#sorry Icelandic people

[puppynametaken]

Thinking about how I almost moved to Iceland instead of confronting my gender identity

[doueverwonder]

Alfred showing up one day to a NATO meeting with a shotgun bc they're going to get stuff done and be home by 5 if he has to kill someone.

[tovaicas]

anyways my friends activated my conlang brain and I've made smth insane as usual

red is influences, blue is Elezen-family languages, green is like a mix bc I see the Alliance cities as having a trade language (that critically is limited to them).

I see Duskwight as a separate language from Black Shroud Elezen (but sharing a lot - easy enough to learn for those speakers). Coerthan and all its derivatives are a whole different language under the Elezen umbrella and isn't mutually intelligible with BSE. Because they split so early, they probably don't share much more than root words and etymologies; within the same family so not difficult to learn for other speakers of Elezen languages, but very distinctly different.

(also I'm not listing them but the branches extend to include other diaspora Elezen languages)

[cult-of-lilith]

Do you think there are many trans lesbians in Iceland? I've gotta get off this hell island, and I figure there's an entire untapped chacer market just waiting to be broken into! Their population is so low and so related there's gotta be so many chasers there just waiting for me

[polyamorouspunk]

Me: no one wants to hear you talk about how you love to see your favorite band murder people on stage

Customer: *nodding*

[terrifyingly-overthought]

Not anymore I don’t 🙄 I’m a sfw writer now you stinky butt >:(

That we're aware of >:3

And more stuff to make the tags more interesting:

Ukegayle

[martyrlamb]

✶ when the clock strikes / leon kennedy

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: you’re starting to think a certain agent might be faking his injuries to see you.

tags: sfw, pure fluff, a bit of angst as a treat, love at first sight basically, silly workplace love story, nurse!reader, 1 year post re4r!leon, no use of y/n, extremely mildly passively suggestive, leon takes his shirt off twice (woohoo!), kissing, swearing, leon is awkward as hell, you are too though so it’s okay, description of bruises, cuts and a muscle knot (not detailed), medical talk, slight mention of gore and blood, reader has a backstory, reader has a mother.

note: i blinked and suddenly there were 8k words in my doc idek how that happened. im actually so nervous to post because this is my first one shot ever!! my cherry has been popped… but also apologies if things are kind of all over the place bc im still trying to get the swing of it all. trying to write in the present tense was like being beat over the head repeatedly so im sure theres many grammatical mistakes in that department

word count: 8.5k (got possessed sorry)

Everyone thought you were crazy when you accepted the offer. 

It is crazy—but you aren’t stupid. You knew what you were getting into a long time ago as a nurse; people get hurt, and then you save them. Clockwork.

Years ago, you started studying to be a nurse in some middle of nowhere midwestern school. You remembered the rolling hills and the ungodly heavy blankets of snow that fell during the winter months, the fallen leaves that the snow covered. It was all so peaceful for a while… until the outbreak.

You never saw it coming, no one did, really. At least, you hope no one predicted the atrocities that were about to be witnessed by thousands of innocents without warning.

Gnashing teeth and hands with dried blood that streaked down arms like veins plagued the memory of that point in your life. It was surreal to believe that you got up that morning and made your breakfast like any other day, you slid your shoes on and grabbed your keys, and then your foot hit the front porch and the trajectory of your life changed permanently. 

The virus started as a woman with red-ringed eyes and pallid skin that reflected off of the blinding overhead lights—she looked visibly ill. That’s all that mattered at the time. You were actually the one who situated her and her husband in their room, he smiled at you and thanked you for your time and you scribbled down notes before hanging the clipboard and leaving the room for the doctor. The screeching horror music plays when you get to this part of the memory.

A type of calm before the storm. You hold your breath every time.

A few hours later people started screaming, and someone—something ran out of that room and wrenched its grip on the first person it saw. Blue scrubs dyed a nasty crimson, like crushed raspberries on cloth. The next part is a blur of running, watching your coworkers die, and using your medical expertise to help anyone who needed it. People were hurt. You saved them.

Like you said, clockwork. You try not to think about it too hard.

By the time help came, you had cramped a large handful of survivors—albeit, injured survivors—into a small house that was a mile or two from the hospital. Your quick thinking protected many people that day, and your skills were recognized.

A week prior, you were a simple nursing student who was lucky enough to be placed in a hospital, and by the next Sunday, you were being offered a position as a medic with the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team. You finished your schooling, you got your specialized training, and now you’re on your way to your first assignment out of the country.

So, granted, maybe you are a little crazy for accepting such a prestigious and dangerous position after your humble beginnings. Your mother never ceases to remind you of this, with what little information you were allowed to tell her.

Iceland? she said, pulling her lips into a line. Are you crazy?

You begin to think that you are now that you stand in front of the base, arms tucked around yourself and teeth chattering as a sergeant points you around like one of his troops. Between the hustle and bustle of agents hurrying around and the amount of civilians sitting beneath the large, brown medical tent, you understand why they needed all the help they could get.

Things in Iceland were bad apparently; Umbrella thought the remote location would protect what little was left of them, and their research, from being exposed. Unfortunately for them, (and fortunately for everyone else) the AUPIT caught wind of what was happening and vowed to put a stop to it. You, freshly out of training, were sent to help with the sudden influx of displaced non-combatants and wounded agents.

Within the hour of the helicopter landing, you settle in and pull your cold weather scrubs on. 

There aren’t many other nurses—only two—and neither of them seem to be very fond of you. The head nurse is older and straight-laced, following procedure, not mingling with you unless she has to. You don’t think you’re ever going to be put on a shift with the other nurse, but they spare you a few ireful glances. It’s  like they could smell the fresh blood, and the scent made them turn their noses.

Nonetheless, you weren’t there to socialize, so you rolled up your sleeves and did your job, trying to ignore the passive aggressive looks being thrown at you from left and right. This kind of mutual ignorance worked for about three days, until you were placed on the night shift… every single night. 

Before you came along, it was determined that the night shift could be manned by one person, as injured civilians were sent to the safehouses by nightfall and nearly all of the agents were either out on work or taking a much needed rest. There was no reason for both nurses to be awake when one could conserve their energy and rest while the other worked. So, most nights you spent alone, sitting by the fire in the back of the tent as you waited for the sun to come up.

One of those nights crept up on you again. You bounce your foot against the ground until your ankle aches, sitting in a lawn chair next to the fire with a wool blanket draped over your shoulders. Nothing chirps in the distance like the environment you’re used to, the only noises that float through the air are the wind rustling bare-armed bushes and your own breathing. There was a rip in the tent whistling, too, but you’d be damned if you let the incessant noise drive you insane. You were scared of the eerie silence for the first few days, but that quickly became replaced by the complete boredom that followed it.

You blow a raspberry as you spin a pen in your ungloved hand, fingers numb and stretched stiff with cold. I’ve ought to ask someone for a book, you thought to yourself, or a new job. You immediately push the second contemplation out of your head like it was something dirty and sat up a little straighter; your annoyance made sense, but this is what you wanted to do with your life. You want to help people in need.

Not that there were many people around.

In the distance, like divine intervention, you hear the crackle of wheels against snow, and a black mini-van rolls to a stop in front of the tent. A scuffle inside ensues for a moment, then the doors open and a man comes hobbling into the shelter with his arm over another man’s shoulder. 

You nearly fall out of your seat with how fast you stand up and stride over to the men, assisting the injured one onto a cot. 

“What happened?” you ask, pushing a cart of equipment to his bedside.

The uninjured one remarks from beside you, “Some snow gave way and he went down this hill with some pretty nasty bushes at the bottom.” His voice is quick and clicky. He looks young.

Clearly, they’re two agents, judging by the leather holsters strapped around their waists and shoulders. You purse your lips and place a lantern on the cart, gently inspecting the injured agent. There’s thorns lodged along the entirety of his left side, looking a bit like a child’s crude attempt at art with toothpicks and styrofoam.

He grunts when you gently lift his arm to check underneath, and you mutter an apology before you turn to the other agent. “I can take this from here.”

The agent nods and spins on his heel, disappearing into the darkness once he stepped out into the open air. 

