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hetalia2009-10-18 05:31 pm
transemacabre.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2009-10-18 05:31 pm
Entry tags:
[FANFIC] When the Levees Broke (America, Louisiana, Hurricane Katrina)
Title: When the Levees Broke
Author: Mipp
Character: Louisiana (OC), America, brief mentions of a couple of other characters
Rating: M for Mature themes, disaster imagery, disturbing content, injuries, trauma
Warnings: Possibly TRIGGERING for natural disaster survivors. This fic is about Hurricane Katrina. I barely made it out of New Orleans myself, and the last thing I'd ever want to do is trigger bad memories for another survivor. Contains mentions of hurricanes, death, injuries, trauma. So please read at your own discretion.
Summary: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hetalia_kink prompt: A parental!America comforts his colonies/states during their times of need.
When she came to, she was laying in the parking lot of a church. A helicopter hovered overhead, bathing her prone form in its search light. She flinched and tried to cough, only to gasp and suck in air at the stabbing pain.
The last thing Louisiana remembered was the house crumbling around her. The water poured into her home until she and her dog, Fleur, had to take refuge on the kitchen table. There was a groan, then a cracking sound like the world breaking in two, and then the roof caved in.
Louisiana gulped water, tasting mud and gasoline. She flailed wildly, and somehow grabbed hold of Fleur's collar. Her Catahoula towed her out of the wreckage. Louisiana clung to her, her legs kicking out feebly against the rushing rising water, the endless torrent, gulping for air, spitting out the foul water. A chunk of metal debris slammed into her like a punch to the face (a wrought-iron fence? A piece of someone's car?). She went under and when she kicked out and resurfaced, Fleur was nowhere to be seen.
Louisiana never found her dog.
A tire drifted by her, and she managed to splash over and grab it. Louisiana clung to it as though her life depended on it; in truth it did. She dug her nails in and held on even as she smashed against a street sign (Desire she noted dimly, almost 2 blocks away from her house).
After that, that night was a blank. Louisiana must've sustained head trauma, because she couldn't remember a thing. She faded in and out of consciousness (Daddy, my house of cards fell down! Don't worry sweetie we'll build you another one.)
America found her in a makeshift hospital in a camp outside the city the next morning. She screamed and screamed in her sleep, crying out for "Daddy!" and endless begging for help in French Creole until his heart was rent in two. Her eyes opened but she flailed around, unseeing. He held her hand and rubbed it between his own for hours until she turned her head towards him and America saw recognition in her eyes.
"I'm hurt," Louisiana whispered through cracked lips.
"Everything's gonna be all right, sweetie," he lied.
She tried to sit up but screamed aloud at the pain in her cracked ribs. America gently propped her up using his jacket as a pillow and handed her a glass of water. "I'm here," he told her, stroking her hair. "Me and Uncle Mattie are both here now."
"Fleur," she said, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes.
He didn't tell her about any of it right then. It was too much, too soon. No one even knew the full extent of the damage yet. Later there would be very official tallies of the bodies found in attics, the homes with the numbers of the dead inside spray-painted beside an 'X' on the front door, the cops who looked at their dying city and put their guns into their mouths.
Later he would tell her about her sister Mississippi, who'd been found laying under a makeshift tent of strung-together clothes on I-10, mute from a broken jaw.
Right now the horror was too great. So America stroked his daughter's hair and told her how much he loved her.
Louisiana lifted her hands, stared in shock, and then yanked away the blanket to see her legs. She screamed until she went hoarse.
At some point during the storm, her fingernails and toenails had all been ripped out.
Author: Mipp
Character: Louisiana (OC), America, brief mentions of a couple of other characters
Rating: M for Mature themes, disaster imagery, disturbing content, injuries, trauma
Warnings: Possibly TRIGGERING for natural disaster survivors. This fic is about Hurricane Katrina. I barely made it out of New Orleans myself, and the last thing I'd ever want to do is trigger bad memories for another survivor. Contains mentions of hurricanes, death, injuries, trauma. So please read at your own discretion.
Summary: Written for the
hetalia_kink prompt: A parental!America comforts his colonies/states during their times of need.When she came to, she was laying in the parking lot of a church. A helicopter hovered overhead, bathing her prone form in its search light. She flinched and tried to cough, only to gasp and suck in air at the stabbing pain.
The last thing Louisiana remembered was the house crumbling around her. The water poured into her home until she and her dog, Fleur, had to take refuge on the kitchen table. There was a groan, then a cracking sound like the world breaking in two, and then the roof caved in.
Louisiana gulped water, tasting mud and gasoline. She flailed wildly, and somehow grabbed hold of Fleur's collar. Her Catahoula towed her out of the wreckage. Louisiana clung to her, her legs kicking out feebly against the rushing rising water, the endless torrent, gulping for air, spitting out the foul water. A chunk of metal debris slammed into her like a punch to the face (a wrought-iron fence? A piece of someone's car?). She went under and when she kicked out and resurfaced, Fleur was nowhere to be seen.
Louisiana never found her dog.
A tire drifted by her, and she managed to splash over and grab it. Louisiana clung to it as though her life depended on it; in truth it did. She dug her nails in and held on even as she smashed against a street sign (Desire she noted dimly, almost 2 blocks away from her house).
After that, that night was a blank. Louisiana must've sustained head trauma, because she couldn't remember a thing. She faded in and out of consciousness (Daddy, my house of cards fell down! Don't worry sweetie we'll build you another one.)
America found her in a makeshift hospital in a camp outside the city the next morning. She screamed and screamed in her sleep, crying out for "Daddy!" and endless begging for help in French Creole until his heart was rent in two. Her eyes opened but she flailed around, unseeing. He held her hand and rubbed it between his own for hours until she turned her head towards him and America saw recognition in her eyes.
"I'm hurt," Louisiana whispered through cracked lips.
"Everything's gonna be all right, sweetie," he lied.
She tried to sit up but screamed aloud at the pain in her cracked ribs. America gently propped her up using his jacket as a pillow and handed her a glass of water. "I'm here," he told her, stroking her hair. "Me and Uncle Mattie are both here now."
"Fleur," she said, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes.
He didn't tell her about any of it right then. It was too much, too soon. No one even knew the full extent of the damage yet. Later there would be very official tallies of the bodies found in attics, the homes with the numbers of the dead inside spray-painted beside an 'X' on the front door, the cops who looked at their dying city and put their guns into their mouths.
Later he would tell her about her sister Mississippi, who'd been found laying under a makeshift tent of strung-together clothes on I-10, mute from a broken jaw.
Right now the horror was too great. So America stroked his daughter's hair and told her how much he loved her.
Louisiana lifted her hands, stared in shock, and then yanked away the blanket to see her legs. She screamed until she went hoarse.
At some point during the storm, her fingernails and toenails had all been ripped out.
no subject
Ah, Fleur~ D: Poor dog.
You were quite merciless at the end -- ripping out all her nails, but it's not bad that way, you keep the tone. Nice.