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heliads · 5 months ago

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want you, need you - minho

Ever since you became a Med-Jack, Minho can't seem to stop collecting random injuries that absolutely require your attention. You might be catching on.

masterlist

The Med-Jack hut is either overwhelmingly busy or frustratingly slow, no in between. There are days when every single room in the place is crammed full of patients– somehow, every Slicer manages to cut themselves, and every Builder breaks a bone– and you wish you had picked any other job than this one. The busy days are rough. You start wondering what might happen if you stopped being able to put people back together as quickly as they fall apart. You think about the endless cycle of injury and healing until everyone wears out entirely, a map of bandages and skin pressed thin like dead leaves.

Those are the hopeless days. Then, you’ll have a dry spell, when everyone manages to get their stuff together and no one complains of sprained ankles or excessive sunburns. At that point, you start twiddling your thumbs and mindlessly organizing and reorganizing the medical supplies. By the end, you almost start wishing people would get hurt just so you’d have something to do. It’s an uncharitable thought, certainly, and one you regret once you’re stuck in the middle of another hurricane of aching Gladers, but when there’s nothing else to do, it comes nonetheless.

You’ve found yourself in the middle of another boring week. For the past few days, the Slicers have remembered how to hold their knives so they chop the animals and not themselves, the Builders hit their nails with their hammers instead of their thumbs, and the Runners don’t give themselves cramps and stay in perfect health.

Well. Not every Runner.

Even during the most boring stretches of your admittedly short career as a Med-Jack, you can guarantee that you’ll have one specific patient. Just like clockwork, every few days a certain dark-haired, teasing someone shadows your door, complaining of overworked tendons, pulled hamstrings, heatstroke, and every other medical condition under the sun. If Minho can think it up, he’ll say he’s got it.

It’s honestly becoming ridiculous. For someone who’s such a capable Runner, it is truly remarkable that he survives so many ailments. One would think he would give up running entirely if it gave him this much grief. Yet every day, Minho sets out for the Maze with a cheerful disposition, and at least two times a week, he appears in the Med-Jack hut, sporting some new injury that materialized at some point during the day.

So, when you look up from labeling the medicine cabinet for what must be the dozenth time this month, and realize that you haven’t seen the Keeper of the Runners in a few days, you know that it’s about time for him to come down with the flu, a severe migraine, or maybe both at once.

True to form, you’ve barely finished going through the medications on one shelf of the cabinet when Jeff, one of your fellow Med-Jacks, comes into the room. “You have a patient,” he says impatiently. “Guess who?”

You roll your eyes, although you can’t help a small smile. “Can’t you handle Minho yourself?”

Jeff gives you a look. “I tried. He told me he wanted to wait for a professional. Figures.”

You snort. “You’ve been here longer than I have.”

“I told him that,” Jeff complains. “This might surprise you, but he didn’t care.”

“Tell him again,” you say, turning back to the pill bottle you’re labeling. “I’m busy.”

Jeff heaves a dramatic sigh. “I’m not wasting my time with that. He’s your problem, go fix him.”

You shoot him a confused glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” Jeff retorts, reaching over to grab the bottle out of your hands. “Ever since you started here, Minho randomly comes over all the time. You know he used to hate visiting the Med-Jacks before you arrived? Now he can’t stop showing up.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you protest weakly.

Jeff sighs again, so deeply you swat him on the shoulder. “That’s klunk and we both know it. The data doesn’t lie, Y/N.”

“There’s no data,” you argue, but Jeff’s already waving you out of the room.

You make a face at him, then go down the hall until you find Minho waiting in one of the smaller rooms meant for patients. He’s poking at some supplies on a small table in a corner of the room, but he straightens up excitedly when he sees you.

“Doc! I’m so glad you’re here.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “What have you done to yourself now, Minho?”

“That’s no way to treat a patient,” Minho frowns exaggeratedly. “Whatever happened to bedside manner?”

“You got bedside manner the first ten times you showed up for no reason,” you tell him pointedly. “After that, you get whatever I feel like. You should be happy I’m still giving you bandages. We only have so many, you know that? Maybe I’ll start charging you a fee.”

“I can pay,” Minho says lazily, leaning forward so you can feel his breath hot on the side of your face. One of his hands starts to curl around your side, pulling you closer to him.

Dangerous, he is. You idly push him away with your palm, pretending to examine the supplies he’d been poking at earlier so you have time for the heat to leave your face. “How about you just tell me what’s wrong with you this time?”

Minho sighs dramatically. “Well, since you care so much, I’ll have to tell you that I’ve broken an ankle. It hurts so bad. This might be it for me, Y/N.”

You arch a brow. “Which ankle?”

He pauses a moment, thinking. “Left.”

“You’re standing on it just fine right now,” you point out.

Immediately, Minho shifts all of his weight onto his right leg, grabbing the back of a nearby chair for support. “No, I’m not. Look, I can’t bear the pain. It hurts.”

You just look at him. Minho looks back at you, unable to stop the corners of his lips from curling up into a proud half-smile. “Do you really expect me to believe that?” You ask.

He gasps. “Y/N. Are you trying to discredit your own patients? Some Med-Jack you are. I bet Clint would trust me.”

“Then go talk to Clint,” you say, making for the door.

Minho hurries over, flinging out an arm to close the door before you can open it. “Wait, wait. I didn’t mean it, sweetheart. You’re the only Med-Jack for me, I swear it. Clint is nothing to me.”

You take an obvious glance towards his feet. “That ankle sure seems to be healing fast, huh? You moved over here like it was nothing.”

Minho leans his back against the door. “Alright, you got me. Nothing’s wrong with the ankle. Still, my lungs have been feeling exhausted lately, that might be something–”

“That’s because you run everywhere,” you say, grinning in spite of yourself at his antics. “Come on, Minho, you’ll have to get a better excuse someday.”

“My bad for wanting to see you,” he returns. “I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever. I miss you,” he adds a little quietly.

It makes you smile in earnest this time. “So you’re here to be a good friend, then.”

“Yeah,” Minho says, and you might be kidding yourself but you swear he sounds almost disappointed, “A good friend. That’s me.”

You tap him gently on the arm to get him to move from the door. “How about I promise to find you straight after my shift ends, and you agree to leave without using any more of my medical supplies? Jeff’s going to kill you if we run through anymore bandages, I swear it.”

Minho pretends to think this over. “Straight after? You promise?”

“I promise,” you repeat. “So? Do we have a deal?”

“We do,” he intones solemnly, and at last lets you open the door and usher him out, but only after extracting one more promise that you won’t delay to talk to Newt or anyone else once Jeff lets you out.

When you get back to the storage room, you find Jeff waiting for you, grinning knowingly from ear to ear. It bothers you for some reason, not the fact that he’s on this topic again but worse, the thought that he might not be entirely wrong for it.

“Wipe that look off your face,” you mutter.

Jeff’s grin just broadens. “How was your star patient?”

“Fantastic,” you assure him, “And I’d be fantastic too, if you could stop bothering me with whatever weird thing you’re thinking about right now.”

Jeff shrugs exaggeratedly. “Of course. I don’t know why anyone would think about Minho being unable to go three days without talking to you. That would be crazy.”

“It would be,” you add darkly. People in the Glade have said that you have a tendency for killer death stares. However, Jeff seems to be impervious to it, because he just keeps sitting there, proud as anything, as if he were in the right about this.

As if. This isn’t the first time your friends have tried to suggest there’s something going on between you and Minho, and the honest truth is that nothing has happened at all. Yeah, Minho’s your best friend, and yeah, your days are significantly better when you see as much of him as possible. What about it? It doesn’t mean a thing. Life is hard. If you want to talk to the boy who makes you laugh like no one else, you should be able to do it in peace.

You can’t deny that the rumors stay on your mind, and recently, you haven’t been able to deny them with as much conviction as usual. You’re not blind, Minho is good-looking, and maybe you start thinking about something past friendship when he makes another excuse to get in your personal space when you’re sitting together by the fire or walking through the Glade.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before, but as good as it might be to have Minho in every way that matters, you’ll still be perfectly happy with just the one. You can’t risk your friendship, even if, two drinks of Gally’s brew into a Bonfire Night, you start thinking about what it would be like to kiss him, or worse still, when Minho drops by the Med-Jack hut again, you convince yourself that maybe he’s not just doing it because he’s a good friend but because he wants you just like you want him.

It can’t be, though. For one thing, Minho is notoriously confident. If he liked you, he would have told you by now. You’ve seen him argue with Gally for the fun of it, not to mention the fact that he chose to be a Runner of all things. Minho lives on a constant adrenaline rush. Compared to what he does on a daily basis, confessing his feelings has to be nothing major. If he wanted to tell you, he would, and he hasn’t, so obviously there isn’t anything to tell at all.

For another, and this might just be in your own head, but Minho is so brave and capable that he seems to eclipse everything around him. Maybe it’s just the force of your own perspective, but you swear the entire Glade orbits around him. When he gets back from a run, he’s immediately swarmed by Gladers asking him about how it was, if he saw anything important. He’s always the first person people talk to, the immediate choice for a dinnertime companion. Minho could have anything he wanted in the Glade. So why would he want you?

You’ve managed to force the whole thing from your mind as best you can. Minho is your friend. At least you can have him like that, even if it kills you sometimes to look at him and imagine all the ways you would love him if he would just give you the chance. Any good medic can keep their feelings internal when they need it, and you’re the best there is.

You meet Minho later that night as promised, and you do your utmost to pretend everything is normal. You stay with him until the sun sinks below the horizon, until the Doors slam shut, until the moon begins its familiar path across the sky. You talk the whole while, idle chatter that occasionally drifts off into comfortable quiet. You’ve never been able to do that with anyone before, feel so at ease that you can stay silent for minutes at a time and have it not be awkward, but with Minho, it’s so simple. Then again, you can hardly remember anyone at all. Maybe there was someone in the past who mattered to you just as much as Minho does now. Even without your memories, though, that feels impossible. Minho could have no substitute, not to you.

You’re expecting the next day to pass in a breeze of idle hours, but around midafternoon, your dreary day of organization and the occasional bad paper cut is harshly interrupted by the sound of chaos outside. There’s shouting for a Med-Jack, and then several people are rushing someone in. It’s a Runner, apparently, you hear the details as you run for supplies. The Maze started moving during the day and he got hurt.

You can tell from the way people start nervously looking at you that it’s bad. At first, they don’t say any names, but then you burst into the chamber that serves as your operating room and you know that it’s worse than you could have possibly imagined, for not only does it seem like there’s enough blood to drench the Glade, but the victim isn’t Ben or one of the other Runners, it’s Minho. Your Minho. Your Minho, bleeding out on your table, who will need you to save him.

You stand there for one fragile moment, drenched in horror, then spring into action. Clint and Jeff have surfaced by now, and you direct them to anesthetize Minho. You want him to feel as little of this as possible. After carefully cutting open his shirt to determine the source of all that awful blood, you determine that it’s not as bad as you thought, more of a broad surface wound than a deep puncture. That much blood loss is dangerous, though, and he’ll need several stitches to close the flesh.

About an hour and a half later, you’re done. You and the other Med-Jacks lean back, panting heavily. Your hands and clothes are smeared with red, but color has crept back into Minho’s cheeks, and he’s starting to breathe evenly again.

“How long until he wakes up?” You ask Clint.

He checks a nearby clock, then Minho’s pulse. “Fifteen minutes, probably, but he won’t be fully conscious for up to an hour.”

You nod. “That’s good. Clear out, you guys. Get some rest.”

Jeff stops by you on the way out. “You can stay with him if you want. He’d be glad to see you when he wakes up.”

You let out a slow breath. “Thanks, Jeff.”

He pats you on the back then leaves to wash up. You spare the time to scrub your hands and get on a fresh change of clothes, but head back to Minho as soon as you can. Ben was with him when the accident happened, he said that everything happened so fast he hardly knew what went down. You don’t want Minho to wake up alone and confused, covered in bandages and unable to shake the scent of blood.

Once the immediate danger is over, you’re left sitting in a chair by Minho’s cot. His chest is swathed in bandages, but no red has flowered through them yet, which is a good sign. As you watch, the fingers on his right hand start to twitch. Clint said he would start to stir around now, and you’re glad to see the signs of movement. Watching him there– so still, so motionless– it made you wonder if he would wake up. It made you wonder if there was any way you could survive if he didn’t.

Minho is starting to make small sounds of distress under his breath, so you lean over and take his hand, squeezing it carefully but comfortingly. “Hey, hey. It’s me. You’re safe.”

You hear the ghost of your name in his whisper, and then Minho starts to quiet down again, restless rustles turning back into quiet breathing. You check his heart rate with your free hand and are glad to see it returning to normal, shaking off the lethargy of the anesthesia.

Minho sleeps for a little longer. Afraid to upset him, you keep your hand in his. You can tell when he wakes again, because his fingers start to press against yours. Consciousness comes upon him like a wave beating upon the shore. All of a sudden, his eyes are blinking open, and then he’s trying to sit up too fast and is forced back down to the cot by a bout of dizziness.

“Easy,” you tell him, pressing him back. “Don’t try to sit yet. The meds aren’t out of your system.”

“Y/N?” Minho asks, voice hoarse.

Hearing the scratchiness of his voice, so totally removed from the usual confident cadence of his words, makes your throat close up. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”

“Hey, Doc,” he says roughly. “Jeff won’t give me klunk about the bandages now, will he?”

“No, he won’t,” you say, torn between laughter and outright sobs. “How do you feel? Any pain?”

“All good,” Minho tells you. “What about Ben? Is he okay?”

“Ben is fine,” you assure him. “You’re the one we’re worried about, Minho. I knew the Maze was dangerous, but like this–”

He cuts you off, squeezing your hand. “Hey, all in a day’s work. I knew the risks when I went in.”

You shake your head, hot tears starting to well up in your eyes. “No, no. This isn’t fair. You’re not supposed to get hurt during the day. Minho, I didn’t even know anything happened, and then they brought you in, and there was so much blood– I thought I was going to lose you, and I didn’t even get to tell you–”

Even in the midst of your tears, you have the presence of mind to stop yourself before you give yourself away. It’s just– the thought had not abandoned you the whole time he slept, even the whole time you operated, that you could lose him without ever having him at all.

Minho shakes his head as best he can. “I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m okay.”

“But you almost weren’t,” you whisper. “What if Ben hadn’t been able to get you back in time?”

You take a ragged breath, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use. Your shoulders shake, and Minho leans up slightly, as if drawn to it. To you.

“You’re pretty even when you cry,” Minho says, one hand weakly rising up to brush a tear from your cheek. “How is that fair?”

You laugh haltingly, in between the tears. “Barely awake five minutes, and you’re already flirting.”

He grins. “It’s all I want to do.”

If this were any other day, you would be able to brush off that comment, but something about this moment, this space– no one else in the room, Minho’s palm still tenderly cradling your cheek, your heart still erratic from the stress– you can’t help but turn the words over and over in your mind. All I want to do. All I want to do.

