Oh what a day to choose / Torn by the hours All that I say to you / Is like fuel to fire (x)
(Self-Sacrifice)
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Oh what a day to choose / Torn by the hours All that I say to you / Is like fuel to fire (x)
(Self-Sacrifice)

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Sacrifice
He didn’t actually think, the first time he jumped in front of Ladybug to save her.
He didn't really think the last time either.
Sacrifice is woven into Adrien's skin. It wasn't a poor sense of self worth, or him being suicidal. It was just him knowing what mattered, and what didn't.
As long as she was breathing, he was too.
(Plagg watched him, in the way only the Kwami of Destruction could, with the unending knowledge of a creature that knew Death, and was helpless to stop it.)
Words: 933
Character: Adrien Agreste
Rating: T
Warnings: Talks of death, Talks of human sacrifice, Adrien's terrible past, an ambiguous ending
Author's note: Self-sacrifice and Chat Noir are toxic besties, the prompt was too perfect to pass up. I hope this disjointed mess of scenes satisfies your angsty needs.
what partners do
prompt: self-sacrifice (alt no.9)
whumpee: illya kuryakin
fandom: the man from uncle
hi! this fic doesn’t have a lot of background, like idk where they are or what they’re doing or anything lmao. the only really important note is that this takes place early in their partnership, shortly after the end of the movie. this fic only involves illya and napoleon so they are on whatever mission this is as just a pair i guess. that’s all there is to know, hope you enjoy!
Napoleon slowly, carefully turns the doorknob. There’s a clicking sound and he doesn’t even have time to think oh shit before there’s six-and-a-half feet of Russian secret agent slamming into him. The deafening noise of an explosion follows a millisecond later, and Napoleon hits the ground hard.
Whumptober 2021 Day Eighteen
One of them has to die. Grace doesn’t seem like the type to lie about something like that, and Bramble, at least, insists upon vouching for him, so here they are. One of them has to die.
They’ve been arguing about it for almost a week now. Over who gets to die and who gets to live.
Jen sort of knows it has to be him. He’s sort of known from the beginning, to be honest, but he just … hasn’t really participated in the argument. He doesn’t want to die.
He thinks Grace knows, too. He keeps catching them watching him while the others argue, though they tend to look away when he tries to catch their eye.
But he’s the only one who makes sense. None of the triplets will let it be any one of them. Reias won’t entertain the thought of it being Ozzy, though he’s offered, and so whenever he offers they offer, and then the other two shoot that idea down.
Grace won’t allow it to be Bramble. He’s her favourite, and Jen thinks there’s something going on between them, though he’s been polite enough not to pry.
Trix and Orsus have both suggested the other, but both of them are too important to the world to consider sacrificing, and having one without the other would throw the world out of balance.
Which just leaves Jen. None of them have suggested him, not yet. They barely seem to remember he’s here, half the time.
He wonders what they’d say if he volunteered. If any of them would say no, not you.
Probably not. He’s not naïve enough to think Trix actually feels anything for him, despite their relationship, and the others tolerate him at best. They’d probably just be relieved for an end to the argument.
Still, he doesn’t want to say anything. He doesn’t want to die, even if it’s for the best. Even if it will save the others.
They’ve never done anything for him, why should he sacrifice himself to save them?
But they have, of course. They saved him, and against his better judgement he likes them, even if none of them return the sentiment. He’s just never had friends before. He’d like to help them, if he can.
He goes to Grace one night, when the others are arguing again. It’s sitting a little way away from them, singing to itself as it darns a shirt Jen is pretty certain belongs to Bramble, and it looks up as he comes over to sit beside it.
“Something on your mind?”
“It has to be me, doesn’t it?” he asks.
Grace hums, hir needle dipping in and out of the fabric. “No. It will be, though.”
“What happens if it’s not?”
“It will be.”
Ze knows better than he does, he knows that, but he doesn’t like it.
He tucks his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. “I don’t want to die.”
Grace just smiles. Sad, almost. “No one ever does.”
“Why do I have to?”
“You don’t.”
He gets it, or he thinks he does. In any case, he doesn’t think he’ll get any solid answers from zir. Zie rarely gives any of them any sort of straight answer. He doesn’t know if zie does it on purpose, or if it’s just in zir nature.
“Do I have to tell them?”
“No. You only have to die.”
“And that will break the loop?”
Grace nods, setting the sewing aside and pressing xyr hands together, pulling them apart again to reveal the shining golden threads that tangle between xyr fingers.
“The loop is here,” xe tells him, twisting the threads around xyr hands to show him a bundle of threads, tangled hopelessly in a loop. “With your death-”
Xe pulls the threads and they all snap, blackening and dropping off, leaving a single golden thread between xyr hands. “The loop resolves. The strings continue as they had.”
“Will the others remember me?”
“They will.”
Jen takes a steadying breath. “Will you help me?”
“Now?”
He nods. “Of course.”
The threads between xyr fingers vanish and xe stands, offering him a hand. He takes it, lets xem lead him away from the others and to the edge of the camp.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, and Grace laughs sadly, reaching out to cup his cheek. Eir fingers tingle a little against his skin.
“Isn’t that why you asked my help?”
He nods, and ey pull eir hand away again. “Can you just…?”
He makes a snipping motion, and ey shakes eir head.
“No. Your death snaps the thread, I cannot snap the thread to kill you. It would leave you alive, but … changed, somewhat. An unpleasant life.”
