unease. Calling for you again he paced the hallway towards your shared bedroom. Maybe you’d fallen asleep? Maybe you had partaken in too much wine and passed out? His heart hammered against his chest; adrenaline coursed through his veins as he flung the door open. Eyes scanning the room, his anxiety swelled to a peak at seeing the room in disarray. Clothes littered the floor and storage boxes once hidden under the bed lay strewn about. Running to the conjoined bathroom as a last hope, it too was barren. With labored breath he pulled his cellphone out, fingers hammering against the numbers as he prepared to call the authorities until the buzz of a text made his heart stop.

(y/n): ‘I can't do this anymore Toshinori. Please, take care of yourself.’

“No..” 

“Your call has been forwarded to an automotive voice mess-””

“NO! NO! NO!”

“Your call has been forwarded to an automotive voice messaging system. At the tone, please record your message.” His fingers lost their grip around the device. He soon joined it. Fallen and broken on the bathroom floor. 

‘She’s gone? She left? Why?’ 

Through grief he pondered why. Why did you leave? Why did you not talk to him before making such a drastic decision? He knew the answer, any fool with half a heart could understand why. When was the last time the couple genuinely had a moment together? When has there ever been time to discuss it? Guilty and heartbroken at knowing he had failed you he curled in around himself. Laying on the cold tile floor until the sun arose anew and the duty that had taken him from you and in turn you from him, called once more. 

The real world stopped for no one.

A transfer request from an American agency sitting atop his desk two weeks later solidified it in his mind, you were truly gone. Off to America to continue being a hero, back on course to living your dream, without him. He pushed you away, just like everyone else.

In reality your life had been anything but a dream. Your own heartache grief had set in upon watching the life you’d spent years creating grow distant from the window of an airplane. Anything you had to show for it had been stuffed in a carry on and two suitcases. Finding comfort only through rubbing the small swell of your stomach, all of this was for them. It did not matter how you felt, as long as Toshinori and this child could continue living on, it would all be worth it.

‘Do it for them.’

Those words pushed you through the hellish ensuing months. 

From the cold nights sitting homeless in the streets desperate to find rest to signing a lease on a dilapidated studio apartment. From anguished job searching and inevitably failing due to awaiting international credit transfers to suiting up once again ready to hit the streets for patrol. From anonymous women's health clinics being subjected to hours of lecturing on the danger of continuing this path to the announcement of his gender. From redesigning your suit to hide the growing bump to taking a ‘leave of absence’ as your baby boy prepares to make his debut. From the broken amniotic sac to pushing alone. From your crying to his as he was birthed into the world. 

Through all the pain and hardship, you forged a new life for them. 

To some you were Siren, a young Japanese hero who decided to adventure out into America for the thrill of crime fighting. To others you were (y/n) (y/l/n) the single mother who worked overtime just to put food on the table. A double life. 

Determined to make it work you pushed yourself above and beyond, plus ultra, for them.

It’s been years since you left, two to be exact. Yet he still caught himself coming home in the early hours of the morning after a long night of crime fighting in his sleep deprived and battered state expecting you to be curled up in your shared bed asleep. Sometimes he’d instinctively open the microwave expecting a plate of dinner you always left out for him. Only to stare blankly into the appliance, the rotating plate stained with splats of dried noodles and spilled soup from his countless cups of instant ramen. Any hints of your cooking lost in the charred remains. 

He’d just go to bed hungry, not like he had much of a stomach anyways. 

The oversized costume slid off his boney shoulders with ease plopping into a heap on the floor. He did not bother to hang it up. Without you there to cook and badger him into eating actual meals coupled with already being on a downhill slide post injury his physic deteriorated drastically. Outside of flexing to be All Might he was skin and bones, any muscle or stored fat had eroded rapidly.

The bed was, as always, abandoned. Sheets still crumpled and thrown to the floor from when he had previously rolled out hours ago. Feeling far too large, too cold, too… empty; He lay awake, insomnia plagued.  Even before your relationship he struggled to rest, now without you to coax him into laying down and calming his mind within your arms he slipped back into old habits. More often than not he laid in silence, mind wandering into the abyss of what ifs. Either the phone or computer were his only distractions, though they only fueled his obsession. 

“Holy shit!” The live feed cellphone footage currently playing on his computer had his full attention. 

