summary: a story about y/n, Redbull’s new second driver, told in non-sequential order
a/n: I love febuwhump and have participated before for other fandoms but this is a first for me — attempting to compete it via smau only. Hopefully I can write a complete story eventually and I will be posting it on its own masterlist in the correct order to read but it’ll be written based on the febuwhump prompt list! @febuwhump
a/n2: based on the 2024 year; sorry checo but you got replaced earlier!
Masterlist | Taglist
y/n_gossip
liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 231,445 others
y/n_gossip: during this small break in the schedule, y/n spent some of that time with Lando, Charles, and Max! They streamed together quite a bit and went through a handful of games.
What were your favorite moments?
view all comments
user1: them playing among us!
↳user2: oh I loved that!!
↳user1: they made it extremely fun to watch!
user3: personally I liked Minecraft — very soothing
↳user4: y/n kept pushing Lando off cliffs??
↳user3: well that was just funny
↳y/n_rb: see you get it!
user5: personally i liked watching y/n kill off lando in every version of the game she could
↳user5: like even in Minecraft sandbox, she was pushing him off cliffs, building him into the buildings, laying tnt all around him
↳user6: gotta respect that hater grind!
user7: i liked when they raced…
↳user8: those were funny! Cause they kept changing the rules on themselves and running each other if track
↳use7: they forgot they needed to win. They just tried to get the others to lose!
alex_albon: what??? Have I been erased from this group?
↳georgerussell63: I know what you mean…
↳y/n_rb: sorry only those of us who hadn’t driven for Williams were allowed to play
landonorris: stop cheering her on! SHE JEPT KILLING ME OFK!!
↳user9: yeah that’s what made it so funny
↳landonorris: bullying me?? On my own comment thread?
↳y/n_rb: more likely then you think!
Private Messages, the Grid (Unserious)
y/n_rb
liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 1,753,964 others
Warnings: Hypothermia, character being stripped while unconscious
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By the time they were staggering into the cave, Time had stopped shivering and Wild felt like he was trying to tote his whole weight. He himself was shaking so hard he could only just walk, but thanks to his Snowquill outfit he was in a better state than Time.
It hadn't helped much while he was in the icy river they'd been dumped into, which was why he was still chilled to the bone, but once he was out the magic at least started thawing him out again.
The ruby circlet he'd put on Time wasn't as powerful. It would keep him warm under most circumstances, but not soaked in ice water and out in the snow.
Wild laid Time down in the most sheltered corner of the cave and stared at him for a moment, trying desperately to work out what to do next.
Fire. Fire would help. He snatched out his slate and pulled out a bundle of firewood with shaking fingers, followed by a piece of flint and the rusty chunk of sword blade he kept for lighting fires. It took an agonising length of time to get a spark to take, but at long last a thread of smoke started to rise from the little pyramid of sticks he'd built to start the campfire and he turned back to Time as flames started to lick their way into the wood.
The old man lay still. He hardly looked like he was breathing. Water was pooled under him where it had run out of crannies in his armour and soaked out of his clothes.
Wild sucked in a breath and let it out again with a huff.
Part of the problem was the cold water, so he had to get Time out of his armor and into something dry. Still shivering, he started wrestling with the buckles on the armor, his numb fingers struggling with every single movement, what warmth they had leached out by the cold metal. He persevered for a little while, but then swore and started cutting the straps. Time would probably be furious when he recovered consciousness, but Wild would accept that if it meant he was alive.
At last, he was out of the armor and Wild pushed it aside. The fire was growing now as he wrestled off the wet, clinging tunic and shirt next and pulled out the warm doublet from his slate. That was too big for him, unlike the Snowquill clothes which, thanks to the skills of Rito tailors and the magic of Great Fairies, fitted him perfectly and would therefore be too small for Time.