You turn your attention towards the man in front of you and pull on a pair of gloves, the latex makes a sharp snapping noise when you let go. His intense gaze follows your movements with great intrigue—or suspicion… you couldn’t really tell. You pick up a pair of tweezers and set them on the cart. You also finally got a good look at the wounded agent.

Blue eyes that strike down what little defenses you have and brows that spend their time permanently creased, almost erasing the space between them while he inspects you. His ability to make you feel thoroughly grilled with a simple fixated stare would have made you squirm years prior, but now you merely stare back with your eyebrows lifted. The blonde—possibly light brown haired, the darkness didn’t give much way in the form of colour—man averts his eyes first, as if he is caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive, but that’s not your focus right now.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, flicking on a flashlight to check his pupils. Healthy, good. He squints at you through the beam.

“Like I fell into a thorn bush.”

Looks like someone feels funny. You deadpan at him, unamused with the sarcasm while you try to help. Your expression beckons a better answer and he backpedals.

The man’s head bobs subtly, like a scale in his mind is weighing his thoughts on either side, and then he says, “I’m just fine.”

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Fine.”

“Okay,” you reply, blowing out a not-so-inconspicuous huff of annoyed air that swirls above you in the cold. The agent raises his brow at your reaction but doesn’t seem too keen on speaking on it. “I’ll try to be as gentle as I can, but it’s going to be a lot of poking and prodding.”

He lets out another grunt that could have possibly been an Mhm… but you aren’t sure. You hold the tweezers between your fingers and begin to pluck them out, placing them on the metal pan on your cart. Clink, clink, clink. They fall from the tweezers with tiny noises.

To your surprise, he doesn’t writhe or make much noise, only occasional grunts and sighs and Shit’s under his breath when you pull at particularly deep thorns lodged in his arm. 

Even for an agent, his arms are an impressive size, which means a lot more surface area to extract from. Not that you really mind, as you would have helped him either way, but surely you would feel differently if you were in his shoes.

However, the silence is… awkward; sitting there with your face inches from his huge arms—he could definitely feel your breath fan across the surface with how his skin dances with warmth and goosebumps and you do not want the attractive agent to focus on that. So, you break it with a question.

“You weren’t wearing a jacket?” A valid query, all things considered.

He blinks at you like it was obvious. “It came off.”

“Oh,” is all you say until you extract the last thorn from his arm and begin to slide the leather shoulder holster off of him. “I just need to take this off.”

He frowns slightly, and you realize his brows had been furrowed this whole time because that was all his face seemed to know how to do. When his expression changes, you stop.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Taking it off so I can look under your sleeve.”

“Why?”

“You could’ve pulled something and I need to bandage you,” you pause. “Is that okay?”

Maybe you wrongly assumed that he had done this a million times. Don’t get you wrong, you know how resilient agents had to be and how good they were at their jobs, so it isn’t like you thought he got hurt often… But with a short glance into his eyes, you could tell he’s a hardened delegate with years of experience under his belt. Wasn’t he bound to need help occasionally?

The man gives you a slight nod and shrugs off the holster; it falls to the bed with a soft thud from the weight of the knife tucked into the leather. 

His muscles tense under your fingers when you roll the black sleeve over his shoulder. The feathered, pale edge of a bullet scar peeks out from beneath the dark clothing and it makes you wonder how he managed to get it. A mission? Probably. It looks old. You’ve seen scars of all kinds at that point, and each of them held a story that ended in pierced flesh. 

They remind you that they will never not be where they came from—your own scars will never not be where they came from. You shake the thought out like a stubborn rock in your shoe.

“Lucky you, it doesn’t look like you pulled anything in your shoulder,” you comment under your breath.

“If this is luck, I’d like to see what happens when I get unlucky.” For the first time, there’s humor in his tone—so faint you nearly miss it, but it makes you chuckle. When he isn’t huffing out responses, his voice almost sounds kind.

You rotate his shoulder slowly and inspect the length of his side, finding fewer thorns than the amount anchored in his arm. Still, your lips press into a line, pitying the fact that his bare skin will be exposed to the frigid, below-freezing air so you could remove them.

“Well, you should’ve knocked on wood,” you reply, “I’ll need you to take your shirt off so I can get the rest of the thorns out and check your ribs.”

Silently, the man hikes his shirt up and over his ribs for you, snaking his arm out of his sleeve and then laying on his side. 

As he comes down, stretching, he groans. You see his muscles tense under his skin when he inhales, the dips and divots of his torso flex involuntarily when the squall of air nips at his newly exposed skin. The surface holds blossoms of red and deep purple that litter themselves across his ribs like splotches of messy watercolor dripped onto paper. Scarlet scratches bleed pebbles that drip onto the fabric of the cot. 

You suck in through your teeth as you inspect the area. Even without the damage from the thorns, it doesn’t look good.

“Not good?” the agent questions as if he could read your mind. From over his shoulder, he turna his head to look at you.

“Not good. You bruised your ribs, I’d be surprised if one of them wasn’t broken.”

“I didn’t hear a crack.”

“It should be monitored for a day or two, at the very least.”

“I have to get back to work.”

“Look, I understand—“

“I’ll be fine.”

You sigh softly and remove one of your gloves to rub your face in exasperation. Unfortunately, this wasn’t your first rodeo with stubborn patients, so you slide on another glove and begin to pluck at the thorns in his torso. “You won’t be doing much work if you permanently damage them.”

He twists his head away from you again and grunts softly, muttering a short, “Okay.”

How articulate. You guess he doesn’t get paid to talk to people.

“Okay? As in…?”

“As in, fine,” he replies, then pauses for a moment as if to prove a point. “But I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You laugh at this, then stifle it into your elbow so he didn’t think you were laughing at him. He still rolls over a little to look at you, confusion laces his eyes that dart around as they go from your face to the rows of empty cots behind you. Busy? You begin to laugh again.

He can’t be serious, you think as you fan your face. You let your laughter dissipate like it was being dissolved into water. “Sorry… no, you’re right,” you snort, “I was drowning in work before you arrived, agent.”

“I’m sure,” he chirps back, the ghost of a smile haunts his lips.

“I think I can squeeze you in, though. Might have to clear some of my schedule, but… I’ll make it work.”

The pleased look that graces your face is involuntary. You find it endearing how worried he is about becoming too much extra work for you and the other nurses, despite the fact that there isn’t any reason to gather that he would and—believe it or not—it’s your job. 

The agent lets out an amused breath through his nose. “Should I be flattered?”

“Oh, of course.”

You place the last of the thorns onto the metal pan and tend to his wounds with gauze and bandages and nimble fingers that have done this hundreds of times before. Sometime along the way his body relaxed—just a little—and you think he fell asleep until he sits up like a puppet that had his strings yanked and puts his shirt on properly.

The sudden movement makes you blink, and he stares at you for a long pause filled with dead air and an expectant look in his eyes. That damn rip in the tent whistles. 

Finally, his eyes flicker down to your badge, then back to your face. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I started here not too long ago,” you inform him honestly, a little embarrassed to admit your newbie title to a seasoned employee of the organization.

He doesn’t say anything else, so you take the reins.

“Well, I think we’re set,” you say, rolling the latex gloves off of your hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Agent…”

You never asked him his name?

“Leon Kennedy,” the agent, now with the name Leon Kennedy pinned to his face, finishes for you. 

His name twirls around your head and makes you dizzy to think about. I should have known, you think to yourself once he bids you farewell to report to his superiors. 

From what little time you spent at the base prior to meeting Leon, you had heard whispers during dinner drift from mouth to ear of the elusive agent. That he was a man of few words (immense understatement, you consider it more socially awkward, but true); that he had half of the base swooning every time he walked by (you don’t want to comment on this); and that he was immensely attractive (that is also true). You have to admit… you see why he had such an air of intrigue around him. To be so quiet after such successes he’s accomplished—people were on the edge of their seats trying to figure him out.

You also had to admit that you weren’t immune to it either. 

During your meals and breaks you found yourself playing Where’s Waldo? with Leon, attempting to catch glimpses of him in his natural state to confirm or deny these claims. Which was impressively difficult for absolutely no reason other than that he did it for his own benefit… the motive for this was lost, and still is, on you.