Toshinori watched, his hand gripped tight into a white knuckled fist. Eyes locked onto the computer screen volume blaring through the speakers. The flashing brightness from the screen illuminates the darkened room. He’d been keeping a close watch on any and all of your heroic activities since you had left for the states. He initially told himself it was for ‘research purposes’ that the agency could somehow possibly benefit from this. But deep down he knew it was simply for his own mental stability. He’d search your hero's name, sometimes your personal name. Though any of your true accounts which you managed had been privatized, he was removed as a follower long ago, he still checked. 4am in Japan meant 12pm for you, he could almost always catch live feed of either interviews or street footage of a battle. If not, the latest articles or reruns would have to work. His go to being your first interview.

‘Just a few minutes’ he’d tell himself, a lie of course. He always ended up doom scrolling, anything to avoid the inevitable void of his own mind. He knew he should not be so invested; he should have let you leave and cut all ties. But his need to know of your well-being had a mind of its own. Even the most minute of detail never lost on needy eyes. From your confusing costume redesign debut to the media’s comments on your weight gain and even the fan-made blogs; he absorbed it all. He distinctly remembered a time when he thought he’d lost you, when it had been announced that you’d taken a leave of absence. Fearful that he had lost his only way of seeing you he asked his entrusted ally and friend David Shield to keep tabs on you. It was bordering on stocking, yet he had to know. David reassured him, offered an open ear and allowed the broken man to voice his woes. However, at the mention of therapy he swiftly declined, he did not have time for such nonsense. He’d be okay, as long as he knew you were. Sympathetic to his friend's bleeding-heart David agreed.

It was wrong but he could not stop. 

Definitely not now. 

Tuning into another live feed a man holding a cellphone ran through the debris field. A large-scale attack had left the bodies of both civilians, heroes, and villain's littering the ground. Some crushed with rubble others fallen in combat, the scene resembled an old war movie. The camera man's labored breath puffed against the recording as he crossed no man's land. Occasionally zooming in when recognizing a body with a slew of swears. Crouching down behind mounds of concrete he steadied the phone to face the ensuing battle. 

You were the last one standing. 

Already taking out four smaller opponents, fatigue begged your body to retreat. Yet as the man before you stood strong any hope of rest would have to wait. With smooth, languid swipes of his fists you struggled to defend. Their combat style was telling that they were trained and trained well. As well as their quirk, whatever it was it somehow allowed him to withstand several of your ear-piercing cries and punch with enough force to crater the ground. Some kind of enhancement.

Whoever this was, they were strong and clearly outclassed you.

You were not a close combat-based hero, your quirk worked better at distance. But as he continued advancing the unavoidable fist fight ensued. Sweat beaded down your forehead, heart pounding and chest heaving. 

Overuse of your quirk and the never-ending bursts of evasions were pushing your already exhausted body past its limits. He had managed to graze you a couple times, even mostly dodged, the attacks crushed the bones beneath. Swallowing back a thick mouth full of blood you pushed harder. 

“You heroes are nothing more than slaves to the government. Cogs in the machine.” Whipping his body around with full force his left fist slammed into your defensive body. You smirked, 

‘Finally!’ He had used this exact move pattern two times before. ‘Left jab, advance then he’ll try to swing again.’  You were finally beginning to memorize his fighting style. 

On the offense you began targeting his unguarded areas. Opening your mouth, you launched a screech to flinch and stagger him. Then began landing crucial blows. Even if it could not directly damage him the cries force still allowed much needed leverage. Though weak, in quick succession your punches would break down his defense. Just had to keep it up. If you kept staggering him with your quirk and chipping away, you could win. Even though your throat burned, and thick hot liquid again pooled into your mouth you had to push through it. It will heal eventually. 

Toshinori smiled, seeing you succeed filled his chest with bittersweet pride. This was unlike anything he’d seen you involved in over the years. A true brawl, much like his own encounters.

You got too cocky.

A fatal mistake. 

As you rushed to attack again the foe had grabbed your fist mid punch in one hand. With a tightening grip the fragile ulnar and radius bones snapped. 

He too had memorized your predictable pattern. 

‘How.. How'd he grab me? I thought he was at least a li-’

It happened within milliseconds; with unyielding strength he slung your body forward as if you weighed nothing and into his other hand aimed right at your abdomen. The steeled fingertips pierced through the soft skin with a sickening snap and pop. Obliterating through the organs and protruded out of your back. 

“NO” Toshi’s desperate scream was drowned out by your horrifying cry echoing through the speakers. The sounds bounced off the walls and pounding into his eardrums.  

This was unlike anything he’d heard from you before. He was accustomed to your ultrasonic cries as that was your quirk, but this… this was from deep within your soul, screaming in excruciating agony. 