“Right,” he says, trying to steel himself. “Do you have a … sword, then?”
“A dagger,” ey says, and produces it, offering it to him. “Bramble’s, but he won’t mind.”
Jen presses it back towards eir. “I … don’t think I can do it myself.”
Ey nods, like ey expected that. “Few can.”
“Will it hurt?”
Ey gives him a smile, soft and sad. “It always hurts.”
He’s always got the feeling Grace likes him more than the rest of them, and he’s getting it again now. Ve might be the only one who will actually miss him.
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Do it.”
It does hurt, but only for a moment. And then it’s over.
Hiding Spot
AO3 | Masterlist
@whumptober2019 - prompts: 18 (muffled scream), alt 8 ("Stay quiet."), alt 9 (hiding).
Summary: Patton chooses a hiding spot. Logan chooses the same one. Virgil is exasperated. Roman makes an entrance, but not in the way you'd expect.
Word Count: 592
Genre: Fluff
Characters: Patton, Logan, Roman, Virgil.
Relationships: platonic LAMP
Warnings: none
If I need to tag anything else, let me know!
———
“Stay quiet.”
Patton’s words were muffled by the hand he'd moulded firmly over his mouth; Logan sat opposite him, legs crossed and smiling quietly. A giggle escaped and Logan shushed him with wide eyes, but it was hard to remain stoic when Pat was so intent on finding humour.
They had been sitting in here for the best part of ten minutes, but it was comfortable and spacious so they didn't mind. The question that came to mind by this point was ‘had Virgil given up on finding them or was he just looking somewhere else?’, by which point your two options were either:
a) Escape your hiding spot, risking discovery but with the added benefit of knowing you won't be stuck under a dusty dresser for the next half an hour for no purpose, or
b) Remain hidden, but live with the risk of not being seen again for the next 5 years.

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“Paralyzed”
Rating: Teen and up
Warnings: Terror and threats of violence
Part 3/?
Read in Ao3: click here
Sirens.
The sound of them grew louder in the dank, stale air surrounding Sean. He huddled in tense silence, trying futilely to stop the trembling shaking his frame, and waited. His brain was still frozen in fear. Reality felt warped as the anxiety left him unable to formulate a rational thought. Pain still frayed the ragged edges of his nerves, and the gathering darkness left him feeling safer, yet more vulnerable, as he was unable to see his surroundings clearly.
The sirens stopped. The silence seemed deafening as he strained to hear anything in the absence of sound.
Suddenly his heart jumped into his throat. Footsteps scurried, and distant, distorted voices called to one another. He put one hand over his ear, aching to block out the sounds, yet equally desperate to know what was coming.
The door swung open, sending a wave of panic crashing over him. Instinctively, he threw his hands over his face and curled into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible.
For the space of a few heartbeats, the only sound he could hear was his own ragged breathing. Then, the beam of a flashlight swept over him, the light penetrating his closed eyelids, and he struggled to blot it out with shaking fingers.
A radio crackled to life, the sound alarmingly loud in the silence. “Scene clear, I’ve located the victim,” a female voice intoned. Then the speaker directed her voice towards him. “Sean Reynolds?” she called, expectantly.
He couldn’t look. Couldn’t answer. He could barely hear anything over the roar of his pulse in his ears.
Soft footfalls drew near him. Others, more distant, seemed to be heading closer. Radio communications chirped from somewhere outside.
Don’t move. Don’t move.
“It’s all right, I’m with the police. You’re safe now,” soothed the female voice, but Sean’s brain couldn’t absorb the words. A hand reached out to touch his arm, but he jerked away with a stifled scream. The hand quickly withdrew. “We’re going to get you out of here,” her voice called out to him gently.
Slowly it began to register in the recesses of his brain that he wasn’t feeling any fresh pain, and his breathing began to slow imperceptibly. No one was touching him; more importantly, no one was hurting him. Uncertainly, he opened one eye, then the other, peering out from behind his hands. A female police officer crouched in front of him, and footfalls echoed in the corridor. Two other officers, both male, appeared in the darkened doorway, shining flashlights left and right. The light momentarily blinded him. “Scene’s clear,” the woman called. “I’ve got the victim here, but he’s in pretty bad shape. Give me a hand.”
In a few moments, Sean felt himself being bodily lifted from his huddled position on the floor. His cramped and battered body protested violently, and he cried out. “Sorry,” one of the officers apologized. “Can you walk, sir?” he asked Sean.
He tried to put his full weight onto unsteady legs, but the world began to tilt at a crazy angle, and he broke out in a cold sweat. His stomach lurched, and he suddenly retched, feeling helplessly out of control. The spinning intensified, and everything went dark.
@whumptober2019
“Paralyzed” Master List
Whumptober Day 06 - Hiding
Izuku’s laying in bed after dinner, stomach heavy, limbs heavy. He’s so tired, physically. But his brain is refusing to turn off.
Another villain attack. He can’t… seem to avoid them.
He’s tried other routes to school. Different leave times. Any variation he puts in just means he gets a few days before something happens again.
And he can’t stand the idea of only going to school. Of giving up going outside, as tempting as it is sometimes, after Eraserhead’s glared at him again or Mic coddles him again.
Coddles him like a cockatoo.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 6 posted! This chapter’s prompts are:
BTHB: Touch-Starved
Whumptober: Altno. 9 Hiding, Altno. 4 Dehydration