“Minho–” You start.

“Shh,” he says. “You already know that. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen through it. My smart girl. All those times I came to see you. Don’t say you haven’t realized.”

“Minho–”

“Newt says I’m being stupid. That I shouldn’t keep trying to have something that isn’t mine. But I’ll tell you something, Y/N, I’m selfish, and I’m greedy. I want you, and I don’t want to think about you with anyone else but me.”

Your breath is harsh in your chest, heart beating so loud you’re certain they must hear it echoing all across the Glade.

Minho’s eyes are fixed directly on yours. He sits up carefully, enough to reach his other hand up past your waist to the small of your back. “Tell me you don’t want me, or I’m not going to stop trying to keep you. Tell me to stop.”

Your lips part as you try to form an answer. Minho’s eyes dart down to the movement, and they only rise to your gaze with great reluctance. “I don’t want you to stop,” you tell him at last. “I want you, Minho. Only you.”

Two years now, you’ve known Minho. You’ve seen him proud and defiant, laughing and joyous and as happy as anyone could hope to be. Still, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile as brightly as he does right now, right before he kisses you.

Every touch is electric, and this is the most powerful of all. Your mind is reeling from the moment your lips meet, sending you far beyond the reaches of the Maze to the sky itself. You could be floating forever if you wanted, and you only start to gradually come back to earth when he slowly breaks away.

“Minho,” you say, hesitating over every syllable.

“Y/N,” he mimics, lips turned up in an irrepressible smile.

“They’re going to want to know that you’re awake. I promised I’d get the others,” you tell him.

He considers this for a moment. “They don’t need to know immediately, do they?”

You smile. “No.”

Minho’s eyes glint. “Then kiss me again. You can tell them after.”

It seems like a fair deal to you. You kiss him to make sure of it.

maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss,

@hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

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fxrmuladaydreams · 1 year ago

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lucky red bull driver (mv1)

max x reader , george x reader (platonic)

summary: george may have made a mistake when he introduced you to mercedes’ number one rival

notes: george is so dramatic in this, it’s great. i’ll probably write a part 2 to this

next part

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You’re sure there’s a clause somewhere in your contract that says you aren’t allowed to be doing what you’re doing, but you can’t help it.

Being hired as an assistant to Toto Wolff led you into the constant whirlwind of a life in Formula One. You’d gotten to learn a lot about the sport, and a lot about the Mercedes team.

Constantly being by the side of Toto Wolff had it’s perks. You got to travel the world, go to all of the Formula One races, meet and become close friends with Lewis Hamilton and George Russell. You were living the dream of many others.

Then he had to come in and ruin it. He ruined it with his pretty eyes, and his wide grin. He ruined it with his snarky comments, and soft praises. He was a hurricane storming in and you were trapped in the eye.

You could blame the whole thing on George, claim that it was his friendship to Max that had started your romantic endeavors with the Red Bull driver. Whenever Toto didn’t need your help, you were allowed to do whatever you liked, whether that be sightseeing or just relaxing. Recently though, you’d joined George on his paddle outings, which was where you had officially met Max.

George often played with some of the other drivers. Alex, Lando, and Max frequented the group. You had quickly become friends with the others, what with them being close in age to you, and their chaotic and amusing behavior when around one another.

This version of Max wasn’t the version you were used to seeing on the track. That version was serious, a scowl practically glued to his face. He’d gotten into verbal fights with some of the other drivers, George included. But this Max was different. He smiled a lot. He laughed when George and Alex would start bickering like an old married couple. He gave them all a pat on the back whether he won or lost the game.

It was during a game when you first spoke with the Dutch driver. He had tapped out, claiming he needed a break, and sent in someone else that had joined the group for the day. He sat on the bench next to you beside the court, watching the game unfold between the others.

He made quiet conversation with you, just about little things like how you were enjoying your job, your friendship with George. It had gotten to the point where you had stopped paying attention to the paddle game and gave Max your undivided attention.

That is, until a ball came hurtling towards you. You saw it out of the corner of your eye, lifting your arm up and turning your head away so that you wouldn’t get hit. But the ball never came in contact with your head, instead it hit Max’s paddle, which was being held up near your head.

“Watch where you hit the ball!” He shouted to the players on the court.

George looked sheepishly surprised as he jogged over to you. “Are you okay? I swear I didn’t mean to hit it to you-”

“At her. You hit it at her.” Max corrected him.

“I’m sorry Y/n.” George apologized again.

You shake your head. “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

You take a walk with Max afterwards, looking to avoid anymore rouge paddle balls. The two of you refuse to talk about anything that has to do with Mercedes or Red Bull while you walk, knowing that if you did you’d be in serious trouble with your bosses. Instead you talk about your childhoods, about how the two of you actually started your careers in Formula One, and about things that interested you outside of the sport.

You were surprised to hear Max say that he didn’t really excel in any other activities. You were shocked that the three time world champion, the man who was at the top of his sport, admitted that driving was really all he was good at.

You laugh and shake your head as you return to the court. “I don’t believe that for a minute Max.”

“It’s true! Put me in a pool and I’ll drown. On a football field and I’ll fall on my ass more times than you can count.” He grins as you laugh.

“Y/n, ready to head back to the hotel?” George asks making his way over to the two of you. His eyes travel back and forth between you, watching as you’re standing so close to one another that your arms brush against each other.

You clear your throat and take a step away from Max, your eyes refusing to meet George’s. “Yeah, sure.” You turn back to Max. “It was nice talking with you.”

“You too. I hope we can do it again sometime.” He gives you a smile, then leaves you to join Lando.

When you look back at George he’s got his eyebrows raised as if waiting for you to say something. You don’t give him the satisfaction, instead walking back to his car.

You get in the passenger seat of his car silently as he throws his equipment in the backseat. When he gets into the drivers seat he sits quietly for a moment then breaks the silence with a slew of questions.

“Alright, what happened? What is going on with you and Max? Did you tell him anything about Mercedes? Did he tell you anything about Red Bull? Why does he want to see you again?”

You stop the waterfall of questions with a hand on his shoulder.

“We just took a walk. No, neither of us said anything about our teams. And I don’t know George, maybe he wants to see me again because he enjoyed my company.” You last sentence is laced with sarcasm.

George rolls his eyes. “Yes Y/n, you’re an absolute delight. You know Toto will have a conniption if he finds out you’re buddies with Max Verstappen.”

“Well we’re not, so there’s no reason to worry.” You shrug.

You like to believe you kept that up for a while, attempting to avoid the Red Bull areas of the paddock, and running the opposite direction when you saw the navy blue team kit headed your way, but it didn’t take long for you to give into the tugging feeling in your chest whenever you saw him.

Avoiding him turned into brief greetings when passing each other, which turned into longer conversations with each other, which turned into seeking the other out while at work.

There’s no denying what’s going on at this point. Race weekends consist of you sneaking into his hotel room to see him, sharing meals together, and falling asleep wrapped around each other in his bed.

You hide in empty corners and walkways to see each other, sharing rushed kisses and hushed words of affection.

If anyone saw you, with his blue polo, and your white one, chaos would ensue. That’s exactly what happened when you were caught. You were pressed between a wall and his body, your arms wrapped around his neck as his held onto your hips. One of your hands reaches up to tangle itself in his hair, knocking his cap off his head onto the ground.

Even though you’re quite literally wrapped up in him, you still manage to stay aware of your surroundings, listening for anyone who might pass by the dark walkway you currently occupy.

“No one is going to find us liefje.” Max murmurs against your lips. “You don’t need to worry your pretty little head.�� He teases you as his kisses start to trail down your neck.

His teeth scrape against your pulse point, causing a light gasp to escape you. You can feel Max smirking into your neck.

“And what if someone does find us? And they see me making out with a Red Bull driver? What will they say?” You lean your head back against the wall behind you.

“Lucky Red Bull driver?” He grins as he pulls away from your neck.

You scoff and hit his chest with your hand. He lets out a loud laugh, slightly stumbling back. You grab onto his shoulder pulling him back towards you and place a finger over his lips.

“Max! You need to be quiet!” You whisper to him.

He leans his forehead against yours as your hand drops from his lips. He looks down at your lips then back up into your eyes.

“I know how you can keep me quiet.” He dives back down to your lips and pressing you into the wall again.

In that moment you’re so consumed by him, by his kisses that become more and more heated, by his tongue that slips into your mouth, by his hands that keep a firm grip on your hips, that you fail to notice the sound of someone approaching.

“Oh god!” A voice rings out.

You’re quick to push the Dutch driver off of you, looking towards where the voice had come from.

George stands about three meters away from you, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth hanging open. His eyes go back and forth between you and Max, who stands next to you, running a hand through his hair.

It’s almost as if the three of you are having a stare down. You’re all searching for the right words to say, but no one can find them.

You take a slow step towards George with a hand lifted in front of you, almost like you’re trying not to scare off an animal.

“George-” you start softly, but that’s all it takes for an endless stream of words to come flowing for the Brit’s mouth.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! You and him?” He points accusingly at Max. “Fucking Max Verstappen? Do you know how bad this is? Toto’s going to kill you!” He points at you now. “He’s going to kill you, then he’s going to kill you!” He points at Max again. “Then he’s going to kill me!” He arm drops back down. “Oh god, we’re all dead!”

You take a few quick steps to stand in front of George, placing your hands on his arms. “No, no one’s going to die, because Toto isn’t going to find out.”

“Because if you tell him I will push you off track.” Max says.

You turn to give him a stern look, then look back at George.

“George, you can’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

“Y/n…” he groans.

“Please George, please don’t tell anyone.” You beg him.

He glances back at Max who’s picked up his hat from the ground and now adjusts it back on his head.

“You really like him? Like you two are together?” George asks looking back at you.

“I mean…” You turn to face Max. You were far too busy sneaking around to actually put a label on what you were.

Max shrugs. “She’s my girlfriend.”

George sighs shaking his head. “Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t you have just dated Lando? Or Charles?”

“Because I like Max, not Lando, and not Charles. Besides, you’re the one who introduced us.”

George groans covering his face with his hands. “I’m dead. I’m gonna be out of a job and dead.”

Not much changes after George finds out. It’s difficult to get him to keep his cool at first, but quickly adjusts to keeping this secret hidden away.

To others he seems closer to Max, the pair occasionally walking together, talking to each other in hushed tones. What was once just an acquaintanceship has seemingly turned into a close friendship.

George, only after being what some may call threatened by Max, now helps you sneak around with the Red Bull driver. He makes up excuses as to why Toto can’t find you while you’re in Max’s driver’s room. He offers to roadtrip with you from track to track so that you can travel with Max.

Everything goes smoothly for a while, until a few photos circulate Twitter.

You and Max were very careful about where you met up. It was usually somewhere secluded, somewhere that others wouldn’t find you or wouldn’t be able to see you.

You really enjoyed being with Max, but the hiding was starting to take a toll on the both of you. You wanted to be able to walk into the paddock hand in hand, and he wanted to be able to sweep you into his arms after winning a race.

It was nearing the day that would mark 4 months with each other, so Max had begged you to do something special. He just wanted to take you out. He promised he would make sure that everything was quiet and no one would catch you.

After reluctantly agreeing Max had called up your favorite restaurant. He paid to make sure the two of you would be the only ones dining there, and that you would have access to any back doors to get in and out.

Surprisingly dinner went off without a hitch. The restaurant was empty when you arrived, allowing you and Max to have a quiet romantic evening with each other somewhere other than between the walls of either of your apartments. You spent the nights smiling and laughing with each other, occasionally stealing food off the other’s plate.

You left the restaurant and headed back to his apartment with your takeout boxes. You spent the night there with Max, cuddled up into his chest as you let sleep overtake you.

The next morning you woke up still pressed against Max. Usually he would stay in bed, stroking your back or your hair softly until you woke up, but now he was sitting up looking at his phone.

His eyebrows were furrowed and a scowl rested on his face.

“What? What’s wrong?” You ask, slowly sitting up.

“I’m sorry liefje…” He hands his phone to you.

He’s got Twitter open, and on it are a few photos. There’s one of you smiling up at Max. You can’t really tell that it’s Max, just a guy in a white shirt. Then one of you kissing the same guy. Then the last is one where you can clearly see Max, his face now turned towards the camera.

Someone took these photos as you were leaving the restaurant. Clearly someone had informed paparazzi that you would be there, sneaking in and out together.

You can feel your heartbeat speed up in your chest. You give Max his phone back and reach over for yours.

You’ve also got a slew of Twitter notifications, as well as a few texts from George.

Are you alright?

I don’t know how the hell that happened.

I’m here if you need me. Either of you.

You sigh and run a hand through your hair. You can feel tears start to well up in your eyes, already picturing what’s going to happen next. You could lose your job, you could be forced to end your relationship with Max, you could be sued for potentially giving Red Bull classified information.

Max sees your eyes become glassy and immediately pulls you into his arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Y/n.” He lets you cry into his chest. “It’s okay. We’re gonna be okay. I promise.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

Once you’ve finally got your breathing back to normal you slowly pull away from Max. He gives you a soft smile, then softly kisses you. He kisses you once, then twice, then a third time, until you finally return a smile to him.

You lay with him quietly for a few minutes until you hear you phone buzz.

Your screen lights up with a text notification from Toto.