Time's skin was cold to the touch and Wild didn't even dare check his pulse. He didn't want to know. While he didn't know, there was still hope. He could try to get Time warm and hope that he would recover. Even after he'd gotten so very cold.
He tried to shuffle them both a little closer to the fire, taking out his bedroll and wrapping the blankets around Time, followed by his cape. It still didn't seem like enough. Wild put some more wood on the fire, heart pounding as he tried to think of anything else he could do.
Even though he was still shivering, he was starting to warm up. He couldn't put the warm clothes on Time, but perhaps he could give him some of the warmth anyway. Carefully, he scooped Time up as best he could and shuffled them both a little closer to the fire, hugging the larger man as best he could.
Even though he'd just stripped Time down to the skin, holding him still felt uncomfortably intrusive. It wasn't that Time was touch-averse, but he certainly never needed to be held. But Wild looked down at his pale face, white turning to blue around his lips and ears, and hugged him closer, trying to pour as much warmth into him as he could, praying that between the ruby circlet, the fire, and what little warmth the Snowquill garb was giving him it would be enough.
It’s 2 am on February 1rst in NZ, so I can post my first Febuwhump drabble! It centers my superhero whumpee Icarus. The rest of his story will take place a few years later when he’s an established hero, so this is kind of a prequel I guess.
Masterpost here.
CWs: whump of a minor (17 yo), manhandling, burying alive
Icarus is so excited he can barely sleep. It is his first night in the HQ, the big house where all the “Boys Club” heroes live together. The most famous and powerful heroes in the country, and now Icarus is a part of their ranks.
Jordan, their leader, had shown him around the house, and introduced him to the rest of the team. There was Lee, who could start fires in the palm of his hand. Matthew, the healer. Tyler, the telekinetic. And Jason, the speedster.
They had all eaten dinner together, cracking jokes and sharing stories, and Icarus had felt his heart grow warm at the feeling of belonging. It felt like a family. After dinner, Jordan had bench pressed the couch with Icarus and Tyler sitting on it, showing off while Icarus dissolved into laughter. Lee had shown him to his room and bid him good night, and now he lies in bed, thrumming with excitement and already imagining how tomorrow will go, his first day as an official superhero. Eventually, he nods off, a smile on his face and bright dreams in his head.
He wakes when he feels a hand clamp over his mouth.
His eyes fly open, adrenaline surging through him in an instant. Instinctually, his body shoots up, trying to fly away from the unknown threat. Before he can get more than a few feet off the bed, a hand lands on his chest and pushes, and Icarus is slammed back down so hard the breath is knocked out of him.
He gapes, lungs struggling to pull in air, unable to cry out for help or even move. A hood is pulled over his head, and when he’s yanked off the bed he can’t get his feet underneath him in time and ends up being dragged out of his room.
When they reach the hall, he can breathe again, and he fights, yanking against the arms holding him from either side.
“Help!” he screams, and his heart plummets when there is no answer. Oh god, what have they done to my friends?
He plants his feet, pushes up, willing his body into flight and hoping to dislodge the attackers holding him. Before he can escape, an unseen force slams him back to the ground. He groans from the impact, and the attackers take advantage of his confusion to pull him further down the hall.
He hears a door open, and the realization that he is being taken somewhere sends renewed energy through him. He struggles, lashing out with his elbows and feet, but the people holding him don’t budge, and he’s pulled outside with his bare feet scrabbling on the grass.
All of a sudden, he’s spun and thrown down, landing on his back on a hard surface. Before he can get his bearings, he hears something slam down above him. Under the hood, his vision darkens, and it suddenly feels harder to breathe.
He brings his hands up, and to his horror, feels his palms push flat against something, barely five inches from his chest. His hands push out, and collide with wooden walls.
His mind whites out with terror. He is in a coffin.
The claustrophobia and hood combined make it impossible to breathe. He rips off the hood, blinking his eyes to adjust and panting for air. He can barely make out anything, just the shadow of the lines on the planks above him.