The few times you did spot him, he had the same clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows. He never stayed in the same place for very long and frequently you only spotted him—or rather, his broad shoulders and white-knuckled fists as they turned corners and disappeared to do whatever he did all day. Important agent things.

Regarding your coworkers… it hadn’t improved much, either. The head nurse, who you later learned was named Winona, loosened up on you a bit—which was practically nothing when both she and the other nurse had been so cold to begin with. However, your determination to help those around you seemed to impress her… most days.

(Peeks of Leon’s ashy blonde hair stolen from cracks in the tent. His fur-lined coat hangs off of his sizable frame, enveloping his arms in the thick fabric—it makes them look even bigger. Not that you care, per say, but—

“You aren’t getting paid to stalk agents,” Winona jeers, jolting you back to Earth from your subject of stolen attention. You swear she smiles at you wryly. “Should’ve tried for one of their jobs if you wanted to do that.”

She turns on her heel and goes over to a trio of injured civilians with her cart, the knot of hair tied taut at the base of her neck stares you in the face. You’re left hot faced and embarrassed for the entirety of the next check-up with your patient.)

The endless night shifts never seem to cease rolling in and you’re afraid it’s begun to catch up on you. By the end of breakfast, when you could finally drag your corpse-like body to your quarters and into your bed, your head drooped comically into your bowl of oatmeal and some of the newer agents had a blast laughing at you. Whatever, assholes.

(You were deeply embarrassed.)

So, you opted for allowing a short nap in here and there during your shift—ten minutes at most—whenever your eyelids began to feel itchy and weighted and you couldn’t help but close them. You really couldn’t. Being sat by the fire with a hot drink made you so warm and the sounds of blowing wind lulled you to sleep in the darkness under the moon.

Truly, a terrible work performance from you, but no one was around to see and surely you’d be awoken by even a hint of an emergency. 

Tonight, you count sheep with your wool blanket tucked up to your chin and your head lolls against your shoulder like it’s about to fall off its hinges. One, two, three. They mock you as they hop into their pasture and curl up into white, fluffy spheres, falling asleep within the warmth of their home. 

From a distance, your ears almost register the sound of footsteps that approach the tent, crushing the crunchy top layer of snow under their feet as they stop in the entrance. It isn’t enough to completely wake you until they clear their throat and say, “Hello?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head so fast you think it might go flying across the room. Really smooth of you, considering Leon is the one to get your attention. By the smug look on his face and slight chuckle that wracks his frame, you know he isn’t fooled with your act awake performance.

He stands there, towering and rigid, unlike the night you first met him, with his palm outstretched flat like he’s trying to show the world something. 

“Oh, hey, what do you need?” you reply quickly, standing from your chair as you let your blanket fall off of you.

Leon glances at his hand and then at you. “I, uh, got a papercut.”

“A paper cut,” you repeat, just to make sure you heard him right.

“Yeah.”

You stare at him for a moment, mouth agape as his words register as something he was actually saying to you.

“Well, get comfortable, then. I’ll patch you up.”

In reality, you’re terribly confused about a special forces agent needing first aid for a paper cut, but how could you complain? He needs help and you’re there to offer it. 

The blonde sits on a cot near the fire—not before picking up your blanket from the ground and placing it back on the chair, though—and you situate yourself on a stool facing him. 

You take Leon’s hand in yours gently and inspect the wound. It’s fairly shallow, but placed in the center of the webbed skin between his index finger and thumb. Tough spot. When your digits graze his rough knuckles he inhales sharply and you glance at him due to the sudden motion.

He doesn’t expect a reaction from you because he pauses for a second then asks, “You think I’ll live?”

“I dunno,” you answer, sucking your teeth. “Could be a close call.”

“Yeesh.”

“I know. My condolences.”

“For myself?”

“Uh-huh.” You turn his hand over so his palm faced the sky. “This’ll sting.”

When you disinfect the injury, Leon’s face twitches into itself but he keeps quiet, opting to focus his gaze on your face while you patch him up. You try not to shift under the intensity.

“What made you want to do this?” he queries, his voice cuts through the silence and startles you a bit. Leon looks pleased with himself and you roll your eyes.

“You’ll laugh.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s corny.”

Admittedly, it was—the original story as to why you wanted to be a nurse. You’ve had people laugh at it before and you mostly don’t want to repeat history with someone you find rather charming, but something in Leon’s face softens and he shakes his head briefly. 

“Try me,” he challenges.

“Oh, fine.” Like there was a fight put up when you relent, smoothing a bandaid over his cut. “You know those things you’d fill out as a kid? Where it’s like, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Leon nods.

“Every single time, I would write superhero,” you laugh sourly because you got used to other people laughing when you said this, but he listens as if you’re the only sound he’s ever heard. “I’d draw myself with a little cape and all that. Then at a certain age the teachers start telling you, pick a real job, pick something that exists. And, I dunno, I thought: there are real superheroes. They save people every day because they want to.”

“I mean, I always knew I didn’t have all the right assets to be the one rescuing people from burning buildings and punching the bad guys. I wanted to help people when they couldn’t help themselves, you know? I can't carry the weight of the situation—it’s just not in my nature—but I can carry them. That’s why I started doing this, I guess.”

The look he gives you when you finish speaking is indescribable. He gazes deeply into your face like he’s trying to find a new feature he missed the first time. Something akin to pulling apart your mind with his eyes as if it’s clay made for the shaping and a load of a melancholy that’s too heavy for him; like he’s asking you, how do I carry it? Tell me how to carry something like that. 

Your hand still lingers in his, over the bandaid you placed on him; you slide yours so the curves of your thumbs interlock and you grip the hilt of his palm. A hidden embrace.

Leon’s eyes dart toward your hands and he makes no effort to remove you from his grasp, his fingers relax against your wrist. He feels your heartbeat. You feel his. When he looks up again, all he sees are your eyes. 

You don’t know why you went on that anecdote in the first place, not really. Only that you were finished patching him up and wanted—needed—him to linger for a bit longer.

“What about you?” you ask, voice hushed close to nothing.

“I wanted to help people, too.” He sounds uncharacteristic—sheepish? “That’s it… I can’t follow up with something as articulate as you.”

“It matters just as much even if you can’t express it,” you assure him, your head tilts. 

Leon clears his throat and nods, slipping his hand from yours and looking anywhere that isn’t you. You created a shadow in front of his face, back facing the fire, but you can see the subtle dark tinge of his cheeks when he avoids your eyes. He chooses to look at his feet. There he goes, being endearing again, you think.

The harsh edges of his face are lit up with an orange glow, darkness shoots somewhere in between in a soft gradient, and he looks positively ethereal. If you reached out and cupped his face, you know it would be warm to the touch like laundry right out of the dryer. It makes him look all the more delicate and this feels more natural than the pointed looks and pinched expressions he usually wears.

You look back down at his hands. You’re trying to memorize the way they felt against yours (coarse and hot to the touch) and you get the picture of how hopeless you are—even an idiot could see you have a crush on him. 

That doesn’t stop you from protecting your pride and you keep it to yourself. You stand up to put the disinfectant supplies and box of bandaids away without a word. 

Leon stares at his hand like it’s missing a piece.

You have your head buried too deep into the cabinet to think much about that. Screaming at yourself was an understatement for what you’re doing in your head… a better description would be begging the floor to swallow you entirely with one gulp.

Surely, Leon has someone at home. He’s an attractive, intelligent man with an arguably stable job that pays him oodles more than he would ever need; not to mention how well-built he is, but again, for what seems like the millionth time you push this thought to the back of your mind. You could not focus on that.

“Are you okay?” his voice carries from the cot.

You take a moment’s breather and shut the cabinet door. “I’m good. How are your ribs?”

“They’re good.” Leon pauses, then adds. “Thanks.”

The shake of your head comes faster than your words; muscle memory. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“You do a good job.”

“I’m just a medic.”

“A good one.”

As you utter your gratitude for his comment, you hope he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your face from so far away. You weren’t one to get shy from such simple words, but you find your eyes glued to your boots because of his gentle bonniness. Damn you, you curse at him in your head—it held no weight.