We need to talk. Thursday, 4 o’clock, my office. Bring Verstappen.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #formula one x reader #formula one #mv33 x reader #mv33

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weepingtalecowboy · 3 months ago

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Fanfic prompt : Wind has the most ridiculous most overpowered skill set ever created

Like he can hold an entire pig over his head and throw it (with no trouble he probably got banned from handling animals at Lon Lon ranch very quickly)

He can hold a rito and throw her as well (and a korok too I suppose but Makar probably weighs like less then four apples)

And he can carry a hammer heavy enough to kill a monster on impact (and for that you need a force of at the very least a car crash at 180 miles per hour and the skull hammer has a very small impact Area so it probably needs even more force to kill at impact) and swing that thing with no trouble and even jump with it (Warriors probably exploded when he tried to carry it for wind and face planted)

He can walk in boots heavy enough to weigh down a child effortlessly (that kid never skipped leg day to do that a kick of his probably can kill a man with minimal effort)

And with the power bracelets he can pick up entire boulders the size of buildings and throw them very far and most importantly he can throw them hard enough that they shatter into dust

He can get flung across the entire great sea with no problem and hit a wall at full speed and not die (when the first attack on ganondorf failed and when the weird pearl carrying things exploded one after another)

Like that is some great ability to tank damage

Nobody in the chain could win in an arm wrestling against him and the kid isn’t even an adult yet (even twilight who can carry goats is still not capable of yeeting them would have a lot of trouble and twilight is an fully grown and trained adult not a 13 year old )

And that is just the physical part the magical part is even more horrifying

He can use fire , ice and light all with his own magic (even Hyrule is incapable off using light and legend still needs a fire rod for fire)

He just collects arrows and and then uses magic on them (he can probably use it without arrows because the arrows have little to do with innate magic)

He probably can heal someone with the light magic too (and ice a bruise at once)

And start a fire

The chain is probably going to taverns and then starting shit by betting on Wind while he murders the competition (and then collecting an easy profit from it)

And we are not even talking about the Wind waker because that stick absolutely annihilates the power scaling of the chain

He can Mind control with the command melody (a safe way to let time use the fierce deity mask because he can canonically control goddess statuettes a mask is much easier)

The blood moon is rising

No it’s not now it’s day again (song of passing and then constantly changing the night to daytime)

Hurricanes to fast travel well obviously why the fuck not (if he can take an entire boat with him 8 extra people are an easy job)

Change the wind back and forth just because it is convenient

In phantom hourglass :

Seeing ghosts

Stopping time

Walking through walls

And he had used the life force of a literal god to have enough life force to make it through temples (like that definitely has consequences)

And incapable of getting nightmares (because Cielia promised to forever protect his dreams)

Like I’m sure the chain thought that wind is an actual god or divine mercy for their adventure

If Wind thinks he is the weakest and that his ability is pretty normal and not trying to hide anything it gets so much more ridiculous

Like little guy is a god and didn’t notice

#linked universe #lu wind #lu time #lu legend #lu sky #lu warriors #lu wild #lu hyrule #lu twilight #lu four #wind waker #phantom hourglass #the hero of the wind got his light powers from a literal box #and wind is a god i tell you #the wind waker is just a magic wand and wind can do whatever with it #using a gods life force always has consequences #wind be like: hippity hoppity the sun and moon are my property #and the entire sky too

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creampuffqueen · 2 months ago

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people who don’t experience hurricanes on the regular do not understand the ‘hunker down and wait’ culture we have in hurricane areas

hurricanes are so incredibly unpredictable. the storm that’s supposedly going to be “the worst ever” will no longer even be a hurricane by the time it lands, a tropical storm nobody was worried about can be a cat 2 when it lands. they change on a dime. a hurricane can blow through right through and keep moving, a hurricane can sit over your house for days. it is HARD to predict

and for those of us who live in hurricane prone areas? if we evacuated for every single tropical storm or hurricane we would be evacuating like 5-6 times a year. that is completely unsustainable. and the amount of times that a storm is supposed to devastate your area, only for something to change at the last second and you don’t even get rain… it happens all. the. time

so no, lots of people don’t evacuate. even when it’s a big storm. even when it’s supposed to hit you head on. because a vast majority of the time it doesn’t

my heart goes out to everyone in hurricane helene’s path. believe me, i’ve been there before. i’ve lived through ike, harvey, beryl, and so many other storms i can’t even name because that’s how often we get them. my family has never evacuated for a hurricane before. we are a hunker down and wait family. and i am incredibly lucky that it’s worked for us in the past. i’m so, so sorry for those who did the same and were unfortunately proven wrong

stay safe out there

#mal's shitposts #if you are stupid on this post you’re getting blocked btw #hurricane helene #current events

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clonedchaos · 4 months ago

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Ripple Effect

Orchids and Oranges: A Yasammy Week Special

Yippee! It's Yasammy Week, brought to you by @yasammyweek! Pardon the late kickoff, had to attend my sister's bridal shower today as well as writing this 2,000 word one shot in one day. I know most ppl here are doing art, but I can't draw, so fanfic it is! Enjoy! <3

Day 1: Hurt/Comfort

Rating: G/PG

Summary: Yaz thought she had left the dinosaurs behind. She thought it was time for her to finally heal… until she came face to face with one on the mainland.

AO3 Version:

Tumblr Version:

Yaz wrapped her arms tighter around Sammy’s waist as she gradually got used to the fluid movement of the stallion below them. The saddle wasn’t the most comfortable or practical of inventions, but Sammy had insisted it was far better than riding bare back.

Yaz let her gaze wander as a smile crossed her lips and her heart gave a little flutter. The maple trees surrounding them were colored in vibrant shades of orange, red, and brown. Despite fall coming to a close, Texas was still as humid as ever. It was the polar opposite of her home upstate— the moment it hit October, the temperature would plummet.

Yaz had gotten used to the frigid air over the years thanks to her daily morning runs. She would be quite out of her element down here if it weren’t for the months she spent stuck on a tropical island. She’d take the Texas heat over Nublar’s every single time.

And, of course, she loved Texas because of Sammy. Her parents had been the textbook definition of southern hospitality ever since Yaz came down to spend the week with them. Sammy had been a hurricane of energy and enthusiasm ever since her arrival. She talked a mile a minute at any possible opportunity and paraded Yaz around to see every nook and cranny of their land. It had been fun; she knew Sammy had been waiting a long time to introduce her officially to her family-- cattle included.

A pleasant breeze brushed past them, Sammy’s hair tickling Yaz’s nose. Yaz sneezed, the sheer power of the act nearly sending her reeling backwards.

”Bless you!” Sammy immediately chimed in, looking over her shoulder. Her hands held the reins in a loose grip as the stallion came to a stop. His ears and tail twitched. Yaz’s behavior had irked him.

“Sorry about that, bud,” She apologized, patting the horse on the flank. A whistle and nudge from Sammy ushered the stallion forward again.

The cowgirl kept her eyes on her girlfriend. Yaz felt that wasn’t the appropriate course of action given she was the one guiding the horse down the path. It seemed almost as dangerous as taking your eyes off the road while driving.

”The trees are mighty beautiful, aren’t they?” Sammy cooed with a grin. She reached forward and plucked a leaf out of Yaz’s hair. How long had that been in there?

”It is beautiful, Sammy,” Yaz admitted. Truly, the scenery was gorgeous. The Gutierrez’s land was pure nature’s bliss, all 700 acres of it. She liked to call it “The Eight Wonder of the World.”

Sammy glanced up towards the sky, its colors glowing with muted hues of pink, blue, and purple. “It’s gettin’ late. Perhaps we should head back to the stable.” Her gaze darted to and fro before she leaned forward and whispered, “Ol Kota’s eyesight isn’t as great as it once was.”

Kota nickered in response. Yaz snorted. “I think he heard you.”

"Oh, that wasn't an insult, boy!" Sammy quickly corrected sheepishly, getting a chuckle out of Yaz. Sammy's baby talk toward her critters wasn't at all meant to be taken seriously, but Yaz couldn't help but think it was adorable.

“I suppose you’re right. Hey, think I could beat Kota in a race?” Yaz asked with a clear undertone of a challenge. If he galloped at full speed, she knew he would be able to overtake her effortlessly. But at his old age, she might just have a chance if he were to trot.

Sammy’s eyes shone as she turned her attention back onto Yaz. “Oh, that’s a gre—“

Kota saw the Triceratops first. The elder stallion reared up onto his back legs. Yaz lost her grip on Sammy and hit the ground hard. The breath drew out of her lungs, leaving her momentarily stunned at the blunt impact. Surely that was going to leave a sizable bruise on her tailbone.

”Woah, boy! Easy… Easy!” Sammy yelped as she tightened the reins and fought for control. Yaz instinctively rolled to the side to avoid getting trampled on by hooves, just barely scraping by with nothing more than a dust cloud in her face.

With her chest heaving in gulps of air, Yaz finally lifted her gaze toward the instigator. A bulky Triceratops stood before them in the path, its head lowered and grazing on the sparse patches of grass that sprung up from the dirt trail. At the stallion’s cry of fear, the herbivore lifted its head. Its horns glinted off the dying sunlight’s rays, the tips sharpened points that could skewer her should the animal desire.

Yaz didn’t know why, but she screamed. She screamed a blood curdling cry that sent the nearby birds scattering. Her hands tore up clumps of dirt as she balled them into a fist. Her heart pounded, she could hear it in her ears and feel the blood coursing through her veins. It was getting hard to breathe. Why could she not breathe? Why couldn't she think? Why was her vision spinning? Was it a concussion, or was she losing it?

The Triceratops bellowed and raked its front leg on the ground. Despite being in fear’s clutches, Yaz subconsciously knew it was about to charge. Suddenly the aspect of getting trampled by a horse seemed far more appealing.

The Triceratops stomped forward, waving its horns threateningly. Yaz couldn’t move. She wanted to pull herself off the ground and bolt toward the nearest tree. She wanted to be safe, to be inside, to be far away from this prehistoric beast. But her body was rooted to the floor, tied down by unseen vines. Despite the adrenaline pulsing through her veins and the chilling numbness of her hands, she could only watch powerlessly as she sat directly in the line of fire.

“Yaz!” Sammy was suddenly right by her side on horseback. Quite literally her knight in shining armor. She extended a hand down to her. Yaz felt a sharp pierce plunge through her heart at the palpable fear she found lying behind Sammy's eyes. “Come on!”

Yaz still felt frozen by invisible roots. She wanted to reach for Sammy. She wanted them to huddle under the blanket fort Sammy had insisted they build in her room last night. Her and Sammy had been at checkers for nearly two hours before Sammy’s mother had called them down for dinner. She wanted to wake up in the morning and breathe in the aroma of fresh, fluffy cinnamon rolls and salted, crisp bacon. Would she ever partake in these memories again? Or would they be snuffed out, much like her life might very well be. If only she could just…

MOVE!

With one hand wrapped around the stirrup, Sammy leaned down and grabbed Yaz by the arm. Yaz knew her girlfriend was strong, like really really strong. Calling her "country strong" wasn't just a cute pet name, it was a fact.

Sammy's rapid maneuver was enough to nudge Yaz up and back into the saddle. With a quick snap of the reins and click of her heels, Sammy ushered Kota forward. The trike missed them by a hair, nearly getting clocked on the muzzle by the stallion's hooves.

Yaz had her arms wrapped around Sammy in a death grip, her face buried against her wool jacket. It felt like she was holding her breath for every second until they had made it safely to the barn. Her chest was tight and sweat rolled down the side of her head. She could barely feel her fingers besides the buzzing, staticky feeling she noticed there.

"Yaz?"

She looked up with rounded eyes. Sammy released the reins and kicked her leg up and over as she dismounted. Immediately, she turned and extended a hand toward Yaz in a gesture of assistance. "Are you okay?"

No. No she wasn't. With a shaky breath and trembling hand, she reached out. Sammy's hands were worn with numerous callouses; no doubt a result from her long days of working hard on the ranch. Her fingers intertwined with Yaz's. At the touch, the dam holding back her tears finally broke. Yaz sank to her knees and began to sob.

Sammy was right there, kneeling down and pulling her into an embrace. "It's okay, Yaz. I'm here," She cooed, gently rubbing her back in a circular motion.

Yaz nestled closer to her, hoping Sammy's very presence would be enough to chase away her inner demons. "I... I thought... I thought we'd be done with dinosaurs," She admitted weakly. She hated feeling like this. Vulnerable. It was like she was a little kid all over again; someone who needed to be coddled and comforted by her mother.

"I know..." Sammy replied sympathetically as she rested her head against Yaz's. "I wasn't expecting to see a trike so close to home."

It was getting a little easier to breathe now. Just a little. "Why? Why is it here?" She choked out, closing her eyes.

Sammy grew silent. Yaz didn't expect her to answer that rhetorical question. After all, how in the world would she know what a dinosaur was doing hundreds of miles from Nublar?

Rather, Sammy began to hum. Her tone lilted in a melancholic sway. Yaz seemed momentarily taken aback as her heartbeat began to steady and her limbs slackened. With every rise and fall in tempo, Yaz begun to notice an unmistakable pattern in the rhythm.

Yaz leaned back and cupped Sammy's cheek in her hand. Her eyes still stung, and she knew she probably looked like a bedraggled mess. Right now, that didn't matter. "How do you know that song?"

Sammy leaned into Yaz's touch. "Your mother taught it to me. She knows you've been having a tough time since the island..." She trailed off and averted her gaze.

Yaz relaxed her features and silently urged Sammy to continue. "She told me it used to help you when you were little... and I thought it might help in this situation," She murmured sheepishly and rubbed her arm in embarrassment with flushed cheeks.

Yaz cracked a gentle smile at that and swiftly planted a kiss atop her forehead. "It did help. I'm sorry. For freezing like that..."

"Hey, none of that," Sammy lectured sternly with a good-natured smile. She held both of Yaz's hands in her own. "Just because we're off the island, it doesn't mean those feelings just up and disappeared. But I know you, Yaz. You're the bravest, most stubborn fighter I know. We just need to take baby steps again."

Baby steps. Right. It was like running a marathon; you don't go full sprint right off the bat. You pace yourself until you're further along with the finish line in sight.

"It just... surprised me is all," Yaz continued. The fireflies casted a gentle, infrequent glow across the purple and blue painted sky. "I thought I would be over this. But what if...? What if there are more dinosaurs?" Particularly the ones that would have them for a midnight snack.

"I don't know," Sammy admitted, returning the kiss on Yaz's forehead. "But what I do know is that I'm here if you ever need me. We conquered Nublar together. And if dinosaurs are on the mainland now, we'll conquer that together too. You're stronger than your fears."

Yaz smiled and pulled Sammy close. There was one constant in her life when it came to dinosaurs: Sammy. When her PTSD got the better of her on Manta Corp's island, she was there to help ease her nerves and shift her attention toward other matters. Even if they were states apart, she knew Sammy would just be a phone call away. And that was enough.

"I'll always be here for you, mi rosa. For now, and forever."

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bridgemino · 16 days ago

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MINOR CONTENT WARNING: This story contains some heavy topics!!

(This story is a bit of a duzie…so buckle up, buttercups!)

Hell in Hurricane

Hurricanes came and gone. The worst that had happened was a lost house or damage; nothing the rescue team couldn’t fix. They were scary, rainy and windy, but they had never needed to evacuate or relocate. It was an occasional phenomenon. One they had dealt with many times.

Jin wriggled along to the music that blasted through her headphones. She had found the song recently, and it had definitely placed in her favorites list. “Ba, da da dada daaaaaaAAH-“ she jumped up from her seat, her headphones flying off her head. The bass could be heard still from where they fell. “P-Poli! When did you show up?!”

Poli gave her a concerned look. “A few moments ago. Perhaps you should turn that down a bit, Jin.” He said, pointing his tire towards the headphones that were so loud, they vibrated across the floor. “Jeez! How high did you turn that up?!” His tone turned more playful than stern. But it quietly switched back.

“Ummm, moving on…do you need something, Poli?” She asked, turning the music off, and brushing the headphones to the side with her foot.

Poli shook his head. “No, I was just checking in. We could use some rain soon, though. Amber’s flowers are wilting..”

Jin nodded slowly. “Okay. Uh, hey Poli, can you get the rest of the team here? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you guys.”

“Oh, alright. I’ll make an announcement.”

…

“So you’re saying that this massive hurricane is coming, and you had no idea?” Helly hissed, looking both shocked and upset. “How are we supposed to prepare for a hurricane like this in less than two days?!”