His hands come up automatically, pressing with all his strength against the lid, but it won’t move and oh god, oh god, he’s trapped, he’s trapped—
Something lands on top of the lid. Over the thundering of his heart, Icarus thinks he can hear the sound of a—a shovel, and there it is again, the sound of dirt hitting the lid—they’re burying him alive, no, no, no, please no—
Unbidden, a whine slips out of him, high pitched and frantic with terror, and he slams his hands against the lid, pounding his palms against the unrelenting wood over and over.
“HELP! Somebody please help! Let me out! Oh god, PLEASE!” he screams, his voice breaking on the last word. But no one responds, and Icarus is alone, alone and trapped, and he’s so scared he doesn’t know which will kill him first, the fear or the lack of air.
The lid still isn’t moving, and his hands slide down it in a panic, nails catching in engraved paths. They are scratch marks, Icarus realizes with horror. He is not the first to be trapped in here, not the first to die in here, and oh god he doesn’t want to die.
Already, his breaths are coming shorter, and he whimpers, tears sliding down his cheeks at the thought of dying like this. It can’t be like this, it won’t be, he won’t let it, and as he lets out another sob, he feels fear-driven strength surge through his veins.
With a desperate scream, he slams his hands against the lid, levitating his whole body to add to the momentum.
It moves.
It’s just the slightest shift, but it is enough, enough to keep going, so he does it again. And again, and again, until the whole thing has come loose, and dirt starts to trickle in through a crack.
He sobs again, because it’s not over, but he takes a deep breath, holds it, and shoves the lid away from him. Immediately dirt pours on top of him, and it’s everywhere, weighing down his legs, spilling across his face and blocking his nose. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut and forces his arms up, desperately clawing up until he finally feels his hands break the surface. He shoves his arms apart, forces his head up, and then, finally, surfaces.
He gasps, spitting out dirt and coughing, struggling to pull air in as he lifts his head. His eyes are still shut, eyelids covered in dirt. He digs his fingers into the ground, straining to pull the rest of his body free as he pants harshly. Finally, when his feet come free, he lies still, exhausted and shaking.
Then, with a jolt, he remembers. His head shoots up, adrenaline surging through him as he prepares to fight his attackers. He is halfway to his feet, when he freezes.
The faces he sees are not the known ones of the city’s most wanted villains. Nor are they shadowy strangers.
They are his teammates.
As he sways, shellshocked, Jordan looks up from a stopwatch in his hand, grinning.
“Two minutes and twelve seconds!” he exclaims, his voice cheerful. “That’s almost a new record!” He laughs. “Beat Matthew’s time by more than half.”
Icarus looks over at Matthew. The healer is sitting nearby, staring at the ground.
“Wh…what?” he croaks out. His voice shakes.
“Aw, come on man, it’s all in good fun. Can’t be a superhero without some life or death training right?”
Lee snorts. “Oh, it’s training now?”
“Training, initiation, whatever you want to call it. Either way, you survived, so you’re officially a part of the team!” He throws his arms up in celebration at the end of his statement.
Icarus doesn’t know how to respond. He’s crashing, coming down from the adrenaline and the fear that feels like it will live in him forever. He cannot fathom the reality he is being shown, so far removed from his ideas of family and friendship and heroism. His breath hitches, and he swallows back a whimper.
“Oh come on dude, don’t be a baby,” Jordan scolds, no longer smiling.
Icarus recognizes the emotion that creeps through him when Jordan meets his eyes. It’s fear. It freezes his tongue in his mouth, so all he can do is shift his eyes demurely to the ground. It’s enough to appease Jordan. He yawns.
“I’m beat. You put up a hell of a fight.” He shoots Icarus another sly grin, then heads back into the house.
The rest of the boys follow him in, drifting off to their separate bedrooms, until only Icarus and Matthew remain outside.