The blonde stands from the cot and walks over to you. He bends slightly to catch your eyes in his. “I have to go now, but... yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course, Agent Kennedy.”

“Don’t start using formalities now,” he half-laughs, half-breathes. His face contorts when he stretches back, and his hand came up to massage his right shoulder—you even go to comment on this movement, being a medic and all, but he beats you to it with a smirk. “Stick with Leon.”

And then, in a few strides, he’s gone as fast as he came. 

Your entire body deflates when you let out a guttural sigh. How come every time you watched his back, you were left reeling?

Unfortunately for you, that blasted man had ingrained himself into your head, sitting pretty in your thoughts as snug as a bug in a rug while you tried to do your job, or attempted to focus on anything other than your feelings for him. On the contrary, he returned to clearing out Umbrella facilities for the time being, which meant he was out of the base for days, or even weeks, considering he was one of, if not, the best agent they had. This saved you from the embarrassment of being caught trying to catch glances of him from inside the tent or during meals. 

This, however, did not stop you from daydreaming when work got slow. 

You wondered how someone like Leon behaved domestically, if he was completely different outside of the AUPIT, or if he was still just the sweet, reserved man who needed your aid often. Did he have any pets? What music did he listen to? You guess you’d have to ask him later, but you imagined that the pieces would fall into place and suit him. They’d be so perfectly Leon that when he told you, you would think to yourself, huh, why didn’t I think of that?

The amount of daydreaming you did was not lost on Winona, and occasionally she snapped her fingers in front of your face and grumbled under her breath, “I’ll kill that boy.” With no real threat to her tone. 

Please, you can’t help it. He has arms with the muscle definition of a god and he told you-you were a good medic; you were a goner before you even realized it.

On the other hand, your family never let up with their pleas for you to return home, despite the fact that it simply wasn’t possible unless you had a very good reason for it. Which you didn’t, and you didn’t want to—people just didn’t get it through their heads that, yes, your job was difficult, and yes, patients got on your nerves sometimes, but no, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. This meant more to you than anything else you could fathom. You knew the fear these people felt first-hand, and you knew they needed a saving grace; just like you had.

(“Just come home,” your mother coos into the phone, her voice static-y and chopped from the poor signal. You could imagine her face right now, all worried and exhausted like you’re a child balancing on a wet playground. “There’s a hospital not too far from here… I’m sure they’d take you.

You promptly spend the next hour explaining to her that it isn’t that simple, even if you wanted to, and you remind her every few minutes that you aren’t going to leave, either. You’re happy, all things considered; which is why you make the executive decision to leave out all of the bad parts of your work so far.)

As for the efforts against Umbrella, you hear whispers of successes during dinners and fewer agents appeared at the medical tent’s door in need of assistance than when you arrived. So, you think things are going rather well for your organization. Less tired eyes and solemn faces; the fight wasn’t over, but everyone could rest a little easier with every night that passed. 

And yet, those damned night shifts. You swear Winona and that other medic were scheming against you for no reason other than pure spite, on the basis of simply because they didn’t feel like doing it. It has to be funny to them by now, seeing you half-asleep at breakfast and looking all mussed at dinner because you woke up ten minutes prior. You let them laugh all they wanted because frankly, you began to enjoy the night shifts. The world went to sleep, and you enjoyed some peace and quiet.

You kick your feet up onto a stool and drape a blanket over your legs, book in hand. The soft sounds of Icelandic pop music crackles out of the radio and floats throughout the tent. You mouth the noises of the songs, unsure of the lyrics, but you’ve heard it so often by now, you could recognize the tune from the first few beats. You scat a few of the instruments, tapping your foot along. You don't notice the figure that stopped in the doorframe. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Leon. You shut your book and turn to look at him, embarrassed. “I always feel like I’m coming at a bad time.”

“Never,” you reply with a haste that humbles you further. Worried about his sudden appearance in the medical tent after being gone on agent duties for nearly two weeks, you ask, “Are you okay?”

The corners of his mouth upturn and you barely see a flash of uneven teeth between the slit it creates, cute. This distracts you from how smug his face is. “I think I have a fever.”

“A fever this time?”

“Yep.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Leon.” 

A paper cut, then a fever. You begin to think of his inability to soothe his minor maladies as an excuse to visit the tent. Your stomach flutters at the thought, but you have to make sure… just in case he’d fallen ill out there in the cold. 

You find the thermometer and placed it in his mouth gingerly. It hangs crooked from the corner and he watches you with a certain keenness that makes you smile. After a few minutes, you check his temperature: 98.7. An amused hum escapes your lips without meaning to.

“Dying?” 

“I don’t think you have a fever,” you answer, using the back of your hand to press against his forehead and cheeks. The first cheek is cold, then the left cheek warms under your skin—Leon’s expression falls bashful. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking for reasons to come see me.”

It’s his turn to hum in thought. “Maybe.”

“You could just come talk to me.”

“You’re on the clock,” the blonde reminds you, grunting. In a swift movement, his hand presses into the curve of his neck and he rotates his right shoulder, face straining.

You see an opening. “That I am. What was that?”

“What?”

“Your shoulder.”

“I was stretching.”

“Does it hurt?”

Leon grumbles a response under his breath, unimpressed that you might have found something you could actually treat him for. You raise your brows. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

“Agent Kennedy.”

He pretends not to hear you.

“Leon.”

“Fine,” he gripes like a child being forced to get a shot and maneuvers to lay his stomach flat on the cot, his back faces toward the ceiling. He takes off his brown, fur-lined jacket and discards it onto the next cot over. You get a whiff of musk and cinnamon from the breeze it makes.

The shirt that clings to him left nothing to the imagination—a tight, black compression shirt stretches snugly over his muscles. You spread your fingers like fans to warm them up, then begin to run them over his shoulder and along the meat of his back. 

You tsk, full of knots. This man needs a masseuse. You make a mental note to refer him to a good one you knew. 

With the issue at hand, though, you find an impressive knot in his shoulder, which is likely the cause of his discomfort. 

You huff, your work cut out for you. “There’s a big knot in your shoulder, Leon. How are you living like this?”

“I wake up and roll out of bed.”

“I need to get this out.”

Leon turns his head, his cheek presses to the cot. He gives you a look that says nothing short of, are you serious?  You smile as sweetly as you can at him, an attempt to coax him. To your surprise, he averts his gaze fast and relents. The blonde agent sits up and shrugs his shirt off. It’s tossed next to his jacket.

Under the fire light and the dim glow of lanterns that hang in a line down the center of the tent, strings attached to the ceiling, you see the way chills prickle over the surface of his skin. Goosebumps, like rolled carpets being kicked open, unfurl down his arms rapidly and he lays down on his stomach once again. 

Your face burns in the dark—you’d be surprised if you aren’t glowing like one of those lanterns from the amount of heat it exudes.

You use a dollop of skin cream to keep the area relaxed and pliable as you work out the knot with your fingers. You push it in the right direction until you got it in a better spot, then you knead it firmly. It crackles within his body.

“Fuck…” he groans in relief, nestling his head into the fabric of the cot as he sighs. “They teach you massages in nursing school?”

“That might be just a learned from life thing,” you state in total honesty. You wipe the excess lotion from your hands on a rag. 

Curiously, he peers at you from the corner of his eye. “You have someone back home you do that to?”

A laugh falls from your lips, though your face feels even hotter than before (if that is even possible). “No—not at all.”

Leon lets out a pleasant hum and sit up from the cot. Good, he says without saying it. 

He snatches his shirt and tugs it over his head; you pretend to make yourself busy so you have somewhere other to look than at him. You hear him sigh with great reprieve as he rolls his shoulder back and forth, it must’ve felt like a freshly oiled hinge.

He comes up behind you, his shoulder skims the back of your neck when he peers down at what you were doing on the counter. Which is a whole lot of nothing; moving cotton swabs from one container to the other, counting how many rolls of gauze you had left for the hundredth time. Mindless hand ministrations to distract you from the heart that pounds in your chest.

“Is this what you do all night?” he questions, mildly amused.

“Sometimes.”

“Must be glad I showed up.”

“Something like that,” you tease, glancing up at him with a coy smile.