Jin cringed. “I know, I know! I should’ve known that my broken weather machine meant no good…nghh..”

Roy moved forward. “Hey, instead of complaining, let’s work on getting the town ready for this storm. We only have a matter of hours til the storm hits, so we should get started now.”

Amber nodded. “Yes, but have we had a hurricane of this strength hit Broomstown? Do you think our town can handle it?” As pondered aloud, her eyes wide with worry.

“I don’t know.” Jin said, then slinking down into her chair. “It’s expected to be a strong category 5 hurricane by the time it reaches us.” She frowned.

“Perhaps we should evacuate some of the towns people to other towns with the other rescue teams?” Poli suggested. “We’ve never done it before, but perhaps it would be helpful. It would be easier to tend to the town without most of the people here. It will also be safer for them.”

Roy nodded, “That’ll work. We just have to see if Carry is willing to transport people back and fourth. It’ll take too long by boat, and the ocean is a bit rough right now. Cici also needs to be out of the harbor very soon to ensure she doesn’t get stuck out in that storm.”

“Right..”

Jin sighed, “Poli, you try to come up with a quick plan, and the rest of us will prep the town for a hurricane. Sound okay?”

“Mhm.” The room was silent for a few moments, but soon Roy turned. “Let’s go Helly, we can start by the harbor and make our way inland.”

“Okay, Roy!”

They soon disappeared, and Jin and Amber followed shortly after.

Now Poli sat alone in the empty HQ. He watched the hurricane radar on the screen in front of him. It was really big. Had they ever been hit by a Cat 5 before? It was a direct hit as well. Estimated 30 feet of storm surge..? It definitely wasn’t safe for everyone to stay, especially those near the harbor. Did they have any other choice besides evacuation?

Poli shook his head and sighed. It’s just the same as any other hurricane. He tried to convince himself. Treat it as so.

[26 hours until landfall - HARBOR]

The sound of the crane triplets loading luggage and other items onto Cici filled the harbor. The wind had begun to pick up, and clouds rolled in among the horizon. A large group of the townsfolk was kept towards the storage sheds. Most of the town was here, and anxious at that. They had little information on the situation other than there was a hurricane and they were being evacuated.

Spooky shivered in fear. “Cap, do you think the hurricane will be really bad? What if we come home and everything’s destroyed?!” He asked timidly, watching as Poli guided Carry to land.

Cap shrugged, “I don’t know Spooky. Nothing like this has happened before, so I really don’t know any more than you do.” He frowned as well.

Cleany moved a bit closer. “Have you seen the rescue team? They look really worried…”

“Yeah,” Spooky agreed. “Wait, is Posty coming? I haven’t seen him since the announcement.”

“Me neither,” Cap said. “Do you think he’s staying?”

“He would be out of his mind if he was.” A raspy voice sounded from behind them. They all jumped and whipped around. There was an old grey car behind them, black triangular glasses rested on his nose, “I’ve been through many hurricanes in my lifetime. All the ones I’ve seen here were little baby ones. This one ain’t no baby.”

Cleany gulped. “W-Well, no…I s-suppose not..”

“We’ll hopefully only be evacuated for a day depending on damages. Rgh…something about this storm is givin’ me bad vibes. If your friend a’ yours is stayin’ here, he’s gonna learn a big lesson ‘bout them hurricanes.” The car grumbled, driving off as Carry’s door opened for another round of people.

The three friends looked at each other, confused and worried.

“I hope Posty doesn’t stay then..” Cap muttered.

Spooky and Cleany both replied at the same time. “Me neither.”

[15 hours until landfall — MR.WHEELER’S TIRE SHOP]

Roy shuffled boxes over, letting out a sigh. “Mr. Wheeler, are you positive you want to stay? It won’t be very safe for you here. You can still catch Carry’s last flight out if you hurry.” There was the soft constant sound of wind blowing outside. Darker, meaner clouds were beginning to engulf the town. It wouldn’t be long now.

Mr.Wheeler shook his head. “Well, are you guys leaving?” He countered Roy’s question, raising a brow as he stood up.

“We have to stay.” Roy said simply. “Unless every Broomstown citizen we’re to leave, we must stay.”

“Then no.” Mr. Wheeler sniffed arrogantly. “I trust you guys enough to save me in worst case scenario. Plus, hurricanes usually significantly weaken once they make landfall.”

Roy didn’t say anything, but he pressed his lips together tightly. He knew there was no way to change his mind now, so he decided not to fight it.

“I want to finish my TV show as well, I’m pretty close to the end and I don’t know what will be available in…wherever that relocation place is.” Mr. Wheeler said.

“You know you’ll quickly lose power, right?”

Mr.Wheeler sighed. “I’ve been in a hurricane before. I also have a generator now, so I’ll be okay.”

Roy was at a loss for words, but what else was there to say? You’re an imbecile? That would just be plain rude… “Hey Mr. Wheeler, can I temporarily take down the sign outside of your shop? I just want to ensure as little debris flies around as possible.”

“Sure, do what you want with the place. Oh—say, who else is waiting out the hurricane?”

Roy shrugged. “There are quite a few other families and individuals who are riding it out. Most of the town left, however.” He pushed through the doors of Mr.Wheeler’s shop, and looked up towards the sign. He would have to take everything out front down, then tape and board up the windows. There was still so much work to be done, and so little time.

Roy climbed up to the sign, loosening the bolts.

Pitter…patter…

The rain slowly began. It was a soft sprinkle, but it was also the beginning of a long, long night.

Roy shivered at the thought. Hopefully Mr.Wheeler was right. The hurricane would make landfall, then dissipate. If only.

[10 hours until landfall — SIDE ROADS NEAR THE HARBOR]

Poli stood near the edge of the cliff that lead down to the water. He could already tell the water was very slowly rising, the waves crashed among each other constantly. The sea seemed to be at war with itself, as though fending off an imminent threat.

He watched as a large flock of birds battled against the slowly growing winds, their cries signaling abnormality. Poli was checking the emergency phones, yet he would be lucky if they still stood after this event. He stared down at the harbor. It was strange not seeing the crane triplets, Cici, or even Lifty down there. It was completely empty.

Moving the crane triplets had been a bit of a hassle, but they didn’t want to stay, and the rescue team had to fulfill that wish. It was almost like looking into a ghost town.

The birds soon faded into the distance, and the only sound that occupied the area was the raging waves of the ocean. There was a soft rumble among the horizon. The storm was getting closer.

Poli cought a hold on himself, driving on to the nearest emergency phone. He did a few quick inspections, came to the conclusion it was fine, and carried on. On his way back towards the heart of the town, he heard a voice.

“Poli! Wait!”

It was high pitched, and Poli knew exactly who it was. He sighed and turned around. “Hello, Posty. How are you so far?”

Posty soon caught up. “I’m well, thank you. I hope the preparations haven’t been too much of a hassle on you and you team?” He did seem a bit worried.

“It’s been fine. Just a little stressful, I’ll admit.”

“I can only imagine!” Posty exclaimed. “I hope everything turns out okay, these clouds are looking pretty mean..but anyways, I better be headed back. I need to do something important. Bye Poli!” He then raced off.

“Ah, goodbye Posty.”

Poli sighed again. Posty did have a point, the clouds were looking rather worrying. But he did suppose things wouldn’t stay bright and sunny forever. Even though sometimes he wished it did.

[5 hours until landfall — BROOMS FOREST]

Amber headed deeper into the forest, which was completely void of people now. She had to settle down some things and fix some other things, but otherwise it was just a quick skim of the forest. The wind effortlessly rattled the trees around her like toys. The previous sprinkles of before had now become fat, yet slow, droplets that plopped down from the sky.

Admittedly, she was nervous. Very nervous. Something in her gut screamed to get away from here as fast as she could, but there was no leaving now. Carry was not going to fly back in, and the storm was too close. It was a matter of hours now before it made landfall. It was creeping up on them like prey, and it was ready to kill.

The storm growled above her, eager and hungry. The winds tried to push her back, but she continued on. The storm was growing stronger as it approached Broomstown. It loomed over them like a dark shadow, cutting out the sun and glaring down upon them. It sent shivers down her spine.

Finally, she reached the emergency phone that she had needed to tend to. She stabilized it into the ground, then ran a quick inspection. Admittedly, she did not want to spend another second here. Leaves flew off of the trees, begging her to run with them. Run to some place safe. Somewhere that was not home.

This place reminded her of when she and the team had to rescue Helly during a hurricane. Not fun, considering she was basically in one right now.

Amber turned back, ready to head home. With every step her legs seemed to carry her faster, the wind assisting her until she was moving at full speed towards home.

[Landfall — HQ]

Jin stared as the rain lashed against the windows. The hurricane roared above them, shivering the building below them. The rain was already beginning to pile up within their parking area outside. Lightning flashed and thunder clapped loudly.

There was one thing that worried Jin. Her teammates. None had returned yet, and Jin was left alone within the confines of the rescue center. It was cold inside, unlike the humid outdoors. Jin shivered. She was unsure whether it was with fear, or if she was just cold.

Thunder roared, and the ground shook. Jin clutched her coffee.

Jeez, where are they? Jin wondered. They should have been back a while ago…

Jin wanted to go out and look, but the conditions were far too bad to go running out and about. She would just have to wait until she gets a sign.

[HELLY]

Rain pounded against Helly’s skin, leaving red marks with each hit. The wind hassled the rain around at such high speeds it hurt. And it hurt pretty bad. Helly swallowed as water began to pool at his feet. Town square was somewhat high up, yet still too close to sea level to be comfortable. He was far enough inland not to worry right? Or was the town closer to the water than he thought-? After all, he did live on a island…what if they water engulfed them entirely?

He shook the thought away, wading to grab hold of the Thunder statue. The water at his feet moved with speed. This water was not clear and sparing, it was muddy, dark, and mean. This water had no intentions on passing by lightly. To add to that, the rain came down quickly in large quantities, the water was quickly rising. Plus the harsh winds pushed him around, and he was obviously unable to fly.

WHOOSH.

Helly’s heart stopped. Something flew right past his head. Something metallic and hard.

KA-THUNG!

It collided with great force against a building behind him. He slowly turned around. It was a road sign. A road sign that had been pulled from the ground and launched at his head. A few inches over and…no. No, don’t think about that.

The clouds above erupted into a loud laughter, and the ground shook once more.

CRASH!

A tree branch snapped off a tree and slammed against a nearby building. The trees around him shivered in terror, as though they would be next to be torn apart by these winds.

I have to get out of here! Helly thought quickly, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. The water reached his ankles now. Helly waded through the water, clutching onto a tree after a few steps. “Ngh..” the wind prevented him from taking smooth steps. It pushed him back, trying to pull him down into the water.

There was a loud rumble in the distance. The loud sound thundered in his direction. Though this wasn’t thunder. It sounded more like…rushing water?

Then it clicked.

No. No, nononononono-! He thought frantically. The dam! The one that kept the town from completely flooding. It had broken! Helly didn’t have much time to think before he was swallowed up in the water. It hit him like a brick, slamming his body to the ground before the debris-filled water rolled over him.

He waved his arms around, trying to pull himself up to the surface. This had to be at least 5 feet of water that weighed him down. His head popped up above the water, and he gasped for air. The water moved quickly, sweeping him away. The storm cackled again above him, and he saw victorious lightning light up the sky.

The water pushed him under again, and he flailed helplessly. Then, his arm caught something. A tree branch! He clutched it hard, trying to pull against the current to get atop it. His legs began to feel tired, and he pushed harder. “Rgghh!! Helly c’mon!!” He cried to himself. “Agggh!” He hissed again.

Finally, Helly was upon the branch, and he lifted himself further into the tree. The wind growled at his success, and tried to force him back down into the rapidly rising water. Helly wrapped his arms around the trunk of the tree as the little branch snapped off. The bark dug into his arms, and oil began to spill.

“Help!” He cried, though he could barely hear himself over the thrashing rain and howling winds. His arms begun to hurt, the rain hit his back like bullets, the wind threatened to tear him off the tree and into the water, and the tree shook violently, barely managing to stay up.

“Help me! Somebody! Roy! Poli! Please! Anybody!” He sobbed he couldn’t tell whether he was crying or if it was just the rain slapping his face. Everything hurt now, his arms were tired, his legs were tired, his skin burned, his lungs burned. At this point, what didn’t?

“Poli! Please!” He cried, hiccuping between his cracked words. “Help me!” The water creeped up to his feet again, and he tried to push himself further up the tree.

Now he wasn’t even sure if any of his friends were even alive. None of them had ever called in their return, and if they were out here…Helly didn’t want to think about it, but it sat in his brain like a rock. He hadn’t eaten in hours yet he was disgusted by the thought.

Then, he saw something that made his heart want to stop. An arm. It was a human arm, there was no body attached to it, just a lonesome limb, wandering the world. Away from its home. Helly choked on his own saliva for a moment. He looked away, burying his face into the tree bark.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR……

The sound of the storm tearing apart what he once called home.

BANG, CRASH

The sound of debris of what was once his town being whipped around like toys.

CATHOOM

The sound of homes being washed away from their premises, and collapsing into the abuses below,

CRACK, SNAP!

The sound of the tree he clutched to breaking and bending, ready to come apart.

Helly didn’t know what to do anymore. He had no idea how he had come to this point, but he was terrified. His eyes were sealed shut as he used his remaining strength to hold on.

CRACK!

The tree leaned, and began to fall. Helly shot open his eyes to the piercing rain. Havoc. Pure havoc. He kicked away with his feet as the tree tumbled into the water with a groan, then disappeared in the abyss of death below. Now Helly clutched to the sharp, prickly remains of the stump, which was already beginning to be covered itself in water.

“….s-save me…” Helly whimpered. His strength was almost gone, and his arms wanted to give away. He wanted to sink into the death pit below it accept his fate. His teammates, his friends, his family…they were most likely there themselves. Helly didn’t what to die alone; not like this.

He wanted to be in the arms of his family. The ones who had brought him up and saved him. He was ready to give up.

Just as his strength was about to give into the harsh winds, to the beating rain, to the tornadoes that danced around him…it stopped.

Everything. The wind, the rain….everything. Helly shivered and looked up slowly. “Wh-wha..?” He was shocked he was still alive.

Was that the sun?

Was that the beautiful blue sky he missed so dearly?

The sun stared sadly down upon Helly. It seemed as though it wanted to cool everything down, remove the wind that sheered the land. But it could not.

Helly stared up at it, his tears reflected it’s beautiful rays.

He was in the eye of the hurricane.

All of the chaos, all of the pain, everything, had slowed to a stop. Now he had 20 minutes to decide what the heck to do. What to think.

Helly looked around. Mr.Wheeler’s shop was completely washed away now, trees had been pulled from their roots and their stems, stoplights, gates, fences all pulled up from the ground and tossed away.