You had fallen into the foe's trap. One move out of place, one misjudged situation, and now the villain's hand had practically disemboweled you. 

Toshinori’s smile had vanished, and his heart fell through his partially removed stomach. His mouth now hung open in shock. He could do nothing but watch as your face twisted and contorted in pure torture as the scream howled through your body. He felt queasy.

You could not move, held in place, speared, in shock. Your scream died out and with what little energy it had left your body convulsed and flinched against the intruder. Until it inevitably gave up, slumping onto the villain, your forehead falling to his collar. The amount of fluid pouring from your lips and nose ran like a river coating his chest. Black gripped the edges of your vision; it was getting harder to breathe.

You always imagined that when you died, you’d be held by someone you loved, to hear their heartbeat against your ear, their breaths falling down on your face in soothing comfort. Instead, the man ending it all stared down at you, a twisted smile on his face as he took great pleasure in your suffering.

Glancing over with dazed vision your eyes made contact with the small group of citizens huddled together. A little girl stood out amongst the crowd, Clutching onto the pant leg of her mother. Her face dirty and bloodied with tears stained her puffy cheeks, she shook in terror. No child should have to witness such atrocities. No child should fear for their life. No child should be without their mother.

You are a HERO goddamit. You must fight until your last breath. You CANNOT give up. 

For her.

For these people. 

DO IT FOR THEM .

Adrenaline coursed through your veins; the once mind shattering pain dulled into a distant buzz. Reaching both hands up you grabbed the shocked villain's head and pushed yourself forward, now face to face. Sucking in air you filled your lungs to the point of bursting and expelled the strongest ultrasonic scream you could belt. Bits of bloodied flesh, most likely parts of your larynx, sprayed along the sound waves. Yet there was no pain.

Any window within the five-block radius shattered, and car alarms blew. The phone camera Toshinori watched from vibrated and quality blurrely faltered.  Even if this villain had a resistance to your quirk at such point blank range nothing could withstand such raw power. His eardrums shattered and head felt on the verge of bursting. Capillaries shattered and skin threatened to tear from bones.

Letting go of his now limp body he fell backwards. The hand forcefully dislodged from your abdomen as he collapsed in a convulsing heap. He would never recover from this injury, you’ll surely have a strike on your license for this… if you survive.

Your body waved and staggered, stumbling to find solid footing. The adrenaline was running out, so was time.

The crowds remained silent, staring in awe and horror as you finally stood straight. The gaping hole ripped through your torso threatened to spill your internal organs, a few weeping strands hung loose. With one hand you attempted to cover it, the feeling of your own entrails squishing within your hand was unable to process. Out of body. 

Shaking but standing, your other arm slowly lifted, spasming you held it above your head, fist clenched. A pose many had come to know and love. A symbol of victory. 

‘My pose’… 

As the cheers began you could not hold the dam within your throat, in a splattering cough the pavement ran with your blood. 

Slamming to your knees you fell, body going limp and falling face first into the soaked concrete. 

No, you cannot die now. 

Your son needs you. 

You need to get up.

You have to.

For

Them. 

Fighting away the cold that threatened to swallow you as long as possible with one final breath it consumed you in seconds. 

The bystander recording dropped his phone and ran away. Audible sobs snuffled as his heavy footsteps grew distant. The phone continued recording for over thirty minutes. Sounds of police sirens and support hero’s arriving at the scene could be heard in the background before the live stream abruptly ended, the battery ran dead. Toshinori could not look away even as the screen blackened. His mind spiraled, failing to realize what he had witnessed. 

Did he…

Did he just watch you die ? 

He needed someone there, now.

“David”

“I know I saw, I'm on my way”

Opening your eyes yet surrounded in darkness. A heavy weight placed over your face. Opening your mouth nothing more than rushed air escaped, something thick had lodged itself into your throat preventing the sound from escaping. Panicked, your hands began flailing, desperately trying to grab the foreign object. Grasping it you tugged, retching as it slid halfway out of your throat. Going for another tug until another set of hands gripped onto your arms, trying desperately to hold you down.

“Ma’am please calm down, you’re in-” 

You tried to yell, again garbled behind the plastic. Words could not form, your throat felt as if you had swallowed glass. With all your strength you whipped your head side to side, the device finally dislodged.

“You’re in a hospital, I’m a nurse. You’ve suffered life threatening injuries, please-”

Hot bloody saliva splattering across your bandaged face and trickling down to pool into your matted hair as you thrashed, Screaming loud echoes of broken sentences. Fragments of your quirk activating ricocheted round the room. As you continued thrashing, the feeling of something ripping within the depths of your abdomen gave birth to white hot pain. Only amplifying the howls.