The healer lifts himself off the ground and comes over to Icarus, who stands still, blank eyes fixed on nothing. Matthew lays a hand on his arm, doesn’t react to Icarus’s flinch. Slowly, he guides him to the ground.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
Icarus blinks. Yes, he thinks, but it is not the kind of hurt that Matthew’s powers can heal.
“Your hands,” the other boy says softly, and only then does Icarus feel the pinpricks of pain radiating from his palms. He looks down. Splinters of wood poke out of the soft flesh of his palms. Blood trickles from a few of the punctures, and several of his nails have broken.
“Oh,” he says dully. He hadn’t noticed.
Gently, Matthew takes his hands. Icarus inhales sharply as he feels the healer’s powers start to take effect. A slow tingling spreads across his hands, and he watches as the skin reforms, pushing the splinters out so they land harmlessly on the grass below them.
“It’s not usually this bad,” Matthew says quietly, not looking up from his work. “Just try to keep your head down. They’ll find a new target eventually.”
He turns Icarus’s hands over, checks that they’re completely healed, then stands and goes back into the house.
Icarus watches him go. He is shaking, even though it’s a warm summer night. He shifts, dirt falling off his pajama pants. He has a feeling they won’t ever feel clean again. He thinks he could stay crumpled out here forever, or at least until the sun rises and there’s a chance of feeling warm again. But that is not what heroes do. Heroes…heroes get back up. So he does, swaying only slightly when he stands, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other to get back into the house.
He freezes at the threshold of his room, taking in the blankets he scattered when he was pulled from his bed. He can’t imagine just pulling them back into place, falling asleep in the bed as if he wasn’t just robbed of his safety in it. Instead, he pulls a comforter to the floor, strips his filthy pajamas, and lies down on the padded cover, pulling it over himself as tight as possible, as if to protect himself from an inevitable attack.
He tries to sleep, he does, but the tears rush out and don’t stop, and even as he tries to choke back his sobs, terrified someone will hear, he can’t stop crying.
He wants to go home.
Another sob forces it’s way past his lips, and he bites down on his fist to muffle the sound.
This place is the closest thing he has to one.
Next
taglist: @whumpinggrounds :) (please let me know if you want to be added or removed!)
Four slipped and went face-down in the mud with a grunt, just managing to keep his sword out from under him. His muscles burned as he struggled back to his feet, grateful for the support of Hyrule's hand under his arm but aware that his brother was also exhausted.
"This is why… don't wander… off-trail," he panted as they started running again.
"Save the lecture," said Hyrule, equally breathlessly.
Four could have activated his Pegasus Boots, but that would mean leaving Hyrule behind. Hyrule had said he'd be able to hide - this was his era and he knew it well - but that didn't make abandoning him any more acceptable an option.
What was more, the mountainous terrain they were crossing was like a maze of little ravines that would soon have had Four lost or cornered. Hyrule seemed to be able to navigate by sheer dead reckoning, even in the pouring rain, pursued by the shouts and chants of the cultists whose ritual they had interrupted and who seemed to know the area almost as well as he did.
Suddenly Four felt the ground rumble under his feet. He slid to a halt, his heels leaving gouges in the muddy ground, and shouted a warning to Hyrule, but the traveler had already seen the danger and grabbed Four's arm as he ran back the other way.
Behind them, an ugly mixture of rocks, mud, and a dead tree slid down the side of the ravine.
Four heard a shout of triumph from one of the cultists as they darted down another little ravine, their feet splashing in a stream of water running down it.
"Will this flood?" shouted Four.
Hyrule shook his head.
There weren't any better options; as Four looked over his shoulder he could already see a couple of robed figures turning the corner after them. They were shouting about blood and ashes - mostly blood.
The water was up to Four's ankles as they kept running. He wondered fleetingly if it would get deeper; if Hyrule had remembered how much shorter he was than his brothers.
As he ran, his thoughts were starting to spiral apart into something closer to a wordless argument. He forced himself to focus, centering himself in the moment. Now was not the time.