Helly saw something. Something that for some reason…gave him hope. Oil. It remained separate from the water, refusing to give in to the storm. It was broken, and it strayed far from its home, but it remained strong and separated. It would not let itself be washed over by the water. Till it’s last drop it will fight.

Though oil usually meant someone was hurt or…in this case dead. Something told him differently.

He needed to be that oil. To not give up until it’s very last breath.

But how? He thought as he looked around. Everything was gone. The buildings. The vegetation. The life. It was all sucked away in a blink of an eye. Everything that took him and his family generations to build up, destroyed within a matter of moments.

He didn’t know how he felt anymore. He didn’t know if he was happy or sad, cold or hot, wet or dry, alive or dead….he was just numb. Completely.

Numb.

He sat, staring off into the nothingness silently. He knew he had little time before the second half hit but..he was still struggling to process that he was still even alive. For all he knew, he could be watching in a third person perspective, dead.

Finally, his senses came back.

Helly scrambled to his feet, stabilizing himself atop the uneven tree stump. His heart pounded, but he knew he needed to find a better spot. Then, a large fallen tree began to float by in the deep waters. Helly knew what to do. He jumped onto the tree’s back, taking a few moments to ensure he didn’t fall, then gazed around.

He floated past a few thick trees, and he decided to climb one for the second half. It was his only choice. He latched onto a tree’s remaining branch, and rested himself in between it and the trunk. He turned his gaze back to the waters, and he gave a frightened shiver.

Body parts. Limbs. Homes. Personal items. They all floated around in the water that was beginning to temporarily slow, yet didn’t lower. He wondered how many people whom had stayed even survived. He was numb to everything around him. He just wanted things to be normal again.

Then, a tear. Another. A choke. A cry.

Helly sobbed.

He sobbed for the lives that had been lost, sobbed for the homes that had been destroyed, sobbed for the sun that was already beginning to hide again.

Pat..pitter…

Round 2 was beginning.

…

It was a long night. The sun set as the second half of the storm went through. But just as quickly as the storm had come in, it left. Helly remained clutched to the tree all night long. By morning most of the storm water had gone down a few feet, but Broomstown was still a disaster.

Helly slowly climbed down from the tree, looking around. To feel solid ground against his feet was a blessing. He collapsed onto the ground, finally feeling the freedom of relaxing. Just to be able to lay on the ground, even in the murky water, it was still so much for comfortable than being stuck up in a tree.

At was so, so nice.

But wait. Helly thought, what about the others? Helly jumped up to his weak feet. He picked a direction and ran. Though he could barely stand, he could not lay around any longer. He pushed through all the rubble. “Roy? Poli! Anybody?!” He called, feeling a stab of desperation.

Then, a weak voice.

“..o-over here..! H-Help…!”

It wasn’t Roy’s or Poli’s or Amber’s or Jin’s, but it was one he recognized. “Mr.Wheeler! Where are you?!” He called desperately.

“Down…here..!” He called, and a small hand appeared from the rubble. “I..can’t get u-up!”

Helly ran over quickly. “Don’t worry, let me help you!” He picked up a few pieces of wood, throwing them to the side. Mr. Wheeler then pulled himself out. There was a large gash across his stomach, and many cuts up his arm, but otherwise somewhat okay.

“Rgnh, that hurricane packed quite the punch, didn’t it-?” Mr.Wheeler said, an attempt of a joke shown through, but Helly could tell he was devastated. “My shop…”

Helly sighed sadly and nodded. “I thought I was dead for sure…are you okay for now? I need to go look for other survivors and I can’t tend to you wounds right now. I’m so sorry…I was just stuck over there…” Helly pointing to the tree that was barely hanging on now.

“Oh,” Mr. Wheeler said simply. “I did too. But I’ll be okay for a little bit. I’ll see if I can patch this..” he then turned and sat down on a pile of wooden boards.

Helly didn’t reply, yet he stared for a few moments. Though he felt hopeful, he also felt lost. He could only pray that his family was still alive…he shook his head. No. He refused to believe that.

“Hello?!” He called as he limbed quickly down the street. “Is anyone out here?!”

No response.

[POLI]

He rubbed his head, groaning in pain. He was atop a random house’s roof, and felt defeated. He was beginning to dry off now, since the hurricane had left a few hours ago now. His lungs burned from the water he had swallowed. He had spent many long minutes coughing it back up when he awoke. Though his world still spun, but he tried to stand. He was in the middle of a neighborhood. By himself, as far as he knew.

House was one of the only ones in the area that hadn’t collapsed, and he was thankful for that. He didn’t know he had gotten there, but he was just glad to be alive.

Poli slide down off the rooftop, plopping harshly onto the mushy ground below. Now that he was really looking around, he saw a small family huddled together at the end of their driveway. Their dog ran around them in circles, and the dad offered some small pieces of food to his two kids.

He knew the family well, they were all together and they looked mostly alright. Poli decided not to confront them, he wanted to look for others who needed immediate assistance. He walked through the street, his feet never straying from the yellow line. Road laws had to value to him at the moment.

He would have to build all of this up again. And for what? To be destroyed again when another storm rolled through? His mind spun. He didn’t know what to do. Would they rebuild or leave the town to slowly drown? Thinking about it made his head hurt. He would think about it later.

A voice sounded softly in the distance.

“Hello?! Anyone out here?!”

Sounded a bit like Helly….wait, Helly!

“Helly?!” He forced out in reply, moving faster towards the sound. His voice was raspy from not having spoken.

“Poli?!”

Poli saw him.

“Helly!” His voice cracked with relief and excitement.

They ran into each other hard, holding on tight. Helly sniffed, and Poli could tell he was crying. He tightened his grip on the smaller male, leaning down a bit a match Helly’s height. Before he knew it, he was on the verge of tears himself. He was just so thankful to have at least one of his teammates alive and breathing. Right in his grip, where he didn’t want to let him go.

After a long few moments, Poli slowly stood up. He looked down at Helly’s teary eyes, and gave him a small smile. Something he hadn’t done in so long. It felt nice.

Helly sniffed and rubbed his face. “P-Poli, do you want to try to find the others?” He asked softly, taking Poli’s hand and not letting go.

Poli nodded. He felt like he couldn’t speak, perhaps it was from the lump that hung in his throat. He squeezed Helly’s hand and moved forward along the path.

They walked for a while, Helly occasionally calling out to people. Though Poli did want to look for the others, they needed to get back to the Rescue Center. Hopefully the others would be there.

[AMBER]

She held her arms up, eyes wide with worry.

“Posty, jump down. I’ll catch you, I promise.”

Posty shook his oily head. “No! I’m going to get hurt even more than I already am!” He was pretty scratched up.

Amber nodded. “I know, but I can’t treat you when your still in that tree! You won’t feel any better bleeding out in a tree like that!” She said, trying to get him down.

They had climbed those trees to escape the rising river waters. They were in the forest, near where the bridge used to cross the small river. Due to the hurricane, the river had risen to a concerning extent. Yet the debris that flew around posed more of a danger to them.

Amber hadn’t seen any of the damage that had happened in town, but she was worried about it. She lifted up her barely working transmitter, and called back to Jin. None of the others had responded when he tried to reach them.

“C’mon Posty,” she tried to lull him down again.

Posty grimaced. “Fine…” he slowly shuffled from the trees. “AHH!”

Amber rushed forwards, barely catching him. She sighed exhaustedly. “…see? That wasn’t so bad.”

Posty was laid onto the ground when Jin’s voice came through her transmitter.

“Amber! Do you think you’ll be able to make it back to the rescue center?” Jin asked.

Amber looked around. The water had significantly lowered since last night, so she should be able to wade through the river without an issue. She lifted her transmitter up, “Yes, I think I should be able to. I’ll try to be back as soon as possible. I need to help Posty cross the river, since the bridge broke.”

“Okay! I’m glad I’m at least hearing from one of you guys…I’m really worried.”

They both sat in silence for a few moments, before Jin hung up. Amber turned to Posty. “Okay, so I’m going to have to carry you across…are you comfortable with that? If not I could always carry supplies from one side to another. At least until we can get something safer for you to cross on.”

Posty shook his head. “No, no, you can take me I guess. I don’t want to make things harder on you guys.”

Amber didn’t argue, it would be easier if he could just run back home. She nodded. “Okay. Come on, I don’t have much time.” Might as well get things over with quickly so she can check on the rest of the town.

Posty and Amber headed for the river, Amber pushing past tree limbs and other random pieces of debris like road signs. Soon, they reached it, which was mostly calm, but still moved quickly.

“Alright, you sure you want to do this, Posty?” Amber asked, ensuring he wanted to do this.

Posty nodded. “Yes! All my packages are going to be ruined! I need to see their condition!” He hissed, jumping up and down worriedly.

Amber sighed, bending down to pick him up. She pulled him up into her arms, just barely being able to see past him. She slowly made her way through the water, feeling it tug on her legs. They reached the other side, and Amber rested Posty on the bank side.

“There, now you go head off to your—AH!” Amber felt her foot slip. She fell and landed hard in the water. She felt her screen scratch the rocks in the bottom, and the water tugging her along. She pushed up with her arms, getting up onto her knees. She took a surprised few breaths, and shook the cold water off of her.

“Oh my gosh! Amber! Are you okay?!” Posty asked, looking shocked himself.

Amber stood up, spitting out some water that got trapped in her mouth. “Ugh, yeah. I’m fine…”

***

“Oh thank god you guys are okay!” Jin cried. Running up to them. “Where were you guys?!”

Helly frowned. “We got stuck in the hurricane…sorry Jin. I should’ve known better…”

“We all should’ve known better, Helly,” Amber said, giving him a sympathetic look. “It wasn’t just you who got caught in the storm you know..” She gave him a small pat on the shoulder.

Jin sighed. “It’s great to have you all back but—wait, no, where’s Roy?” Her voice shifted to a concerned one.

They all looked around.

“Has anyone seen him?” Jin asked.

They all shook their heads.

Amber thought for a moment. “I did see him before the storm hit, but otherwise no…”

Helly looked at Amber then back at Jin. “Should we go look for him? What if he’s in trouble?”

“No,” said Amber. “we need to make sure all of us are fit to travel, Helly, you’re all banged up. Before we go look for him, we will treat our wounds.” She established. She did know best for this situation.

Jin nodded in agreement. “That sounds good, Amber.”

It took a few days before Poli got out of the rescue center to look for Roy. We was getting worried now, especially with no signs of him. Surprisingly, there were a few emergency phones that still worked, and they were getting many calls from residents who stayed. They begged for help and cried about their homes…it was horrible.

But Poli wanted to find Roy first. He needed to. He couldn’t stand still a second longer not doing so. It stuck to him like a needle in his kneecap…however that works. Of course he felt like shit, but it was a weight on his shoulders that seemed to strangle him.

He groaned. It was all so much. So much for one leader. One guy who had to chose whether they should give up or rebuild, what to do and how, when to do it and where, try to somehow fix his town from…that.

That monster.

The monster that slowly shrunk among the horizon, yet it’s teeth still sunk through the grounds of Broomstown. Through the heart. Through his and everyone else’s hearts. Homes. Lives. Everything.

He shook his head, trying so desperately to clear it. He wanted everything to just be okay again. To fix themselves. To go back to when everyone was happy and healthy and safe and…and…

THWAP !

Something struck Poli hard in the head. Then black.

Birds chirped and plucked at the flowers that tried ti heal within the soil’s bounds. Their wilted, destroyed petals slumped sadly against his cold skin. Yet, even in their wilted state, they protected him. The ones that had managed to heal enough stood triumphantly over his body. Like an I survived statement to the world.

Because they survived. Unlike others, they continued to try to bloom even in the thick of it, when their petals were torn away from their stems.

They brushed his face, a call to wake up. A call to come back to reality. There was much to do for this young, unconscious man in the grass; huddled by beautiful, yet hurt, flowers.

His eyes slowly opened, the sun brightened with excitement to his sigh of waking up. Waking up.

From this nightmare?

No.

He sat up slowly, feeling trickles of water that hid in small dark spots of his body scatter away. Everything remained fuzzy as he looked left-to-right. A small bee flew from a flower petal to his knee. It buzzed happily as it saw him. Hello! It seemed to say. Wake up! Wake up! There is work to be done! Buzz along, boy!

He looked closer at the busy bee. Very busy indeed. There were many flowers to be pollinated. The bee buzzed it’s wings on his knee. That town won’t pollinate itself, boy! Go save your hive! Then, it flew off. He was glad to know he wouldn’t be the only one busy tonight.

Now, he stared at his hands. His feet, up to his knees, his waist, his arms, then his wrists. His once bright red paint was now stained and scratched and cut up. He felt like the little bee that had buzzed off. Did he have to pollinate the town, make it beautiful so it can flourish and spread once again? Like the bee with its flowers?

Yes.

He look his grey cut hand and lifted it to his face. Then…

WHAP!

His cheek stung, but he was ready now.

He jumped to his feet, ignoring how his legs screamed in pain as he did so. “C’mon, Roy,” he said to himself. “Sitting around won’t help people.”

Before he knew it, Roy was plunging down the small hillside. His legs and feet brought him speed, his arms brought him strength, but what he needed was his town. His town gave him bravery. Endurance. It made him and shaped him into who he truly was. He would not let it go to waste now.

No matter how many hurricanes plunged through and threatened to tear them apart, they would always be together. Whether in Broomstown or somewhere far, far away.

When he came back to reality, he stood in the middle of town square. It was only now that he noticed the thick, long trail of black oil spilling down the front of his face. He probably had a concussion. He wiped it away.

The town was in ruins. It looked like it had been abandoned for years. Many years; one storm. Gone. Everything.

Roy refused to let this deter him. He pushed his gaze towards the gate that lead to the rescue headquarters. His home. Almost by instinct, he pushed past the red and white bars, his feet carrying him further and further. He last many broken families, but for once his mind wasn’t in them. His mind was on home.

home…

He missed his team—his family so much. He had not idea when things had been so suddenly torn away, yt it left a whole in his heart he wanted to fill. Just seeing one of their faces would…wait.

There it was. There he was. On the side of the road, clearly unconscious, laid his friend. Best friend, to be exact. A fat tree branch laid beside him. He must had somehow been hit.

Roy rushed to Poli’s side, almost tripping over his own feet.

“Poli? Poli!” He cried, shaking Poli’s shoulders weakly.

Poli shifted with a short groan of pain. His beautiful blue eyes met Roy’s thick, teary, brown ones.

“R-Roy?” Poli’s eyes widened, and the suns rays made them sparkle like new. Every aspect of them was illuminated. It was almost like looking into a glacier. The prettiest, bluest, bestest glacier he’d ever known.

“Poli…”

Roy ducked down and engulfed Poli in his arms. Oil from his bleeding head stained Poli’s forehead, but he didn’t care. He hugged a little tighter.