The hands let go, a door opened and closed. A few moments passed before the sound of it repeated again. Heavy footsteps approached your bedside, followed by the sound of rusted wheels scraping against a hard floor.

“Ripped out the endotracheal. Incision site reopened.”. 

“It’s going to be okay,” An unfamiliar male voice called.

The world turned blank once again, sounds became distant, fading from consciousness.

“Can you hear me ma’am?” The world spun an endless loop of muted colors before shifting back to reality. The face of an unknown woman filled your vision, her deep skin wrinkled into a smile as she looked down to you. “My name is Natasha, I’m your nurse. I’m glad to see you’re finally awake!” 

She leaned away from your bedside and began typing on her laptop.

You did not try to reply, her words finally registering. Staring into the white painted wall your mind felt like a vast ocean of emptiness, all ships of thought crushed under the waves, except one. As if reading your mind the nurse glanced back down.

“You should not try to speak but, you’ve got a couple guests waiting on you, would you like to see them?” 

Your head whipped around, eyes burrowing into hers with silent pleases. She smiled. 

“I’ll go get them. Just be sure to keep the blanket above your chest, wouldn’t want to scare the little one.” 

The door opened and her footsteps trailed off. Lifting the blanket in curiosity the sight of several tubes entering the dressing covered gap parted in the once smooth skin of your abdomen filled you with horror. Before beginning to dwell on the marred sight footsteps returned, this time tiny shoes ran close behind. 

The one thing on your mind, the one person you needed most right now, ran through the door.

“MOMMA!” The child screamed, his small hands gripping at the sheets trying to climb into the bed with you. Your wrapped hand met his tiny set, rubbing gently at his smooth skin. 

“...en..o” You cried to him. His forehead wallowed into the white sheets, wiping his tears. Your heart felt heavy, seeing your once always smiling baby deduced to hysterics all because of you. His mother, his protector, did this to him. Guilt.

That was close. 

Too close. 

Never again. 

Your hero career is over.

They can fix you up, heal the broken bones and bruises, close up the wounds, but…

The thought of having actually died and leaving your four year old son to face this cruel world alone was far worse than the shame of such a public beat down. Far worse than even death itself. 

You can not do this anymore. 

The delusional thought that you could somehow live in the best of both worlds simply was impossible. Nana was right, balancing both was impossible. The life of a hero was your fantasy, but you had already lived it. Raising this child and being there for him was your new dream.

As of now, Siren is dead. She died on the concrete saving the people. At least that’s what was told to the media. 

To live a life free from that career you had to lay low. Uproot and leave again and start over. Abandon it. 

It had run its course.

A cough from the doorway caught your attention, looking over a man you had heard so much about from your former lover stood. His back leaned against the wall as he watched mother and son reunite. A face of penance drawn onto downcasted aqua eyes.

“We’ll talk later.” Taking a seat facing away from your bed he waited. 

‘ I can’t go back.’ The engineer looked from the yellow notepad held in your hands, the words on the page scribbled in haste, to the little boy sleeping beside you. Your son's hands clung to your gown, careful of the tubbing flowing from underneath, his under eyes dark and dried snot clung to his reddened skin. No child should feel this way.

“He’s Yagi’s isn’t he?”

You nodded ‘yes’. 

“Does he know?”

 Sighing deeply you shook ‘no.’

The brunet took in a deep breath, his head throbbing with the weight of his upcoming actions. Taking your notepad you wrote another note; ‘No one can know.’

“I know.”

The government could cover anything up. Falsifying documents was light work.

‘KIA’

The bold red letters under your hero name only caused the already endless black hole in Toshinori’s stomach to plummet deeper. With no reply from David, he had spent hours searching for an update, anything regarding your condition. News articles had reported on the gruesome scene yet held nothing in regard to your well being, instead focusing on the trauma such a sight made for civilians.The sun had already risen above the skyscrapers hours ago yet time held no meaning for him. 

Pulling out all the stops he tried to bypass all encryptions to read the full report the moment it had been posted. First as the head of the All Might Hero Agency, Yagi Toshinori.

Permission denied.  

Something wet hit his hands as he furiously kept typing, his fingers practically hammering the keys in half. 

Finally a new page loaded. As the world's number one symbol of peace, All Might, he could access almost anything relating to heroes. Several links loaded onto the page.

What he saw made him nauseous.

‘Postmortem Examination Report’ ‘Autopsy Report’ ‘Death Certificate’  

His hand had a mind of its own, shackly double clicking on a link . He refused to accept this.. 