Then Hyrule let out a cry of alarm. An arrow splashed in the water ahead of them. Four looked up and saw a couple of archers on the wall overhead, perilously close to a very unstable-looking edge.
We fight.
We can't win.
Who are they? What do they even want?
Again, Four centered himself. He looked at Hyrule. For the first time in their flight, there was fear in the traveler's eyes as he tightened his grip on his sword. They were cornered, then. Outnumbered, and Four knew Hyrule didn't have much magic left. A couple of big spells and he'd not be able to run any further.
"What do they want?" muttered Four. "Revenge for the interruption?"
Hyrule swallowed hard. "They… want my blood."
"You mean they want to kill you?" Four already knew the answer. As the cultists drew in on them slowly, they had settled into a rhythmic chorus like a heartbeat.
"Blood for Lord Ganon! Blood for Lord Ganon!"
Blood specifically.
Well, then. What would they give to have Hyrule's blood preserved?
The part of Four that made up calm, ruthless, intelligent Vio knew how few options they had. He grabbed Hyrule, pulled him close, and raised his sword to his brother's throat.
"Let us go or I'll spill his blood right here and now!" he shouted.
"Four!" cried Hyrule. "What are -"
"Shut up," hissed Four. Then he raised his voice again. "You want his blood, don't you? How much do you need? Have you ever seen how much blood comes from a slit throat?"
There was a long, horrible pause. Four hoped desperately that the cultists wouldn't call his bluff.
One of them stepped forward. "You're making a mistake, boy," she said. "We need him to save this world. If you kill him, you prevent that. Give him to us and you may go free."
"I know enough about Ganon and what would happen to this world if he returned to know I'd rather kill this boy than hand him over to you," said Four. "And before you think about shooting me, my hand does not have to move far to open his throat. This is not a negotiation. I leave with him or his blood washes away in this floodwater. Choose."
Another pause. Four could feel Hyrule's pulse hammering where he held his arm, hear his quick, frightened breathing. He wanted to say something to reassure him, but couldn't afford to waver for a moment. The cultists' belief that he would follow through and kill their intended victim before they could take him was the only shield between the two of them and death.
The pause stretched and Four braced himself, then drew the sword a little closer. He kept the edge very sharp and a line of blood appeared on Hyrule's throat. Hyrule froze, eyes wide, holding his breath.
Four forced his expression and his hand to stay steady.
"Very well," said the cultist quickly. "Very well, go." She waved to her followers, who stepped aside to open a route back the way they'd come.
They were in no way out of danger, but Four eased towards the gap, still with his sword to Hyrule's throat. Nobody else moved as they walked through. Everything was still and silent apart from the splashing of their feet in the floodwater as they left the ravine and turned a corner back the way they'd come.
Once they were out of sight, Four sheathed his sword and stepped back, hands raised. "I'm sorry," he said, "I couldn't see another way out. You can yell at me later. In the meantime, which way do we go?"
Hyrule stared at him, his hand to the cut on his neck. Four saw the faint glow as he healed it. "You- you think-" he stumbled out.
"Hyrule, we have seconds," snapped Four. "Get us out of here before they come after us and make that whole charade pointless!"
Hyrule took a shuddering breath and let it out again. "OK. OK. This way." He took off running again. With a sigh that did nothing to dispel his heartache, Four followed.
Prompt: environmental whump (alt prompt)
Fandom: Slipknot
Shawn said he was coming to pick them up. The cold doesn’t touch Joey anymore, but it's not the same story for Sid.
The last week of febuwhump is always such a struggle but I'm somehow still going even though the word counts are dropping haha. Glad I managed to write this idea, and maybe I'll get vampire!Joey (and others) back for future fics!