“W-We thought you were dead, Roy!” Poli exclaimed, tears escaping his relieved gaze. “You we’re gone for d-days and we had no idea w-where you w-were…”

Roy’s eyes widened again in shock. Days? Had he really been knocked out that badly?

“I-I…I got some kind of bad head injury…I didn’t think I was out for that long…I’m so sorry for worrying you guys…I don’t know..”

Poli slowly got up from the roadside. “…well I guess we’re matching in head injuries, that’s for sure.” He joked, though his voice was still thick from his tears and worry.

Roy nodded. “Let’s head back to the rescue center. Then we can discuss what we’re going to do with the town. Remember Poli, we, your team, will be there every step of the way. The weight isn’t just on you, you’re not alone. If you ever need help, or need a break, we have you covered. Just please…don’t overwork yourself. I know how it is coming from me but…”

Poli’s gaze went to his feet, then back up at Roy. “T-Thank you. I’m so lucky to have you guys.”

Roy took Poli’s hand with a soft smile. “Come on. We have things to do.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

That’s it 😭

I’m sorry to end it a bit abruptly but this is getting so long already….

W to you i you read all of this.

I’ll check for grammar mistakes later, so I’m sorry if I left any weird/random cliffhangers or just stupid grammar mistakes lol

Good night :3

#robocar poli au #robocar poli helly #Robocar poli #rcp #rcp fanfiction #robocar poli jin #Robocar poli Roy #Robocar poli Amber #robocarpoli #roy #poli #helly #Jin #Amber #fanfiction #hurricane

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britishalien12 · 2 months ago

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I like to think that the Five who set up Max's Delicatessen started off lost just travelling the subway before finding a platform that had one of those warm drink vending machines. He made a note of the station and would often visit so that he could savour the bitter coffee even if it did taste like someone had brewed it with pond water.

On one of his visits after a particularly dicey tussle with one of the Commission's Corrections Officers, he decides he deserves a treat. He descends the steps, rubbing his hands in anticipation only to hear that a train is already at the station and he sees a figure on board.

He manages to find a hiding spot as the carriage doors creak open. Another Five steps out and takes in his surroundings before locking eyes on the vending machine. He grabs a coffee before heading up the stairs to face whatever lies outside.

Over the next who knows how long, Five scouts out the coffee subway station and finds that it is frequented by at least four versions of himself every day. One of them opts for the hot chocolate but he supposes they can't all have great taste. He sees the joy, comfort and calm it brings to each version of him in kind and decides that he needs to stop travelling and put down something akin to roots.

And so it becomes his goal to provide his fellow travellers with the refreshment they all seem to value in their different ways.

He surfs the subway, scavenging the equipment he needs to make a decent coffee. He can't believe his luck when he finds an old food cart with a small coffee machine, partially covered by its red and yellow umbrella that's clearly seen better days. It reminded him of the street vendors who would stand on the corner and sell ice creams when it was hot and warm nuts when it was cold.

He cleans the cart thoroughly and spruces it up so that it doesn't look like it's been through a hurricane and manages to find some crates of coffee on one of his runs.

When he feels everything is ready, or as ready as it will ever be, he manouvers the cart down the station steps and sets up shop, ready to make coffee for the Five's who frequent the station.

The first few who come along take one look at him before running away or stepping back onto the train that brought them there until it pulls into the darkness beyond.

But after a quiet and nervous start, one or two go over and accept his coffee.

'No foul play, no tricks, just coffee', he assures them.

For some reason, the paradox psychosis doesn't hit when they're here and they decide not to question it too much.

Soon, he has what might be considered a regular clientele coming and going, using his station as a way point. At first, he offers it for nothing before entering into a trade system with some of his early customers starting to go out on runs to find the coffee for him and anything else he might need.

After a while and a whole lot of coffee and scavenging, a group of them decided to set up a more permanent base and this was how Max's came to pass. They work together to set up the Delicatessen with anything a weary Five would be glad to see after a long day of travelling the rails.

#the umbrella academy #tua #tua s4 #umbrella academy #number five #five hargreeves #comics #max's Delicatessen #this started as a post about five living out his dream as a barista but then it escalated

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milliesfishes · 4 months ago

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When The Tide Changes 𓇼 ⋆˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆𓇼

request by @stardustandseashells [fem reader] contains: storm, injury, prejudice pairing: merman billy the kid x fishergirl reader summary: you get caught in a storm and billy saves you author’s note: thank you anon for leaving this request!!! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The sea itself is not dangerous, but everything in it is.

As a child, when storm tossed nights when the rain beat at the windows and you hid under your covers in fear, that was what your father had always told you.

"She only acts as she should," he would say soothingly, bringing you over to the window to watch the waves lap at the shore. "But with time you learn to love and trust her just as intended."

Looking back, you were unsure the sentiment was entirely correct, having seen typhoons and hurricanes that didn't have anything to do with what laid beneath the waters. But your father had long since passed, and you weren't about to correct the dead.

He hadn't left you much in terms of wealth, but he had passed the knowledge of his craft to you. Fishing was a man's world, but you navigated it well, your compass your father's voice in your head.

Because it was so male dominated, you had to work twice as hard, bring in double the bounty, in order to even slightly be taken seriously. But it made a decent living, enough for you to keep shelter and food in your belly.

Maybe it was dangerous for you, a woman all by her lonesome milking what she could from the ocean. There were whisperings of the creatures who could cause you danger; krakens that had tentacles lined with teeth, men with tails and a vengeance for human blood.

It wasn't like you had a choice, though. You weren't about to marry one of the sunburnt fishermen who occupied the pubs late at night. And nobody respectable would possibly entertain the thought of someone like you.

No, this was what you had. The long, lonely nights by the fire, smelling the salt air.

As you untied your boat one day, you heard a group of men talking near you on the dock, their faces tight with fear.

"He barely made it t' shore," one said in hushed tones. "Had scratches 'n marks all over 'im. Was scared half to death, talkin' 'bout a creature that almost killed 'im."

"'Nother fella on the north shore said somethin' just 'bout the same," a different man said, tipping his hat up to block the sun. "There's somethin' in the water, t' be sure. Somethin' after us."

Fishermen were a superstitious bunch, and so you paid no mind to their worries. It was more than likely the men they spoke of had a little too much sun and salt and fell offboard, maybe hitting a few rocks or patches of coral. When you'd first started, you'd been afraid of the supposed creatures within, but survival instincts had overpowered it.

It would be silly to think that the waters only contained fish and sharks. You knew there was more down there, and your father had told tales of it. His favorite was of people with tails like a fish, who lived in underwater kingdoms. He claimed to have seen them once or twice, bobbing their heads above the water.

The underlying warning in his story, however, was that they were ruthless, terrible beings who would hurt you as quick as the tide changes. So, you stayed wary.

Dark clouds on the horizon told you there would be a storm, but you ignored it. Rain and creatures aside, you needed a good day on the water. It was sure to be a lovely day for the net.

Nature, as always, had other plans.

The waves were like mountains, threatening to swallow anything in its wake. You pulled at the sails, trying to bat down the hatches, but the wind was furious, the rain beating steadily against you. You cursed your choice in clothing, your skirt tangling around your legs. Usually you wore men's clothes, but today of all days you'd let the comments of nosy townspeople get to you.

Frantically rocking, your little boat threatened to tip, knocking you from side to side. You squeezed your eyes shut, clinging to the mast and sending a prayer to the gods of the sea, reciting an old sailor's verse to the sky and begging for mercy.

Opening your eyes, the first thing you saw was a never ending wall of water hurtling toward you. Nails digging into the mast, skirt soaked and sticking to your legs, hair in your eyes, your heart threatened to fly out of your chest.

Is this how it feels to die?

Sun.

That was the first thing you were aware of. The warmth.

Sand.

Your fingers twitched, the grainy substance scrubbing against you.

There was a light straining against your eyes, and you squined as you opened them, blinded by the hot ball in the sky. Turning your head to the side, you tried to sit up.

"Careful," a voice said gently. "Don't be movin' so much."

"What happened?" Your voice was like sandpaper, your memory hazy.

"You were sailin' in a storm," the voice soothed, and you felt a hand settle on your arm comfortingly. "Real nasty one. Got tossed overboard. I pulled ya out."

"Thank you," you murmured, blinking and opening your eyes blearily.

There was a bare-chested man sitting beside you. He looked concerned, but his head was blocking the sun at your angle, and it gave him a halo. It didn't hurt that he was terribly handsome as well, rugged and chiseled in all the right places. You tilted your head, sure you must be imagining him. "Is this real?"

"If anyone's dreamin', it's me," he reached out and tucked some of your salt-tangled hair behind your ear. "Ain't often I get to rescue someone so pretty."

The compliment made you smile, and you sat up more, wanting a better vantage point. His chest was tanned, no doubt from long hours on the water. Your eyes trailed downward, to his stomach and catching on his...tail.

Eyes snapping back up to his, you opened your mouth, and he blurted out, "Don't scream!"

You froze, and the panicked look on his face caused a laugh to bubble up inside you, escaping your mouth and causing your head to sink back to its sandy pillow. Oh, maybe you should have been horrified. And if yesterday someone had told you you'd meet a man with a fish tail one sunup later, you probably would have expected yourself to be.

But looking at him now, seeing his worry and realizing he must've waited hours for you to wake up instead of leaving you stranded on the beach, you felt anything but.

"I'm sorry," you smiled, sitting back up with a little giggle. "You just looked terrified."

He looked at you in disbelief, then a smile broke across his face as well. "You're a strange lass, ain'tcha?"

"That's what everyone says," you shrugged, leaning back on your hands. "Maybe you're not so different from them after all."

The man seemed surprised by how casually you were talking to him, but he didn't comment on it. "Maybe not."

Tilting your head, you asked, "Gotta name?"

"Billy," he answered, sitting up with you.

You told him your name too, and then looked down, realizing your dress was in rags. "Knew I should've chosen something sturdier."

"Brave of ya to venture out into a storm," he remarked, the ends of his tail swaying lazily.

"Or stupid," you shrugged.

"Brave," he insisted. Billy reached over and moved some of your long hair over your shoulder, so it was covering a spot on your chest, conserving your modesty. Your heart fluttered.

Something shifted in your mind as you looked at him, your eyes curious. "Why did you save me, Billy?"

There was a beat of silence. The squawking of seagulls hovering over the shore could be heard, and the wind whistled lightly, sending a few of your dry baby hairs into your eyes.

"I've seen ya 'round before," he said quietly, looking out at the horizon. "Watched ya workin'."

A hint of a smile found your lips. "You live around here?"

"Close," he nodded, his tail bending where his knees would be if he had any. "I hang around."

Frowning slightly in thought, you tilted your head, studying him. Then it dawned on you. "You're the creature they speak of. The one who's been hurting-"

Billy cut you off with a firm shake of his head. "Never hurt anybody."

"But the fishermen-" you brought your knees to your chest, suddenly aware of how little was covering your body. "-they came back with injuries. They described a ruthless creature, it...it couldn't have been you. You just saved me."

"I'm the only one 'f my kind 'round these parts," Billy nodded, his arms resting on the bent part of his tail. "'nd I have come across a few men. They were tryin' to capture me. Fell overboard 'nd caught against the rocks when I swam away. It was bad, sure, but they made it to shore alright. Wouldn'ta let 'em die."

"Oh," you breathed, eyes brightening with new realization. Honestly, you should have known the afflicted men had practically done it to themselves. But he still hadn't answered your question. Moving a little closer to him, you set your hand on his, causing him to turn his head.

"What made me different?" you asked softly. "You didn't just leave me at shore or watch me float and make sure my heart was beating. Why?"

Billy had a quiet look in his eyes. "You're different from the others."

"How so?" You were intrigued by him, by the moral code he seemed to possess.

Cautiously, Billy lifted a hand, lightly tracing your cheek with a singular finger. You let him, leaning ever so slightly into it. "Most men I see out here try and dredge the ocean for its contents. They demand things from 'er, and get hurt when she defends herself." His fingers were now in the hair at the nape of your neck. "You treat the sea like a sister, demanding nothin' and takin' what she decides to give to ya. And so she gives you more."

The sentiment made your heart beat faster, and you found yourself saying, "I didn't ever think of it that way."

Billy looked at you intently. "Someone like that doesn't deserve to die."

On the sandy banks next to the one they called a monster, you felt as if you were coming to life for the very first time. Because now you knew nothing was what anyone said it was, not entirely.And suddenly, your father's sentiment seemed wrong.

Not everything in the ocean was dangerous.

Once you were steadier, Billy insisted on swimming you back to your little home on the coast, pulling you into the water and instructing you to wrap yourself around him.

He swam gently but swiftly, and you felt as though you were gliding through the water. It felt so safe here in his arms, and you couldn't help but lean against him.

When he arrived at the sandy banks in front of your house, you shifted against him, not ready to be parted from him so soon. But you were also tired, battered from the storm with a dress torn to shreds.

So, with a soft smile, you muttered, "Thank you Billy. For everything."

His expression was light, his eyes not seeming to be able to leave your face. Billy's smile was a little bit crooked, and that only made it more endearing. "It was my pleasure, darlin'."

The little nickname made your heart jump. Billy pulled you up onto the shore, sitting on the surf and making sure you were steady on your feet. He grinned. "You'll be alright?"

"I'm sure of it," you said, kneeling beside him. He did it again, smoothed your hair so softly that it made you smile wider. It was almost like he was fascinated by it, even though it was a tangled mess.

He removed his hand. "I hope to see ya 'gain. Maybe under better circumstances."

"Me too," you smiled in a quiet way.

Then, you leaned in and kissed his cheek shyly, getting up afterward and walking toward your home, sparing one glance back at him. He was still sitting on the shore, a dazed, lazy smile on his face.

As you made your way inside, you were already looking forward to the next time you'd see him. Maybe while you were out fishing, or even right back here.

All through the night you dreamt of him. Of the once-thought monster who'd saved your life.

#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid x you #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney fanfiction #william h bonney x you #billy the kid imagines #billy the kid imagine #billy the kid 2022 #billy bonney #william h bonney imagines #william h bonney #merman billy x fishergirl reader #merman billy au #milliesfishes billy #Spotify

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physalian · 5 months ago

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Writing Weather Part 2: Thunderstorms and Hurricanes + Hurricane Safety PSA

It’s hurricane season y’all!! Long before I knew about Pride Month, June 1st was the day I celebrated as the start of hurricane season.

If you’ve been following this blog for a while, you may know that I’m a Floridian. I love thunderstorms. I think a lot of us in the south do, and today’s post is about writing thunderstorms and violent weather when they don’t serve as ominous rumblings and plot hurdles.

In other words, this post is about embracing violent weather, from personal experience.

—

When I was a kid, our house had a pool. Rule is that you can swim until you hear thunder, then you gotta leave the pool because even if the clouds aren’t over you, lightning can strike (advice that eludes so many in this state). I lived on the Gulf Coast, in a city that made a deal with the devil like, 90 years ago, and has never seen a direct hit from a hurricane since. They were always near-misses, but we still got plenty of tropical storms and suffered the storm surges and the endless winds and rains.