‘it couldn’t be…’

He wished he hadn’t. Yet he could not go back.

‘ Autopsy Report conducted by; US FEDERAL GOVERNMENT DEPARTMENT OF FORENSIC SCIENCE.

Patient name: (y/n) (y/l/n) - Siren. Quirk; Voice

Manner of death; Homicide.

How Injury Occurred; Heroism.

Anatomical Summary:

Blunt Trauma.

Blunt trauma of head.

Multiple lacerations to face, scalp, and neck.

Multiple fractures of skull and face.

Evisceration of larynx.

Blunt Trauma of Chest and Abdomen, Fatal. 

Multiple fractures of ribs.

Traumatic injuries on the neck.

Evisceration of internal organs. Fatal. 

With both fists clenched he slammed them down on the keyboard. With a loud crack the hard plastic splintered, sending letter tiles flying. 

“God damnit!”

Toshinori shook, his body trembling. He’d read more than enough autopsy reports, yet he couldn’t hold back the vomit mixed blood that now lurched out of his mouth. Caring not as the mixture ran down his face and onto the desk. He heaved over and over until no more came.

He accepted the break up, he accepted you moving, he accepted that you were no longer in his life. But, accepting that you had died in battle? He couldn’t-wouldn’t. 

If he was stronger, if he had more time in his Might form he could’ve helped, could’ve done something, anything! Even if you were halfway across the world.

 if he just had more time…

If he had not driven you away…

If he had not…

He cried loud billowed sobs until his eyes burned red and his head woozy from dehydration.  

His phone rang, buzzing on the counter. The ringtone far too loud, too boisterous.

He didn’t have time to grieve. 

He had to pull himself together. 

The world stopped for no one,

And it still needed him.

This however could not stop the outbursts, the accidents, nor the mask from slipping from time to time. He felt as though he was losing his mind, not that it was completely sound before, but now more than ever he felt the edges of insanity encroaching. Try as he might to appear unfazed, Toshinori Yagi, All Might, was broken. 

Out in the streets until his body gave out, he on more than one occasion found himself failing to pull his punches, accidentally using far too much force to take down a villain. Landing convenience store robbers in the hospital for months of recovery with broken ribs and mangled appendages. 

The media was beginning to notice this shift in their symbol. He was losing control.

Inside the office was where a whole other beast was unleashed. Dozens of broken laptops and computer screens lined the recycling bins, destroyed in a moment of reminiscing. The long hours turned overnight as his caffeine intake and workload skyrocketed.  The cafe was his cesspool of self loathing, he drank coffee there almost as a form of torture at this point, each freshly brewed cup a slap in the face as the scent and scenery only reminded him of something that will never be again. 

He was truly a shell of his former self. Empty, Hollow, Broken.

[itshype]

The Green Knight (DC x DP)

Ok listen...listen

In most batman canons Jason Todd dies. And I love exploring that through a DP lens buuuut....

In the batman "White Knight" series, Jason DOESN'T die. The Joker kidnaps him to get batman's secret identity and when Jason (after like days of torture iirc) finally gives it up, the Joker lets him go. Jason fakes his death and leaves Gotham.

Now I don't love the characterisation in this arc but just taking this scenario of Jason not having died but running away is so good in a DP au.

Like if Phantom joins the JLA a few months later and becomes close with Bruce and eventually Bruce asks if there's any way to check if Jason became a ghost and gives Phantom the details of his death. Danny checks with maybe clockwork or a recording and archival focused ghost and returns to report that there was no death for Jason Todd then. No death recorded for Jason Todd at all.

Alternatively, maybe Jason runs away to Amity Park, thinking no one would find him there and he joins as a human member of team Phantom.

So much potential!

[browneyesandhair]

Annabeth: Hello tall, dark, and handsome. Drink?

Percy: I don’t, actually.

Annabeth: More for me.

(continue reading on ao3)

[imitationgame77]

Musings on "(Faked/Temporary/Apparent) Death of A Significant Other" in Fiction

[Mentions contents from Network Effect (The Murderbot Diaries), Sherlock Holmes, BBC Sherlock, and House, M.D. (Season 8), Good Omens. So, potential spoiler]

Losing someone you love is probably the most traumatising experience that can change you forever. In "Life Change Index" by Holmes and Rahe which gives a score (max=100) that indicates how much stress a mojor/minor change in life causes. Since even potentially good change, like starting a new jow, can cause some stress, it includes both positive and negative life changes. But "Death of a Close Friend (37)", "Death of Close Family Member (63)" have high levels of stress, with "Death of Spouse" comes to the top with 100 points.