You watch his withstraint break a little inside of him. He inhales sharply, losing the words you said somewhere between your eyes and your lips—he couldn’t focus with your faces so close to each other and neither could you. Leon reaches for the hand that rested on the other side of you and drags you in between him and the counter, twirling you to face him. Then he pauses and appears lost, like he doesn’t know which way is left and right.

Maybe he doesn’t know what to do, you think. You don’t really know either, so you go on about what you do know.

“You should probably use kinesiology tape on your shoulder,” you comment, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of all of your limbs. His eyes don’t leave your lips. You’d be a liar if you say yours left his.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

The man’s body heat radiates off of him and it’s magnetic, pulling you closer, away from the bitter cold. Your breath hitches. His hand hovers over the curve of your neck, then it decides to rest on the side of your jaw, thumb pressed against your flushed cheek. You remember the texture of his warm palm, coarse and calloused from years of wear.

You try to memorize every fine line and crease that scuffs your face as he beckons you to close the gap with the slight tilt of his head. I’d make a terrible agent, my resilience is slim to none, you theorize when your body moves before your mind does. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath traces your cupid’s bow. You close the distance enough that your lips graze each other until someone clears their throat from a few feet away.

Winona stands like a judgmental statue, thin brows raise expectantly. You, and Leon, jump away from each other. It rocks the counter with a loud clatter that echoes. 

“Agent Kennedy,” she acknowledges him first as a sign of respect. He nods back awkwardly. “You two look like you’re  enjoying yourselves.”

Neither of you talk for a moment and you find  yourself desperate to create any word that could explain what that was. Leon’s eyes dart around the room.

Finally, something solid comes to your tongue. “I’m sorry.”

And then she laughs in both of your faces. Her hand waves like it’s fanning your words away from getting inhaled. You and Leon glance at each other, brows knit in honest confusion.

“Kids,” she exhales. “Stop distracting my medic, Kennedy.”

Then he speaks, but it sounds more like a nervous cough. “Yes, ma’am.”

Winona shoos him with a gesture of her wrinkled hand and he musters a sheepish, apologetic smile for you as he hurries away from the tent. You don’t make much of an effort to move as you prepare your ego for the chew out it’s about to receive.

“And you. Try to keep the fraternization out of the tent.” With that, she continues past you to search through some files, snickering to herself and shaking her head.

You aren’t about to push your luck. You get to keep your job and ego intact, and that’s enough for you. So, you whisper a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.” And go on with your day.

The encounter with Leon left you feverish and all tingly in every limb whenever it crossed your mind over the following days. You saw him out and about around the base, and during meals he offered you frail waves that faded in a breath. 

Truth was, you’re too afraid of rejection to ask him about that night—go figure. Maybe you’re a cliche. Maybe you’re both cliches. Who cares? Well, you do, and you thought the ruffled, pink-tinted expressions on Leon’s face whenever you crossed paths meant that he did, too, but neither of you made a move to approach the other. You questioned if you would rather be told that his only plans for you was a short work fling with no strings attached, or if he felt the connection that you did. A terrible predicament, really, and soon your desire for a straight answer outweighed the fear of hearing something you didn’t like. 

When you went to find him in the meal tent, sitting alone in one of the back corners, he wasn’t there. Okay. You waited, then decided to check the nooks and crannies of the base where you knew he hung around, and nothing. Leon vanished into thin air the moment you gathered enough courage to speak to him. Somehow you thought he read your mind and planned for this to happen, just to be able to tease you without being present. But that was simply ridiculous. He had to go to work, just like you had to do yours.

A week went by, then two; no sign of Leon’s reappearance cropped up and you began to worry you wouldn’t get the chance to speak to him at all. The only reminder that soothed you was the fact that you knew the organization was on the home stretch for completely wiping Umbrella’s power in Iceland. This reassured you for many reasons. Mainly, that you’d be able to sleep in your bed again at a proper time that didn’t leave you exhausted; but you also found comfort in the idea of finally getting a word with the blonde agent that clung to your brain like a disease once everything was over. 

Of course, you had fleeting thoughts that he died and you’d forever be left wondering about what could have been. But, that was just ridiculous—he’s Leon Kennedy, the agent that saved the president’s daughter from certain death. So, you chalked it up to your anxiety being built up as doubt about the succession of the mission began to be put to an end. That yes, you would all return home soon, and no nothing terrible and tragic would happen just as you were about to win.

Eventually, you all received the verdict of the mission. Success. The sun shone through the clouds brighter that day, in ribbons of gold that elevated all of your senses to something dreamlike. Another catastrophe prevented. More people saved—clockwork. To say you were pleased with the conclusion of your first ever out of country operation would be an understatement; you were ecstatic. 

Still, you find yourself fretting over that thing with Leon as you help pack up the equipment in the medical tent.

Winona, who has grown increasingly engrossed in your love life, gives you a knowing look when your lips tug downward and you send a pointed glance toward the entrance of the tent for the tenth time in the last hour. She tsks and shakes her head. It gains your attention. 

“Just talk to him,” she insists, shoving a couple boxes of bandaids into the case. She’s unimpressed with your antics and just wants you to get a move on. 

You sigh and preen your hair like he’ll walk in at any moment. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Hopeless,” she grumbles in response. “Hopeless. If you won’t do something about it, stop looking at the door like a kicked dog and help me.” Winona retreats further into the tent and you succumb enough to follow her.

You must glower the whole time because she won’t stop sending you dirty looks while she tapes the cardboard boxes with a tape gun. Her movements are threatening. You try to fix your expression when the line of spokes reflects off of the bright horizon outside the tent as it slices the tape.

After the innards of the tent are packed into a dozen or so boxes, you’re the person left to pick them up one by one and drop them off with the rest of the cargo that needs to be shipped. Your back is sore from the sorry excuses of beds you have and your arms ache from hours of cramming things. Kicking snow with each shuffled step, you heave out a lengthy sigh and pause to breathe. There’s a reason I’m not an agent.

“Need a hand?” Leon asks from behind you. You’re wondering how he’s always sneaking up on you.

Still, you nod and can’t help but be relieved. “Please.”

Like it’s filled with air, he takes the box from your hands and cocks a barely-there grin at your awed expression. Smug and content, he marches ahead with you in tow. You don’t really know what to say to him, if anything at all. 

You walk alongside him for the first time in the daylight, and you take in his features now that they aren’t muddled in the darkened firelight or blurred by distance. He’s chiseled, sunken cheeks and high cheekbones with that intense look on in his eyes—but there’s something else—boyish, is what you think. Soft jaw. Moles and freckles litter themselves across his face. 

Leon is beautiful and you would like to kiss him right now.

He stops at the drop off point, places the box next to the others and turns to you. Suddenly, he looks nervous and you feel some resolve escape your mind. He’s about to ask you something. He opens his mouth, rosy lips parting and you break—you pull him behind a tall stack of boxes and kiss him.

The collar of his jacket is clutched between your fingers in a moment and your lips are on his; the fur tickles your skin. His lips are chapped and cold but you create warmth within him, you could be a summer’s day in this frigid air. His hands come to your waist, then your hips and his fingertips make indents when he holds you tight like this was always supposed to happen. When you part, you’re both breathless.

He searches for his words again, the question he was going to ask. “Would you—dinner? On me.”

You hum in faux thought and peck him on the lips again, then again, and a third time for good measure. He smiles into the last one.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t start that by saying you stubbed your toe and needed my help.”

Leon chuckles. “I thought about it.”

He pulls you in again, tongue grazing your bottom lip. You lean in further, desperate for connection until you both go slipping like baby deer. The thin layer of snow on the ground left everything icy. He tumbles into some supplies and you land on top of him. You’re both laughing into each other’s mouths. You’re both happy.

You chime together, like clockwork.

[pelova4president]

My muses

Laura Freigang x Sydney Lohmann x Reader

summary~ In which you fall for two German girls that are in a relationship with eachother. They’ve had their eye on you for a little while now and decide to make a move now you’re working with their national team.

Syd and Laura are bestfriends, everyone knew that. They roomed, sat and did basically everything together. They played for different clubs but that didn’t matter, they got to see eachother more than enough.

What most people didn’t know is that they are a little more than friends, girlfriends to be exact. They didn’t really try to keep it private but everyone just thought that they were good friends since they had always been like this.