Thunderstorms, to me, are a comfort. They probably wouldn’t be if I’d lost my house or a relative to violent weather so I’m not here to necessarily romanticize deadly weather, but it is just weather. It’s not caused by a bad actor and it has no intent. It just is, acting indiscriminately. So in a way I am romanticizing it, I suppose.

I mean that they’re a comfort in that, at least when I lived on the coast, they always followed a pattern. Every day around 2-3pm, the afternoon rains would come for a few hours and leave. It never rained in the morning, but you’d always be caught coming home from school during the summer months.

I loved how the wind would shift and the trees would rustle in warning of the oncoming rain, the temperature would drop in a reprieve from Florida’s oppressive heat, and you really can smell it in the air—fanfic isn’t lying to you. Petrichor (the smell of rain) comes after. Before, it doesn’t necessarily smell metallic, like rust, but something… clean. It overpowers the smell of the cars and burnt rubber.

I loved staring up at the monumental black clouds and hearing the thunder roll in. I loved staring out over the pool and watching the rain come in sheets and wonder if this was the day the pool would overflow. I loved how thunder would shake the windows and the power would flicker and could always sleep to the rain slapping against the windows.

I still do, I just don’t have that house anymore. Rain, unless I have to be out in it, has always calmed me down. If I’m at work in an office and I’m stressed, and I see it’s about to storm outside or I hear it on the roof, I instantly relax while everyone else whines about getting wet.

When writing thunderstorms that aren’t meant to be thematically evil, consider the following:

They’re a reprieve from oppressive sun and heat

The sound of the rain on your roof, trees, windows, lawns, pool cages, cars, and patios are all different

Rain does not fall in a consistent pattern, it blows with the wind and can patter off or dump in a frenzy and it’s mesmerizing to listen to

The smell is cleansing and pure

Thunder loud enough to shake the windows can be thrilling, not just terrifying, and cats generally don’t react the same to it as dogs do

Sun showers (when it rains without clouds) still amaze and befuddle even the locals and they’re rare, but seeing sunlight bounce off raindrops is such a novel thing

Some other things that are genuinely terrifying:

Tourists who panic over a little rain and drive at 30mph with their hazards flashing are more dangerous than the locals driving 50 with just their regular lights on and everyone hates them—do not drive with your hazards on in the rain, the intermittent flashing in poor visibility is more disorienting than solid red lights. If you can’t drive in the rain, don’t drive in the rain.

Hydroplaning will give you a heart attack and it goes against your instinct to slam the breaks—when you do so, you lock up the tires and the whole car skids out of control. Doesn’t just happen in the rain, it happens when the roads are wet after the rain.

Being caught outside when there’s lightning close by is a religious experience. However loud you think it is, it’s louder, and you can taste it in the air. The anticipation of the thunder might be scarier than the actual thunder.

Thunderstorms come from one direction. If you’re looking east at the clear blue sky, sometimes you can have absolutely no idea that there’s literal black stormclouds looming in from the west and the dawning realization is incredible.

As far as hurricanes go, we have evacuated and rode them out before, so here’s my observations.

They’re emotionless forces of nature that level the earth indiscriminately, and there’s something peaceful in being humbled like that.

Every single one I’ve experienced has hit overnight and it doesn’t sound all that different from a thunderstorm.

The last one I experienced dropped the temperature in the middle of summer down to 50 degrees and it was still very windy after the fact.

The wind can sound very intimidating and you never know if it’s going to be carrying sticks, palm husks, trash, or branches.

When the power went out during the last storm, I woke up in the middle of the night to my ceiling fan off and the deadness of no electricity around me was creepy. It is dark when the power goes out and all the streetlights don’t run. When there’s cloud cover and no moon or stars, your visibility is shot to hell.

Rain comes in bands with sometimes several minutes in between, to the point where you can go outside in the middle of a hurricane and not get wet because there’s no rain.

People are incredibly dumb and will try to drive through the floodwaters like lemmings. Unless you drive a Jeep with the air intake on top, not even your fancy Big Dick Truck is safe, and cars can float and lose traction (hydroplane) in very little water—do not restart your car after it stalls. You’ll destroy your engine. Just wait for it to dry out.

People are incredibly dumb and will bring pool floats into the floodwaters and paddle around on the submerged streets. Not knowing or caring about the sewage that’s backed up from the drains, the trash polluting the water, or downed power lines electrifying it.

Hurricanes, when they’re not actively destroying things with newsworthy weather, are very boring to experience. There’s zero visibility beyond the grey haze and it just lasts for hours, usually without power, until it moves on. You can’t “see” the storm, it’s all one big cloudy mass from the ground.

During the last storm, Dasani water was consistently the only water left on the shelves. People are dumb.

During the last storm, people were panic buying gasoline and pumping it into trash bags as if they could somehow pour a trashbag of gas into their fuel tank at home. People are dumb.

With all that said, I like hurricane season because it’s exciting. It’s something to break up the monotony, something fresh to anticipate. Yes, it’s violent dangerous weather, I know, and one bad storm can destroy your life or livelihood, it should absolutely be taken seriously. I just like storms.

—

Hurricane Safety PSA!

Check your local flood zones to see if you live within one and if you can move your car to a secondary location to spare it from flooding, that you could still reach in an emergency, you might want to do that. During one storm, the local university opened up its parking garages to students with nowhere else to put their cars except the streets.

Stock up early on your essentials, there’s plenty of supply checklists. There will be bad weather this year. No need to wait until the news panics about it, and makes everyone else panic about it. Buy your batteries and lanterns and water storage solutions now. It’s not like they’ll expire even if you don’t have to use them within a year.

Stay informed, but you don’t have to watch the news every second of every hour. Storms rarely go on their predicted path. If you’re going to evacuate, do so early. You don’t want to be trapped on the highway when it hits.

If you can’t buy a generator due to finances or not owning your place of residence, look into non-electric methods of food prep (like camping gear) and heat management, like folding fans or battery-operated theme park fans.

Going outside and trying to drive once it’s over might leave you stuck or even injured, and rescue efforts will already be spread thin enough without having to add you to the mess. Unless you must leave, just stay where you are.

Stay safe everybody!

#writing #writing advice #writing resources #writing a book #writing tips #writing tools #writeblr #weather #thunderstorm #hurricaneseason #hurricane safety #hurricane preparedness

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whumping-valentine · 6 months ago

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Continuation of that short Sailor Whumpee Lighthouse Keeper Whumper thing I wrote last month. Will tag as "Sailor Whumpee" Also I guess Whumpee is trans and uses he/they pronouns.

"The Docks aren't the friendliest of places, you know." The Lighthouse keeper warned the sailor about to leave. It was the day after their shipwreck, and out of all the many sea travelers he's seen, never has the old keeper encountered one quite like this. Already so eager to leave despite their condition.

Whumpee stopped in their tracks, hand on the cold iron doorknob. They turned around, "What do you mean by that?"

"What else is there to mean? The pirates in town are rough and tumble, and I'm just not so sure they'll take too kindly to the bruised, washed-up sailor." Whumper closed their eyes, taking a slow sip of their tea. "Mm. Besides, they all know about you. The Boy in the Boat, they called you. Found your little pathetic board smashed out on the rocks. Not much of a boat now, is it?"

"So you pull me in off the shores just to insult me?"

"Yeah, pretty much." A sly smile appeared on Whumper's face. "People often find my hospitality comes with a price. But hey! I pulled you off the shores, bandaged your wounds, and gave you a place to stay. Though I know sailors don't take too kindly to badmouthing their ships— even if she is nothing more than plywood now."

Whumpee rolled their eyes, "Well, thanks for saving me, but our short paths end here. You can quit your yapping."

"Farewell. But there is one thing you should know—"

Whumpee opened the door, and was greeted to a horrendous downpour, and a perfect strike of lightning.