Also, this is somehow hurt/comfort and hurt no comfort at the same time, if that's possible. Like, Joey wants to help but can't, so...? Idk
@febuwhump
warnings: hyporthermia, blood, car accidents, vampires
Tags: Missing Scene, Rad Storm, Platonic Relationship, Female Lone Wanderer
TWs: Radiation Poisoning
AN: Backlog.
Febuwhump Masterlist
Cordelia glanced up at the darkening sky. It still shocked her how… tall it was. She was so used to the tight ceiling of the vault hallways and rooms. Where once the atrium had seemed too expansive, the world above the Vault made the atrium feel like a cramped closet.
"Looks like we'll be expecting rain soon," Cordelia commented, trying to emulate the stories she had read of pre-War life.
Charon froze, looking up at the sky. He growled, that sound he made when he was annoyed. (It was a sound she was getting familiar with from him.) He grabbed her arm and started dragging them towards an old building.
"Shit. Too far from town. C'mon, Vaultie, we need to get out of the open."
Cordelia was confused, nerves building up, but followed his lead. He knew the place better than she did.
The building they ended up in only counted as "out of the open" by sheer technicality. It had the idea of a ceiling, and most of four walls, but it would do very little against a strong enough rainstorm.
"Um, Charon… why are you so worried about the rain?"
He looked at her, his brow raising. "The rain? No, smooth skin, I'm worried about the radstorm. I'd be fine in it, but you're not immune to rads."
"Radstorm?"
The word was foreign to her. She knew each individual piece, but could only theorize what they meant together.
"Left over fallout from the bombs got trapped in the clouds, or in the atmosphere. Bad lightning storms that cause spikes of radiation."
Cordelia grimaced. It certainly didn't sound great. Her exposures to radiation were limited to the tingling bite that came with the food and water around here, and the surroundings of the bomb at Megaton. She could only imagine how much worse it could get.
The answer was much worse.
They ended up settled in the hollowed out shell of the building. Cordelia had pulled out some supplies from her bag, and tossed a granola bar over to Charon. He grimaced, but he ate it, so she counted it as a win.
The build up of the storm was a slow endeavor. It was only when the first lightning struck and she felt a sharp pain spread through her body before dissipating back to a dull ache that she hadn't noticed she was feeling.
She tried to take a deep breath, but it just felt shaky. She glanced over at Charon, but he just sat against the wall across from her, his eyes closed. He looked almost… calm.
She'd hate to bother him. She had a feeling that most of what she did bothered him. She moved—wincing as she did—and pulled a bottle of pills out of her bag. The RadX went down dry. Water sounded amazing, but she was out of purified water, and she had a feeling that dirty water would just make everything worse.
'Try and sleep, Cordelia,' she thought. 'It'll be over soon.'
It was a nice thought, but she knew it wasn't true. Still, she laid down and tried to relax enough to fall asleep.
She wasn't sure when she managed to slip into unconsciousness. In the end, it really didn't matter. She was exhausted, and her body easily took to sleep.
But then, she struggled to wake up. It was like she was trying to swim through fog and pain, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up and remain asleep.
She heard talking far beyond her, which eventually stirred her enough to wake up.
Her head was full of cotton, and she sighed softly. Her body ached, and she felt something brushing up against her arm. She tried to bat it away, but a large, calloused hand grabbed hers and pushed it away.
"Don't touch that." Charon's voice was familiar and welcomed.
She forced her heavy eyelids to stay open for long enough to spot the IV line going into her arm, trailing from a yellow bag held by Charon.
"Radaway, smooth skin," Charon told her.
"Ah…" She murmured. "Thanks."
She wanted to shiver—she felt cold, though she didn't know if the world around her was cold, or if it was just leeching heat from her—but her body didn't have the energy to move.
"We'll head for town once you can move."
Cordelia wanted to argue that she was perfectly capable of moving, but she could barely make her tongue move enough to get out a few words. So, instead, she just hummed and let her eyes fall closed again.
She'd just take a nap, and then they could head out.