When you moved from the Netherlands to Germany it felt like a big change, you were only twenty and, ofcourse you knew a few words and sentences but that was it. German sounds a bit like Dutch but it was still hard to understand all of the difficult business words, especially when they were talking so fast.

You’ve been a sports photographer for about three years now. It began with your love for women’s football. Watching your childhood club Ajax play week in week out, you wanted to capture it. After you realised your phone camera wouldn’t do the job anymore you bought a real professional camera, it had cost you a fortune and you had to work extra hours at the cafe you served at. But honestly, it was the best decision you’ve ever made. You tried to capture moments from your seat in the stands but that was hard when the bald men in the seats in front of you stood up at every exciting pass.

Eventually, you mustered up enough courage and mailed Ajax, asking them to get access to the field to photograph the players in action. A few days later you got a response back saying that they’d like that.

After capturing many more games you signed a contract with the club, not as a player but that didn’t matter.

That’s how you got here, signing a contract with the German women’s football team as media manager and photographer. You’ve photographed some of the players because some of the girls had played against Ajax. But this was all still very new to you, working in Germany and also managing the socials.

They also didn’t really bother to introduce you to the girls, you just had to start. Or well, that’s what you understood anyway.

The start of your new era began rather hectic. The German girls were going to Italy and Portugal for some friendlies. They would play against Iceland and England to prepare for the World Cup.

You were staying in the same hotel as the team and at dinner time you eventually met some of them. Sitting alone, Laura approached you.

“Hey, ich bin Laura, ich glaube, ich habe dich schon einmal gesehen.” (Hey, i’m Laura, i think i’ve seen you before.) she introduces herself. “Ich bin y/n, but uhh i don’t speak that much German. I’m the new media manager.” you say awkwardly. Why are you like this all of a sudden. “Oh sorry, i didn’t know but you’ve got an accent. Where are you from?” Laura asks you.

You tell her about your little journey, working for Ajax and photographing. Laura sits down at your empty table and you fall into a nice conversation. She apparently remembered you from a game she played against Ajax a few months ago.

Laura was telling you about her love for photography when a certain midfielder came crashing the conversation. “Laura, warum hast du mir diese Schönheit nicht vorgestellt?” (Laura why didn’t you introduce me to this beauty?) the girl said. Laura rolled her eyes at her, “Syd this is y/n, our new media manager and sports photographer, y/n this is Sydney my idiot girlfriend.” Laura explained.

You didn’t even know the girl but to say you were disappointed that she was taken was an understatement. You really clicked and thought that she was even flirting a little bit with you but you were just imagining things apparently.

Syd sat down on the chair on the other side of you and began to ask you things too. But she had other questions in mind. “So, do you have a girlfriend.. or boyfriend?” the midfielder asked you shamelessly. “Uh no, i don’t have a girlfriend at the moment.” you said with a red face trying to look anywhere but at the couple. The two German girls smirked to eachother and continued to pester you with questions.

The next day Laura and Sydney wanted to take you out for the day since they had the afternoon and evening off. Laura had promised you some beautiful views and good food so you couldn’t resist a night out with the two girls.

You dressed up and had done your makeup and hair. The two girls knocked on your door and when you opened it you saw both of the girls looking you up and down. Sydney licked her lips and greeted you, “Du siehst echt gut aus” (You look really good) and Laura did the same, “Du siehst so schön aus.” (You look very pretty).

They walked you to the black BMW they had rented and Sydney opened the car door for you. Laura sat in the drivers seat and Sydney in the passenger’s. Sydney connected her phone and r&b played on the background of your lighthearted conversation. At some point in the conversation they stopped talking English and switched to German.

“Sie sieht gut aus.” (She looks good) Laura said looking in her little mirror. Syd hummed, “Sie ist sehr schön. Glaubst du, sie mag uns?” (She’s very pretty. Do you think she likes us?). You were looking out of the window, listening to Frank Ocean when you heard Laura speak English again. “I think so, i guess we’ll have to find out.” and with that she parked the car and opened your door.

They took you to a very nice restaurant, the vibe was good and the food and company was even better. They kept flirting with you and now it wasn’t just Laura when she was alone with you, they both were and they both seemed to be okay with it too.

“What got you into sports photography?” Sydney asked you. “Well, i wanted to capture the moments and you know, the women.” you laughed, your face heating up. The couple laughed at your answer and Laura spoke again, “I get it, i’m surprised none of my teammates made a move on you yet, you’re a pretty girl.”. You were surprised but flattered by her words. “Oh thank you, the both of you look really good too.” you complimented them.

“Sie ist niedlich.” (She’s cute) Laura said to her girlfriend. The brunette gave her teammate a smile and looked at you again. “Yeah, you think so, liebling?” Sydney asked you, trying to get more out of you. “Yeah- well i mean you know, you’re both really attractive and sweet and stuff.” you rambled and they let you. Both of the girls giggled at your rambling, finding it quite cute how you got flustered so easily.

The night ended after some more teasing and a nice dessert. They walked you to your door and told you that they enjoyed their evening with you and how they’d love to do something like this again sometime. Sydney kissed you goodnight on your forehead while Laura kissed you on the corner of your lips. You wondered of she did that on purpose or if she did it by mistake.

laurafreigang posted on their story

y/n_y/l/n

liked by victoriapelova and 78.628 others

portugal📍, italy you’re next.

comments

viviannemiedema 😍😍

stanwaygeorgia got that portugal glow

sydneylohmann looking good 👀

laurafreigang touring with a good view

l0hmannbayernn wait but syd and laura were at that same restaurant too

↳ germany_w0men they’re probably friends i think since y/n works for the national team

You traveled to Italy with the team and arrived in the evening. When you stepped out of the travel bus Sydney approached you. “We’re going to the beach with the team, do you want to join us?” she asked you calmly. You accepted her offer and walked to the beach together.

Syd told you about the time she went to Rome with Laura and how they got lost and nobody understood them because of their German accent. It was so funny that your stomach hurt from all the laughing. “Syd! Stop, my stomach!” you giggled. “Okay, okay i’ll stop.” Sydney hugged you from behind, her hands on your stomach. “Better now?” she asked you, you could feel her little smirk. “Yeah, all better.” you hummed leaning into her.

Sydney took your hand in hers and with your fingers intertwined you arrived at the beach. Apparently there were boats for rent and you couldn’t resist, floating on the water at sunset, that’s a dream. Laura saw the two of you get on the boat and joined, not wanting to miss out on more quality time.

The three of you sat at the front of the boat, looking at the sun disappearing into the sea. “I’ve had my eye on you for a little while now.” Laura suddenly says. You’re a bit shocked and your first reaction is to look in the direction of her girlfriend who laughs at your motion. “We’ve had our eye on you.” Syd corrects her girlfriend. Now you’re even more lost.

Not knowing where to look you look into the distance. “What do you mean?” you ask just above a whisper. “We both like you, romantically.” Laura says for the both of them. You look up and Laura is staring at you expecting some kind of reaction. You look at Syd and she nods assuringly.

Laura took your face into her hands and leaned in for a kiss. Your lips met hers. You’ve wanted this for longer than you’d like to admit. Your kiss with Laura was hungry but sweet. When you disconnected your lips Sydney saw that as her chance. The kiss with the midfielder was a little more rough and longer.

Laura saw the state of you and couldn’t help but smirk at your swollen lips and messy hair. “I’ll take that as a ‘i like you too’.” Sydney said giggling and pulling a strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks reddened and you nodded furiously. The girlfriends laughed at that and Laura kissed you on your red cheek.

laurafreigang posted on their story

The next few days you photographed the girls at training, made content, went on little outings with the team and you even got to steal a few kisses here and there. Sydney and Laura were absolutely wonderful and amazing models, both of them are pretty, beautiful, sexy, everything honestly. You liked taking pictures of them, especially when they weren’t looking or after a game they’d won. But all three of you knew that after this camp you’d probably see eachother again at the preparations for the World Cup and that was weeks away.

sydneylohmann

liked by lynnwilms_ and 103.728 others

got the best photographers out there 🎞️

comments

y/n_y/l/n i got the best models out there

stanwaygeorgia tatted girl 👀

laurafreigang du bist sehr cool lohmann✌️✌️

jule_brand 😍😍

wos011 why did y/n comment??