Whumper smiled, "Welcome to The Docks!"

~~~ Continued ↓ ~~~

Whumper was surprised when Whumpee actually went out into the storm, with no hesitation, at that. Suppose that kind of stupidity is exactly what got them crashed here in the first place. It didn't matter, though. They'll be back, and they'll have questions. It was only a matter of time.

Whumpee was never one to care of storms. He'd sit in the mud during a downpour, run across the beaches in a hurricane, and hoist his sails in a thunderstorm. He lived for the clouds, the sea, and the storms. People called him crazy and reckless, but he would never see it that way. After all, he always said:

If you don't die on a boat in the middle of a thunderstorm, did you ever truly live?

He made his way off the rocky shores of the Lighthouse, despite the crashing waves hitting his feet. They knocked him over quite a few times, but a face full a' sea water n' a rock jammed in his side wasn't any new feat. Most people might find the sand up the nose and wet clothes to be uncomfortable, but for Whumpee it was just another part of life, and they tried to enjoy all of them. Even in the unpleasantries there is something to be experienced.

That experience was life itself. It was something to be cherished. Every shipwreck, every storm, every literal rock in the side, it was life. Even death was just another part of it, albeit the end.

He stepped off the rocks and onto the docks. Ships swayed in the violent rain, hitting loudly off them. He walked down them and into the coastal town, simply referred to as "The Docks" as a whole. They weren't too sure what time it was, as the clouds were just that thick, but they reckoned it had to've been midday.

The town was as rough and tumble as they came, more so than Whumpee had seen, and they'd sailed all over the world. What I meant by that is it looked like it was out of some nautical maritime fairytale. A cluttered, disheveled, seaside town, but it was medieval, too. Old timey, 15th century, and— did that Lighthouse keeper mention pirates earlier?

Sure, they're still around, they've ran into a few, but to so casually mention them like that seemed strange. Then again, they were also talking about mermaids sinking ships, so maybe the lonesome old keeper was just crazy and full of shit. Still, with curiosity at its peak, they walked down the cozy wet cobblestone streets.

Though the rain was loud and rough, they could hear the lively chatter inside the old buildings. The sound of clanking glasses, laughter, dancing, and old-timey sea shanty music boomed inside the large tavern building. The widows were open holes in the wall, covered by planks that could swing open.

Whumpee pulled opened the tavern window, and an olive skinned woman happened to be standing right against it.

"Oh, hi, sorry." Whumpee said.

"It ain't be a bother." Said the woman, a piratey accent to her voice. She took a sip of the beverage in her hand, "Mm. Besides, the air be nice, it's stuffy in this ol' place. Name's Caretaker."

"Whumpee."

"Charmed." She said, doing a raise of her glass before taking another sip, "What bring ya peerin' into taverns?"

"Just walking around, getting acquainted."

She chuckled, "Durin' a storm? You're quite the adventurous one."

"I was born out at sea, I wouldn't be me if I wasn't." He said, hoisting himself to sit on the windowsill, getting out of the rain. "There ain't a better time to get out into the open air than during a thunderstorm."

"Ain't ya frightened by it?"

"It's about risk vs. reward. Is the risk of dying out at sea greater than simply being out at sea? Is the threat of getting struck by lightning worse than the experience of being out in a thunderstorm? Does the thought of getting sick outweigh the positives of being one with nature? The answer is no, to me at least. Like, I'd much rather die in a shipwreck than of a heart attack in some dumb suburban house, you know?"

"Can't say I do, but I respect your enthusiasm."

"That's more than most people. I just really love life, and that includes all the bad things that come with it. I've gotta admit, I love me a good shipwreck."

"Oh, are you the new boat boy who crashed on the bay last week?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I'm surprised people know about me already."

"In a town like this, word tends to spread fast. Ain't much goin' on. How'd the grumpy ol' keeper treat you?"

"Well, he was talkin' about merfolk and stuff."

"Ah, that old bastard is always so cryptic. He is one of the merfolk. Don't know why he does it, but I suppose it's just to scare any of the humans he gets."

Whumpee furrowed their brow in confusion.

"Oh, yeah, you're new, sorry. He's a human-trapper who works with the royals. Sometimes they end up crossing over, so it's his job to turn them in."

Whumpee was incredulous, "What are you talking about?"

"Hm? What d'ya mean?" She asked, brushing her long, dark, curly hair behind her ears, letting Whumpee see they were long and pointed. Whumpee nearly choked on air as their eyes widened and heartrate accelerated. Was... was this real?

"Hey, you alright?"

"Eh, I was... just in a crash the other day, ya know? Still a bit lightheaded and all that. I— I should get going. Nice talking!" He said, jumping down from the window, shutting it, and running off down the streets back to the shores.

He practically had to crawl through the sea across the stones to the Lighthouse, the waves that stong and harsh. He kicked open the door, dripping wet.

"Back so soon?" Whumper asked, but Whumpee only had one thing on their mind.

"You sunk my ship!" He slammed the door behind him, "Where am I? Who are you? How did I get here?"

Whumper smiled, still with his cup of tea that he sat down on the table. "Welcome to The Docks."

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

Hey hoped you like this! It wasn't very whumpy, but I'm currently just fighting demons (writer's block) hoping they'll go away soon. I was sat out in a thunderstorm soaking wet and wrote this while waiting for round two so then I could go shower 😂

I wasn't intending on this being anything other than a one-off, but I love the rain and sea (if you couldn't tell) and when inspiration strikes, it strikes. I now plan on continuing this, as I have a few ideas, but I'm just kinda going with it. I don't have a plot or anything but I DO know that while Whumper may seem chill now he's going to be the absolute worst later. This confident, life-loving Whumpee is about to be crushed.

Also! Since I'm continuing this, I'd like to name them! Since I have literally, actually, 300+ named characters (I listed them) I'm kinda all named out. So I'd like some suggestions! Masc/neutral names for whumpee and whumper and fem/neutral for caretaker.

#sailor whumpee #whump #whump blog #whump community #whumpblr #whump writing #my writing #whump things #ocean whump #writing

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tragicbeauty1991 · 1 month ago

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Not my usual fandom content but I wanted to post here because I haven’t seen nearly as many people talking about the devastation in the Southeastern US from Hurricane Helene as I would have expected and wanted to make those who may not know the extent of the damage more aware of the situation from my personal experience. I don’t think people who aren’t living it realize just HOW bad it is.

This is a map showing the areas with power outages in the immediate aftermath of the storm and some stats on the rainfall.

I live in upstate SC, and we have been without power since the storm hit Friday. That means some of us have gone about a week with no refrigeration, no AC (it gets toasty down here even in the fall), no internet, no way of powering critical things like oxygen machines for those who require it, and no cell service in some places. We are slowly getting power back but the number of people without power is still in the thousands. Luckily, we do have a generator at my house and we didn’t have any major damage to the house, cars, etc. There are trees and power lines down everywhere, though. I heard about one older lady and her husband who had a tree fall on their camper with them in it… He passed away holding her hand while being crushed by the tree. She is in the hospital and will need rehab. It is getting easier now but for awhile was very difficult to get gas. People were waiting in line for hours. A lot of stores are still just now opening up and groceries are limited because so much was lost with no refrigeration. It was so bad someone pulled a gun in a grocery store to get fresh meat. We had a few places that had a curfew for awhile because all the streetlights and traffic lights were out and it wasn’t really safe to drive. But overall, compared to many, we are doing well. It’s inconvenient but not devastating.

These are some images from Greenville taken during the worst of the storm. I live about 30 minutes away from this area.

Western NC was hit MUCH worse. We were supposed to go to the Asheville/Hendersonville area for my anniversary this past weekend but fortunately we didn’t make it up there because entire towns were just wiped off the map. Chimney Rock Village, one of my favorite places to visit, is just GONE. Asheville was totally cut off from the outside world for a few days and only accessible via air. Flooding there was just DEVASTATING. Parts of I-40 and I-26 between NC and TN were totally washed out. People are reporting coming across bodies of those who didn’t make it out. At one point, over 1000 people in NC were considered missing…

Here’s a pic of the damage to I-40.

And here are some before and after pics of Chimney Rock Village and the surrounding area. Most of what was there is now in Lake Lure.

My church parish (I am Orthodox.) is working with IOCC to help with relief efforts in Western NC. If anyone is able to donate, please consider offering what you can. If you are not comfortable donating through a church organization, I’m sure there are others out there you can donate to but this is one that I know is legit.

If you find a group accepting physical donations rather than cash, these are some suggested guidelines.

Anyone else who has further info on how to donate or who lives in the area and would like to check in, please add your own updates.

#hurricane helene #disaster relief #disaster recovery #upstate SC #south carolina #north carolina #ashville nc #Hendersonville nc #tropical storm #natural disasters #news #southeastern us #power outage #flooding

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flatstarcarcosa · 2 months ago

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A Measure Of Normal

@hoppinkiss and I did an art-for-fic trade and when I tell you this is the most fun I've had working on something in a long time I am not kidding.

Summary: Johnny is dead and he's never coming back. It's the one thing he never prepared them to handle. Now what?

******

They do not know how long they've been sitting here, leaned up against the side of the bed with their arms propped on their knees and their head bowed into the dark gap created. It could have been a minute, an hour, a day– they do not care. The only thing they can care about is the deep, encompassing void that now exists in the place of Johnny.

They’ve been holding it together the best they can, but they can feel the breaks in the gang’s foundation. A splintering that happened the moment everyone regrouped in Steelport. No one is on the same page, no one thinks the same methods should be used. Even before this there were weak points building; taped together with the history between the Boss and Johnny. It's all going to fall apart without him, that much they're sure of. It's going to fall apart, and nothing will ever be the same again, nothing will ever be normal and nothing will have a point.

They do wonder, between sobbing gasps, how many graves The Boss will dig before reaching the same conclusion.

“Are you all right, child?” The voice comes from the doorway, but feels miles away.

They look up, wiping at their eyes with the palms of their hands.

It's Oleg, looming over them and causing the frame of the door to seem cartoonishly small around him. A less despondent part of their brain wonders how often he hits his head by simply standing up.

“What?” is all that comes from their mouth.

Oleg steps through the door, squats down in front of them. “I asked if you were all right.”

No. No they're not all right, nothing is all right and nothing will ever be right ever again.

“I miss Johnny,” they say softly. Three entire words that seem far too small for the amount of emotion whirling inside them. Like saying “it's raining” during a hurricane; you're not wrong, but that hardly covers it all, does it?

“Well, I’m not sure if it helps,” says Oleg slowly, “but you’re not the only one.”

No. They’re not. But they’re the only one that misses him the way they do, for the reasons they do. A part of them feels as if they’re the only one who misses him in the correct way. Which may as well mean no one really misses him at all.

“He was my brother.” It’s barely a whisper. “Maybe not by blood, but he was my brother– my family, in all the ways that mattered. And he’s gone, and nothing will ever be normal again.” Does it help to give voice the words, to get the echoes of them out of their head and into the open?

They don’t know.

“I have yet to see where much involving the Saints is strictly normal,” says Oleg. He is attempting to joke, to lighten the mood and he is not meaning to be dismissive, but oh. Oh, does it feel that way.

“He made it normal!” Harper’s head snaps up, and there is such a mixture of despair and anger in their eyes that it strikes him to his core. “He always made time for that. We would take off for a day, and just… do things. Normal things. Things that didn’t involve the Saints and murders and drugs and drama, and now he’s not here for that, and… and what am I supposed to do about it? Huh?”

He doesn’t know what to say. For a long moment, he says nothing. “What would you like to do?” he finally asks.

Harper sniffs. “What?”

“Pick something,” says Oleg. “Something normal, and you and I will go do it. Right now. How about we start with ice cream? I know a great ice cream shop! Well, provided it hasn’t closed while I have been a human pincushion.”

It feels surreal. The world– their world– may as well be ending, and he’s asking about ice cream. They don’t want to go get ice cream, actually. They want to stay here on the floor until the end of time; until the building collapses around everyone and sinks into the space that used to belong to Johnny.

“Okay, I guess,” is what comes out of their mouth. Anything else feels too mean, even with the circumstances. They know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of someone being mean because they can’t manage their emotions. If nothing else, they try not to be the one doing it to others.

It’s a surprisingly short walk to the ice cream parlor. They get two extra scoops of mint chocolate moose tracks, and Oleg gets a large cone of coffee. It is an extraordinarily beautiful day. A comfortable temperature with a light breeze, and enough cloud cover that the sun isn’t blinding, with vibrant pops of blue sky between them.

They sit outside a table, and the ice cream is good. They feel less like they’re eating it because they really want it and more like when one does something simply for the benefit of the other people around them.

“You know, about an hour from here is a very nice zoo,” Oleg says conversationally. “Perfect weather for it.”

“Oh,” says Harper. They kick their heel against a rock on the sidewalk. “Do they have bears?”

Oleg raises his eyebrows, and smiles. “Pandas, I believe. Shall we go?”

They hesitate. “N-no,” they say, looking down at their feet. “We shouldn’t. You’ve been gone long enough, and if something comes up-”

“If something comes up, I have a phone,” says Oleg. “They can call me. No one has called me, thus we assume I'm not needed.”

Harper manages a small smile of their own. “Okay, sure.”

So they do.

He gets them each an expensive VIP day pass, the kind that includes behind-the-scenes tours and a hands-on sloth encounter. They’ve never held a sloth before, had never considered it as being something they could do, and despite the maladaptive desire to wallow in their misery, find themself becoming more excited about the prospect as the start time approaches.

They tour the reptile enclosure, catching a snake during feeding time. Harper questions the logistics of releasing snakes into the 3 Count Casino as an assassination tactic for Killbane. Oleg laughs, suggests the Saints keep that plan on a back burner just in case.

They watch penguins sliding in and out of the water, and by chance, have picked the first day a new baby elephant is allowed to safely wander the enclosure with the adults. At some point the seconds cease ticking by in agonizing slowness. They begin to blend together in a lighter, more seamless momentum until Harper doesn’t realize they’re actually hungry until the two of them pass by a snack shack peddling french fries and hot dogs.

“Can we take a break?” they ask. “I’m kinda hungry.”

“I could eat,” says Oleg.

They get a hot dog, a large fry, and a soda. Another food stall sells funnel cakes as big as their heads and they both split it, digging in until it’s nothing but crumbs and powdered sugar residue dotting the paper plate.

From there, it’s finally sloth time. They’re surprised to see only one other person there for the experience, but it has the added bonus that they get to interact longer than normal. The sloth is not quite a baby, somewhere in the juvenile range, and clings to their shoulders almost immediately. Harper lets out a giggle. The sloth begins squeaking in response, and they laugh harder until there’s tears in their eyes. They get to feed it and have pictures taken, and Oleg passes over more money to get some printed out and tucked neatly into thick cardboard frames.

“It was so cute,” they coo as the pair of them exit the exhibit. “I didn’t know they made that much noise!”

The sun has begun to dip in the sky, taking the temperature with it. Oleg gestures over his shoulder. “One last stop.”

“Okay,” they say, and follow.

Just a few hours passing and the feelings from before, of only doing something out of an obligation of politeness, have faded into a dreamlike memory of them. Somewhere between assassin snakes and baby animals finds Harper genuinely enjoying themself and Oleg’s company.

The last exhibit for the day is pandas. There’s two adults and a juvenile, one of the most recent baby pandas to successfully be born into captivity. As Harper all but sprints to the barrier of the enclosure in excitement, Oleg lets out a small sigh of relief that the animals were still around.

The pandas are currently on loan to the zoo, part of a conservation incentive working under the concept that if more people are able to see the animals in the flesh, they’ll be more likely to take the issues of climate change and deforestation seriously. He wonders briefly if the ends justify the means; caring for such creatures and arranging to transport them to other facilities can’t be cheap. All the expense for what amounts to a hope that it might change something. As he approaches though and watches Harper’s unrepressed joy at seeing the bears, he thinks maybe the expenses were worth it after all.

At least for this, anyway.

“Oh I wish we could pet them!” they say, nearly bouncing up and down.

“I’m sure we could,” says Oleg, grinning when they look up at him in confused surprise, “once, anyway.”

“Very funny,” they say, though there’s no rancor in their tone.

“Are pandas your favorite bear?” he asks.

“I like all bears!” they say. “Brown bears are the best, but I hear they can be hard to keep in zoos. I never thought I’d get to see a panda though, this is so great!”

Inside the enclosure, the juvenile panda attempts to crawl onto the mother’s back despite her sitting against a tree and clearly more interested in the bamboo she’s eating. The male is wandering around several yards away, pawing at something unseen in a bush. A zookeeper with a headset and a microphone exits onto a podium overlooking the animals, close enough to have a birds eye view of them without being dangerously in the way, and begins talking to the crowd.

The little show lasts about fifteen minutes and includes pamphlets with information on how to make an account with the company sponsoring the panda bears' travels to be able to “follow” them around from facility to facility.

“Look!” says Harper, holding the pamphlet up as the two of them begin making for the exit. “There's even a contest you can enter to adopt the next baby panda when another is born! You get to name it and if it ever comes to an area near you, you get a priority viewing experience!”

“You should enter,” says Oleg. “You might win.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” they say sheepishly. “It’s kind of silly.”

“Do you want to do it?” he asks. “Does it make you happy? Then it is worth doing. Nothing that brings happiness is silly. Unless being silly does, in which case that is also acceptable. Point is, you should always take time for happiness, and good things. You know, the normal things you were talking about.”

His words trigger a memory.

“It just feels like everything is bad all the time and nothing is ever good and I don’t know what the point of it all is! It’s not fair!”

Johnny sighs. “We live in a world that ain’t fair, kid,” he says. “Sometimes… good things are like respect. Sometimes you gotta go out there and you gotta demand it, because it sure as shit won’t just be handed to you.”

“You’re not good at pep talks,” they say between sobs.

“Don’t I fuckin’ know it,” he says. He puts a hand on their shoulder. “But I’m serious. It’s hard to get by out here. You just gonna learn to be the hardest motherfucker around, that way it don’t hurt so bad.”

“Hey, Oleg?” they look up at him. “Thank you, for today. This was really nice.”

“You are quite welcome,” he says, smiling warmly. “But I must inform you, we’re not quite done yet.” He pulls some cash from his pocket, gesturing towards the gift shop near the zoo exit.

Harper blushes, holding their hands up. “No, that’s okay, you don’t have too,” they implore. “Really, you don’t need to keep spending money on me.”

“I do not do things I have no interest in doing,” he says. “Besides, I’ve already revealed I have the money. Now surely someone has seen. You have to spend it. What if we get robbed on the way home? Then you’ll surely feel guilty, poor Oleg robbed of his money because you were too nice to spend it all. Then, of course I’ll have to explain to the Boss why I need more money, and-”

“Oh Jesus, okay, fine!” But they’re laughing as they take the cash from him and disappear inside the gift shop. They reappear a while later, a plastic bag with the zoo logo hanging from their arm and a realistic looking stuffed panda almost as tall as they are clutched to their chest.

“Big bear,” says Oleg as he takes it from them, propping it under his arm to free up their hands.

“I got a little custom tag for it,” they say, that sheepish tone creeping back into their voice. “I named him Johnny.”

“A fine name!”

“I also got you something!” They dig around in the bag for a moment. “They didn’t have any shirts in your size so I improvised. Ta-da!” With a flourish, Harper produces a headband with a pair of panda-themed ears on them.

Oleg laughs, heartily, in a way that is so clear he’s laughing from enjoyment, and not at them. He makes a grabby motion with his free hand, snatching them when offered and immediately putting it on. “I will have to take care not to mess my hair up too badly, of course.”

Harper laughs with him. “Of course!”

“Come, come,” he says, “we should get back. I think I should modify my wardrobe to better match my new ears. Perhaps more white.”

The trip back to the penthouse feels much smoother, much lighter than the trip out. By the time the two of them enter the elevator to reach the top Harper can admit, even if only to themself, that they feel like a real person again for the first time since Johnny died.

“Thank you again,” they say softly.

“Think nothing of it,” says Oleg. He passes the panda back to them, and gives them a pat on the head. “Anytime you need to go be normal for a while, little bear, you just ask. Okay?”

They look up at him and smile. “Okay.”

The elevator dings open and they find themselves staring down the Boss, hands on their hips and expression unreadable behind their sunglasses. They seem to notice both the panda and Oleg’s new accessory.

“Where the fuck have you been?” they ask.

Oleg raises an eyebrow, glancing down at the ill-fitting and bright green Murderbrawl t-shirt they’re wearing. “Where have you been?” he asks.

The Boss glances down at themself. “...nowhere,” they say.

Oleg smiles. “We have also been nowhere, it would seem.”

“Sitrep, living room, fifteen minutes,” says The Boss, turning and stomping towards the stairs.

“Jesus, what now?” asks Harper.

“Now… now we go back to being severely abnormal for a while, I’m afraid,” he says.

“I’m not,” they say. “Because we can just stop being abnormal any time we want.”

“Now you’re getting it!”

Harper makes a stop at their bedroom, carefully placing Johnny on the bed and setting their goodie bag on the dresser before rejoining Oleg at the stairs and following him down. He continues to wear the panda ears for the whole meeting, and deflects Pierce’s question of “what the fuck is on your head, man?” by informing the Saint he simply doesn’t understand the current trends in men’s fashion.

For a moment, Pierce almost looks like he believes him.

Harper laughs again, and they do not know for how long. It could be a minute, an hour, a day– they do not know, and they do not care. The only thing they care about is the abundant joy that is beginning, however slowly, to cover that encompassing void that tried to swallow them whole.

Maybe Johnny was wrong. Maybe you can’t always be the hardest. But maybe you don’t always have to be, either. And then again, maybe sometimes being hard is just looking the world in the face, and choosing happiness anyway.

#reese.fic #others: harper #<- if yuor tag is light its because i fucked up mutual tags and keep forgetting to fix them lmao

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