It is also stressful to experience loss vicariously through books, dramas, and films. Even when they are fictional. When it comes to a temporary loss, however, it is a different matter altogether, I think. I may go as far as to say we actively love it. Pain of loss, anguish, followed by joy of reuniting with the loved one - which we probably do not get to experience (even vicariously) in real life.

The most classic example of "turned out to be actually alive!" is, Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle. Holmes leaves a farewell letter to Watson, with forensic? traces indicating he fell into the Reichenbach Falls with Moriarty. Watson being a Victorian gent, he does not describe how he fell to pieces. But when Holmes dramatically re-emerges 3 years later, Watson promptly faints. Then

Watson is delighted! He does not seem to mind that Holmes had led him to believe that Holmes was dead for 3 years, without a single note to say otherwise.

In BBC Sherlock, John Watson living in the 21st century was not so stoic in his response. At Sherlock's "death", John first fell to pieces, requiring him to go to see a therapist where he admits that Sherlock was his best friend. When Sherlock reappears with awkward cheerfulness, John punches him in the face after recovering from the initial shock. And stays very angry for a while, feeling betrayed by having been left to grieve for so long (2 years).

In House M.D., which is basically a medical drama version of Sherlock Holmes, with his best friend James Wilson, House also fakes his death. At his funeral, everybody tries to say something nice about House, but Wilson, angry with grief, calls him arrogant, accuses him for never caring for his friends. Then, gets a text message from House, "SHUT UP YOU IDIOT". House had to go to jail over petty crime for 6 months, when Wilson had only 5 months to live due to cancer. House sacrificed the rest of his career to spend the rest of Wilson's life together.