↳ arsenalw21p they’re sooo dating

laurafreigang

liked by jule_brand and 118.620 others

best days away

comments

lena_oberdorf looking good

y/n_y/l/n mooi meisje 😍

sydneylohmann got the coolest gf

↳ gerwntfann wait they’re dating???

sophie.kleinherne 😍😍

giuliagwinn laura freigang things

chels3akerrr why did y/n comment?

You were going from club to club in the break since you still needed to get some work done. Syd and Laura texted and called you a few times and they had a few dates planned between the camps. It was nice, they were absolutely perfect. You loved them.

The time flew by and the team had to get ready for the World Cup. You knew how much this meant to all of the girls. For some it was their first and for others just another. There was so much pressure on them, their nation was a winning one and everyone knew it, you could feel it. Germany was in it to win.

The team ended on top of their group and won all the other games in the knockouts. Fighting for every goal they got into the final. The final against England, the nation they lost the Euros title to. They wanted payback.

When you arrived at the stadium it felt like a dream. The atmosphere in the stadium was magic, nothing like you’ve ever seen before. Fans from all over the world eager to watch the rematch of the Euros final. As the match continued, it became clear that it would be a battle till the very end.

With the score tied at 1-1, it got hard to watch the game. The seconds were flying by, and both teams were pushing themselves to their absolute limit. Lohmann, your midfield maestro, got past Keira Walsh and Georgia Stanway. Spotting an opening, she passed a perfectly calculated ball to Freigang, your quick forward.

Laura, known for her fast pace and clinical finishing, sprinted towards the goal. Millie Bright tried to tackle Freigang but just couldn’t get to her. With adrenaline running through her, she released her shot in the top bins. The stadium erupted as Germany took the lead in the dying minutes of the game.

Sydney flew into Laura’s arms, but Laura was searching for you. She knew you were there, capturing every moment through your lens. With one of her cocky smirks, she made her way towards you, with the high of scoring such and important goal she leaned in, planting a kiss on the camera lens. Her eyes meeting yours as she playfully winks at the camera.

The game didn’t last much longer. The extra time was over and the German girls ran towards eachother while the English girls sunk to the ground.

Your two footballers hugged eachother and you captured the moment. Nothing could top this moment you thought, atleast not for now.

The girls came running towards you and included you in their hug. “Saw what i did there?” Laura whispered in your ear. You laughed, “Yeah, couldn’t really miss it eh?”. The goalscorer poked you in your side and Sydney laughed at the two of you.

Things went really fast from that moment on, Syd and Laura asked you to be their girlfriend and you said yes ofcourse. You signed a contract with Bayern for when you weren’t working for the National team. That made it possible for you to see Syd almost everyday. As promised you had a date night atleast once a week with your girlfriends and Laura announced her signing. Both of your girlfriends were playing for Bayern and you couldn’t be happier.

It had all gone fast. You fell fast, you got close fast and you started dating fast. But in your eyes it felt like you’ve always known. You loved them and wouldn’t trade this for the world.

y/n_y/l/n

liked by daniellevddonk and 103.613 others

meine schätze

comments

laurafreigang finally learned some german

↳ y/n_y/l/n just for the both of you

jillroord you’re supposed to root for us not Germany 🙄

sydneylohmann you’re our WAG 😍

↳ y/n_y/l/n honoured to be your WAG 😘

wosogirll HARDLAUNCHH

lovef00tball i knew it!!

sydneylohmann

liked by jillroord and 271.624 others

thank you Australia and New Zealand ❤️

comments

y/n_y/l/n mijn lieveheersbeestje 🐞❤️

↳ sydneylohmann you were scared of it so i don’t take it as a compliment

jillroord loohhmaaannn ❤️

sam_kerr_ winnerrrr 🥇

laurafreigang we’re so sexy

↳ y/n_y/l/n you are xx

↳ sydneylohmann thank you baby

laurafreigang

liked by alex.popp11 and 212.427 others

australia with my mäuschen

comments

sydneylohmann you’re a rat

↳ laurafreigang awww you’re so sweet 😍

y/n_y/l/n you’ve charmed your way into my life

↳ laurafreigang it was the photographer rizz i think

↳ sydneylohmann no definitely the football rizz

sam_kerr_ freigang touring the world with her sidekicks

↳ sydneylohmann i’m not a sidekick!!

A/N the ending is a bit abrupt so there’s a chance that i’ll make a second part?? Thanks to @totaly-obsessed i think i’ve done pretty well with the german nicknames and sentences.

[txttletale]

Do you have recs for combatless rpgs? sorry if someones asked this ! im getting into ttrpgs now and its just pretty hard to find anything non combat focused ?

i recommended wanderhome (melancholy animal roadtrip), dream askew (queer postapocalyptic survival), microscope (collaborative worldbuilding), and crescent moon (kids learning and growing in a fantasy land) in resposne to an ask earlier today. other great rpgs that aren't combat focused include:

chuubo's marvelous wish-granting engine: i'll level with you, if you're just getting into rpgs this one might be A Lot because it's quite mechanically complex. but it's a beautiful game about having ghibliesque coming-of-age adventures in a surreal dreamy world.

nobilis is by the same person (jenna moran, a genuine game design pioneer and genius) -- it's about being godlets, the living embodiments of concepts from the concrete to the abstract. you might find yourself fighting in this game, but it's unlikely to look anything like 'combat'.

brindlewood bay, which is about being elderly women investigating murders.

pasión de las pasiones, a pbta (powered by the apocalypse) game about doing ridiculous romance drama shit based on telenovelas

monsterhearts, about teenaged monsters having weird drama and exploring their sexuality. think buffy or twilight, but queerer

pigsmoke, about being professors at a college of magic and competing to see who can publish the best paper (yes, really)

the girlfriend of my girlfriend is my friend, about... i mean i think the title makes it pretty clear! being gay and poly and kinda broke

it's been a long, long, time, about two people who used to date, their relationship, their lives after it, and their reunion

sagas of the icelanders, about being viking settlers in iceland during the saga period and playing out quasimythical dramas

hieronymous, about being a bunch of sinners making your way across hieronymous bosch's garden of earthly delights

thousand year old vampire, a solo journalling game about being a vampire and living through long stretches of history

blow up hamlet, where your table performs hamlet while changing the plot and improvising new plot beats at semi-random

slugblaster, about being rowdy teens hoverboarding through interdimensional rifts in the spirit of 90s teen movies

woo! that's a fuckin' lot of ttrpgs, but i wanted to give a lot of suggestions because i think it's so important for people getting into the hobby to understand the breadth of games out there and how far from the popular image created by D&D they can go! there are two-player and GM-less and even one-player games on this list. you can do anything! the world of rpgs is so fucking wide and beautiful. good luck and i hope you find something that speaks to you!

(oh, also, my game, most trusted advisors -- about being the untrustworthy privy council to a dipshit king and falling over each other's nested dipshit schemes -- has no combat in it. just saying!)

[imnothulk]

The Odinson-Banner Ceremony.

(I wanted to begin by apologizing, I'm sorry it took me so long to write this. @thir-0dinson )

It was a beautiful day in Iceland, it wasn't too cold, thanks to the invisible dome Tony fabricated, The northern lights were bright and colourful. The gold decorations accentuated with purple flowers (thanks too Iyla) made it quite a sight to see.

Bruce was nervous, but excited. His best men, Pietro, Peter and of course Tony, stood behind him. Thor's best woman Valkyrie and groomspeople Fenrir and Darcy stood on the other side of the altar. Everyone was still waiting on (the other) groom to appear.

The crowd was big, they really went all out on the invitations. He could see his kids in the first few rows. He could see his friends and family, everyone gathered for the special occasion.

Suddenly the crowd quietened, the piano started playing the wonderful wedding melody. Bruce turned to see his beautiful fiance at the end of the isle, his sister Hela by his side and walking him down the isle as they approach him.

When Thor stood before him, Loki began to speak.