In Good Omens (Netflix version), when Aziraphale got inconveniently disincorporated, Crowley falls to pieces. Giving up on the idea of running away from Armageddon, he tries to drown his sorrow with drinks. When Aziraphale manages to find him there, Crowley immediately notices and gets delighted, even though Aziraphale was still without body and invisible.

~~~~~

The point I think I am getting to here is that "apparent death of a character, followed by a sort of resurrection" seems to be done in fictional creations when the said temporarily-deceased-one has a significant other that would take us (reader/audience) through anguish, followed by almost painful joy.

Thus, it makes sense to me that in Network Effect, it is Perihelion (aka ART) that would make the protagonist Murderbot go through grief by its apparent death. (Well, it was a death, for a while.) Obviously, MB would be devastated if it lost any of its humans. It cares for the PreservationAux colleagues deeply. But in addition to the fact that it would be a lot harder to resurrect a human (augumented or not) in a story later, it had to be ART, because as the author herself said in her interview, it is probably 'the love of Murderbot's life'.

It is noteworthy to say that MB itself did not give name to its emotional experience, because it probably did not know except that it was a very strong, very negative emotions. Its instant hatred towards those who killed ART and subsequent crippling grief become apparent to the readers through what Amena notices. Its pain is strong and raw, so much that even when MB is simply saying, Ugh, emotions, we feel its grief. And when finally we get to the part with:

All the lights in the control area went dark, then blinked back to life. Simultaneously all the display surfaces around me flickered, went to blank, then flashed reinitialization graphics.

And ART's feed filled the ship. In the pleasant neutral voice that systems use to address humans, it whispered, Reload in progress. Please stand by.

[ ..... ]

Then ART's voice, ART's real voice, filled the feed. It said, Drop the weapon.

Relief and joy we experience is almost heart-skippingly painful. Even though MB's response is more BBC Sherlock's John than the original John Watson, we know how much it must mean to MB. I re-listened/re-read that part at least 10 times.

It is also worth noting that ART also seems to love "pain of loss followed by joy of reunion/resurrection". In Artificial Condition, when a major character died in Worldhoppers, MB had to pause seven minutes while ART sat there in the feed doing the bot equivalent of staring at a wall, pretending that it had to run diagnostics. Then when the character came back to life 4 episodes later, ART was so relieved that they had to watch that episode 3 times before going on!

After long ramblings, my conclusion is, temporaly death of a significant character in fiction is good. More significant the character to the character we can emphasize with, the more painful the loss, and more delightful the reunion. John Watson is the love of Sherlock Holmes's life. Aziraphale is Crowley's. ART is Murderbot's.

[clemsfilmdiary]

Double Jeopardy (1999, Bruce Beresford)

1/10/24

[abybweisse]

Hey Aby,

How are you doing? I hope you are well.

I had a random thought when reading the Easter special chapter (I cannot remember the number). Grey says to Sebastian 'you weren't dead after all' which I find a bit strange considering what we know about Grey. He said a few times he is not scared of anything he can cut with his sword and that he is afraid of ghosts, spirits etc. Considering he was the one that stabbed Sebastian I would have expected him to be a bit more concerned about Sebastian being alive. I feel like they brushed over this a bit too easily. I can understand why it works with the other servants (although I think that was forced as well) but it makes no sense for Grey.

What are your thoughts? Apologies if this was answered already, I had a look but I could not find anything.

Regarding ch66, Frenzy

I also think it's odd that Charles Grey isn't terribly concerned that Sebastian isn't dead. I don't have a licensed copy handy right now, because I boxed them up! (What was I thinking? I should have boxed them last.) But doesn't Sebastian just laugh it off? Or Tanaka laughs? 🤷🏻‍♀️

Since Grey saw him "dead", he either thinks it's odd but possible that Sebastian survived, after all.

Or he has quickly learned there are things he cannot kill with his sword....

I wish this encounter had been explored some more, too.

[callaeidae3]

Whumptober2023 Day 8/9: "İt's all for nothing" | "You're a liar"

A combined prompt for the last two days!

This is both Kyle and Minharh grieving their lost father-son relationship, lost through Minharh's own faked death.

For Kyle, it's a betrayal of trust, and five years of enduring and adapting to a life without his dad (and only friend).

For Minharh, he knew he'd have to reveal his identity to Kyle at some point, if the ever reunited. But Kyle saw through his lies first.

This scene would fall right after the end of Chapter 1 in The Deliverance of Kyle Kindall (KK3)

[sitp-recs]

Hello Liv! Do you know any fics where Draco and/or Harry fake their own death at some point in the story? Thanks in advance!

Hello! I can only think of REVOLVEVLOVER by FTS and zeitgeistic (temporary) and maybe The Distances We Covered by Theartfulldodger too?

That’s such a cool idea, though! I’d love to see it being more explored in fic. Maybe my followers have more recs?

[your-darling-gaze]

Good evening, lovelies, guess who is back after 2 long years of suffering without you all? Did you miss me?

I missed y'all @consult-sherlockholmes @eurusholmes @consulting-criminal @consultjohnwatson @dinner--starving <3

[sourpatchslayers]

HERE MY DEAR SWEET FRIEND! TAKE THESE HUGS AND POSITIVE VIBES ✨

THANK YOU 😊 Also, This ugly motherfucker ain’t dead. We almost got him put down cause he wasn’t breathing and he was unconscious but HE WAS ALIVE. This bitch was holding his breath. Tears I could have been wasting on angst.

I THOUGHT THIS HOE WAS DEAD.

[thecrimecrypt]

Crimes That Shook Britain (North East)

John Darwin In March 2002, John Darwin, 51, paddled out to sea in his canoe near his Hartlepool home. He never returned Coastguard rescue teams and police searched for him, but all they found was Darwin's paddle.

Several weeks later, the wreckage of his canoe washed up on a beach. With no body found by April 2003, John Darwin was declared dead. His widow Anne and their two sons grieved. Until December 2007 - when Darwin walked into a police station, claiming to have amnesia.

John Darwin was reunited with his sons and Anne, who'd moved to Panama, was delighted. Only, a pjoto emerged of Anne and John in Panama, together in 2006. The couple had actually faked John's death to claim his £250,000 life insurance.

Both Darwins were jailed for over six years - him for obtaining cash by deception, her for deception and money laundering.

Michael Atherton New Year's Day 2012 - taxi driver Michael Atherton, 42, shot dead his partner Susan McGoldrick, 47, her sister Alison Turnbull, 44, and niece Tanya Turnbull, 24, at his home in Peterlee. He then turned the gun on himself.

His stepdaughter survived after fleeing via a window. It emerged Atherton had a history of domestic violence. He blamed Alison for his arrest in 2008, after a row. When he discovered Susan had gone out with her sister that night, he said there'd be trouble if he saw Alison at his home. He said he'd stay in a hotel.

Yet the women arrived home before he'd left. A row erupted and Atherton got his gun from the car.

Mary Bell On 25 May 1968, the day before her 11th birthday, Mary Bell strangled Martin Brown, 4. His body was found in a derelict house in Newcastle.

Two months later, Mary enlisted a 13-year-old friend to help strangle Brian Howe, 3. His mutilated body was found on waste ground. When detectives questioned local children, Mary and her friend acted strangely, their stories changing. Officers soon realised Mary was a killer.

The friend was acquitted and gave evidence against Mary. The court heard Mary committed the crimes 'for the pleasure and excitement of killing'. Mary Bell was convicted of manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility. She was sentenced to life in detention, released aged 23, and given a new identity.

Raoul Moat Two days after being released from prison on 3 July 2010, Raoul Moat, 37, from Newcastle, went on the rampage with a sawn-off shotgun.

First he shot his ex Samantha Stobbart and her new partner Chris Brown. While on the run in Rothbury, Moat shot police officer David Rathboand in the face. Brown was killed, Stobbart injured and PC Rathboand blinded.

Police deployed armed officers in one of Britain's biggest manhunts. In a letter left with a friend, Moat declared war on officers, saying that he wouldn't stop 'until I am dead'. On 9 July, police tracked Moat to the river Coquet, leading to a stand-off. Police negotiated, but Moat shot himself the next morning.

Sadly, David Rathboand later took his own life.

Billy Dunlop - Double Jeopardy Pizza delivery girl Julie Hogg, 22, disappeared in November 1989. Eighty days later, her mother Ann found her decomposing, partially mutilated body behind a bath panel in Ann's Billingham home.

Julie's ex Billy Dunlop was charged with murder, yet juries at two trials failed to reach a verdict. He was cleared. The double jeopardy law (which meant Dunlop could not be tried again) meant he thought he'd got away with murder for 17 years.

Ann fought for double jeopardy laws to be scrapped and, in 2003. MPs backed changes allowing serious cases with compelling new evidence to be reopened. Dunlop pleaded guilty to murder in 2006, was jailed for life.

Gary Vinter = Freed to Kill Again Gary Vinter killed colleague Carl Edon, 22, in a railway workers' cabin in 1995. Vinter stabbed him 37 times, puncturing every organ. He was jailed for life, but released in 2006, after serving 10 years.

In July 2006, he married Anne White. But Vinter was recalled to prison after a New Year pub brawl. Released again in early 2008, he separated from Anne after attacking her at their home in Eston, Middlesbrough. That February, Vinter bundled his estranged wife into a car.

After holding her hostage at his mother's house, he stabbed Anne to death. He was jailed for life. In 2011, Vinter attacked Roy Whiting - killer of schoolgirl Sarah Payne - in jail.

In 2016, he received a third life sentence for trying to murder fellow 'life' Lee Newell behind bars.

[its-my-whump]

“I thought you were dead”

Faked death | Under the radar | Trail of blood

TW: thinking about traumtic event, slapping, forced hug

"I thought you were dead!" It sounded more like an accusation, than a statement. His counterpart's voice was slightly shaking, astonishment floating in it. There were so many emotions on display in his face. Surprise always winning the upperhand, while every other just passed like an express train: astonishment, frustration, sympathy, understanding, mercy, disappoitment and betrayal. The last one even outweighted his surprise clearly after a long moment of awkward silence between them.

The tips of his ears had turned red. Even when he normally had everything under control, every spike of emotion neatly cataloged and locked away, those red ears always gave him away. He was really upset or/and overwhelmed.

"I followed that trail of blood for over a mile, right to the edge of the cliff." His voice was steady again, emotionless, even stoic. His expression locked into something unreadable. "No way in hell, you could have survived this kind of bloodloss or the fall." An unintended pause, his mind was clearly lost in the past. "No way, man." His head slightly shock in disbelieve.

Suddenly, the briefly shown expression on his face vanished again and he made long strides towards the man, he believed to be dead for years. "3 years. 3 long years, you made me believe, I lost the only person, who was able to even remotely understand me. 3 years, you probably hid in some ditch, while you knew, our fate always depented on each other."

He had closed the distances between them. There was something sparkling in his eyes. The long lost man almost believed it to be gratitude of some kind.

All of a sudden, the sound was already ringing in his ears just before he registered the stinging on his cheek. The flat strong palm slapped him like a paddled whip right in his face. His cheek instantly flushed. He didn't know, what hit him and stumbled a step back to steady his footing.

A bright smile on his counterparts face and next thing he knew, broad arms were wrapped around the astonished guy strongly, who was still pressing a hand against his stinging cheek.

The man, forcing the embrace, pulled his head back a bit, so their eyes could lock for a moment. His smile got even bigger, while the other one was just staring at him, dumbstruck.

The active part of that hug put his head into the crook of the other one's neck.

"I've missed you so much, hero." Villian whispered into his ear.

My whumptember2023 masterlist