"We are gathered here today to witness the sacred union of Bruce and my brother Thor. We stand here to honor and celebrate the love shared between these two people, as they come together to start their new life with a solemn vow, surrounded by their closest family and friends."

Pietro stepped forward and handed each groom their respective ring.

"Now as we begin, please face each other and declare your vows, Brother you may go first"

Thor smiled and began to speak

"Bruce.

I am- very old, i have seen galaxies rise and fall and thousands of empires play their course. I have seen the most beautiful of collapsing stars and gods and temples and buildings that would blow a mortals mind. I have seen the beauty of the edges of space.

And yet, none of that compares to what i see when i look into your eyes. They are like a thousand stars, as large and comforting as my fathers castle and yet as small amd comfortable as being in your arms.

I thought the day you said yes to marrying me would be the happiest day of my life. I was wrong. It dosent even hold a candle to this day, this day that we will be joined together forever. I may outlive you, but i will ensure your memory outlives time. I will ensure i leave a monument to our love for future species to find and think "Oh. Those men were in love. Those men loved each other with a love that survived the ruins of galaxies.

I wish nothing more than for you to be my eternity."

Bruce was crying by the end of it, Loki wiped a tear from his cheek and cleared his throat "Wow okay, Bruce you may declare your vow"

He took a deep breath before speaking.

"Thor,

When I was young I always dreamed of one day finding someone and falling in love, it was one of my greatest dreams. Then the gamma thing happened, and I thought that dream was no more.

That was until you came into my life once more, not only as a friend and work collegue but as more.

You changed my life and showed me how to love again and for that I owe you everything, you make me happy like no one has before, I'm smitten for you.

I spend hours everyday researching and learning and studying different areas of science, lately it's mostly astrology. I've seen countless pictures of stars and suns and countless wonders, but none of it compares to the beauty I see when I gaze at you.

I am the luckiest man alive, and I will continue to be as long as I have you."

Thor smiled brightly and wiped the tears from his eyes. Loki gave the pair a second before continuing.

"Beautiful vows, wonderful. Now, Brother you shall take your ring and place it on his finger as you repeat after me, 'I Thor Odinson, take thee Bruce to be my husband' ".

Thor places the gold ring on Bruce's finger uttering the words "I Thor Odinson, take thee Bruce to be my husband".

"Now you Bruce, take your ring and place it in his finger and repeat the words "I Robert Bruce Banner, take thee Thor to be my husband".

Bruce holds Thor's hand and places the ring on his finger "I Robert Bruce Banner, take thee Thor to be my husband".

Loki smiles at both of them "Now by the powers vested in me by myself, I now declare you both husband and husband, you may kiss the groom"

Bruce moves forward, kissing Thor sweetly. The room erupts in cheers for the newly married couple.

It was truly a day to be remembered.

//Everyone @theironcan @official-pietro-maximoff @reallyreallyspiderman @iyla-difransisco @bisexualswordlady @fenrir-lokison @yeahimdarcy @agent-maria-hill @agent-maria-hill-ofshield-blog @blackwidow-nat-official2 @buckybarnesoffical @clintbarton-thearrowguy @capt-carter-mostly-official @capn-america @deadpool-wade-wilson @daredevil-isnt-catholic-or-blind @friday-the-ai @harleykeener69 @hawkeye-jr @i-am-not-a-toaster @iyla-difransisco @king-ofwakanda @kamala-msmarvel-khan @littlemsbumblebee @midtown-news-official @mysister-isstillaposer @midtown-news-official @natasha-rogersbarnes @nothawkeyeofficial @okoye-general-official @official-buckybarnes @officialscottlang @reallyreallyspiderman @stephenstrange-md-phd @starlordofficial @spidey-official @that-punk-from-brooklyn @therealbuckybarnes @unofficial-non-poser @vpotts-official @virginia-pepper-potts01 @moongirlwidow @midtown-news-official @definitelynot-peterp4rker @mini-green-goblin @goddessof-death @loki-laufeychild

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil:

*Think* I’m up to date with your Tumblr / Bluesky answers, sorry if I missed this, but how did the interview of Dr. Jenni Haukio and Eliza Reid – the First Ladies of Finland and Iceland - on Wednesday, Sept. 20th at NYPL come together?

Hope people can attend or listen to the stream: it sounds fascinating.

https://www.nypl.org/events/programs/2023/09/20/first-ladies-finland-and-iceland-neil-gaiman

Thanks,

Randi

P.S. If you can find out if the NYPL folks are calling the Stavros Niarchos Foundation Library (nee Mid-Manhattan Library) as SNIFFLE vs the spelled out SNFL, it’s be appreciated.

They asked.

[everything-is-as-it-was]

i'm sorry i'm sorry.... i do not like bad vibes™ but the fact that they're going to Iceland which has a population of 382k people and not even going to like. Mexico. (not THAT far out of the way they'll literally be in Texas) is. well dang it's got me feeling some kinda way

[hoofpeet]

I'm sorry but the image of 3 zoroark mimicking Ingo around the fire made me think of something like Akari running across the pack and thinking its a group of people that all look exactly the same until it is cleared up. The image of someone being bewildered by a huge group of Ingo's and just the shaggy train man in the center like nothing is wrong is too funny to me.

7 identical guys headed by another identical guy who's either another zoroark who's really good at imitating a human or some weird hermit guy who's been living with a pack of zoroarks, pays for some soup making supplies with raw gold and then walks back into the icelands . wyd

[folksaga-if]

“It is a long story, and it does no credit to anyone: there is murder in it, and trickery, lies and foolishness, seduction and pursuit.  Listen."

- Neil Gaiman, Norse Mythology

You are a human. A totally normal one.

Honestly.

You’re a human. You’re a bartender, which is a very normal job for a human to have, and when you walk down the winding streets of Akureyri you can blend seamlessly into any crowd of people which is, without question, only something that a human could do.

The fact that you came here two years ago with nothing but the clothing on your back doesn’t mean anything; you’re hardly northern Iceland’s first wayfaring soul. That you had no money to your name, no friends or family to speak of — that’s a fairly average human thing, too. And that little craving you have, that quiet urge to dig your teeth into any passing stranger’s throat? It's completely, entirely mundane.

It’s manageable. You’re managing.

Or you were, until someone — someone who's decidedly notas good at this human thing as you are — begins leaving a trail of dead bodies at your doorstep, and a trio of god-like siblings take a seat at your bar.

MAGNI THORSON .

No doubt the mightiest of his siblings, the eldest child of Thor is exactly the sort of person you would expect him to be: a giant (half-giant, in fact) asshole with a smoulder and a knife-sharp jawline to match. He’ll match your every word with a cocky grin and a joke that’s nowhere near as funny as he thinks, and he’ll look every inch the prince that he is all the while.

(Well, the prince that he was. Just don’t let him hear you say that.)

MODI THORSON .

For the supposed embodiment of his father’s wrath, the God of Thunder’s second son is surprisingly…not that. He’s no picnic, mind you — he’s broody, he’s secretive, and he's fucking intense, but that hardly equates to fury incarnate. You’re sure there’s something hiding under that moody surface; whether or not you want to uncover it is a different story entirely.

(Looks like even gods aren’t immune to middle-child syndrome. Who knew?)

THRÚD THORSDÓTTIR .

Valkyrie, seidhr,paragon of strength — with all of her mother’s best traits (and a few of her father’s worst), is it any wonder that Thor’s youngest child was also his favourite? Smarter than her half-brothers and more likeable by a longshot, you might find yourself forgetting how easily the fortune-telling goddess could break you in two. You might, but she’ll be happy to remind you if you do.

(Maybe a little too happy, in fact.)

KATLA B̶͍̏L̸̝͑O̵̟͠M̴̳̓Q̴̯̔V̵̺͆I̷̗͛S̵̠͒T̸̬̒ .

A fellow nomad and your coworker at Black Thunder, the first friend you made in Akureyri has remained your closest. Mischevious, magnetic, and often up to no small amount of trouble, there are times when you think you might know Katla better than you know yourself. You even know about her…well, you know that she…sorry, what were you talking about again?

(It's just that it’s nice, being close to someone who’s so very human.)

THE MARE .

There’s a voice in your head and a shadow in your dreams, and they’re telling you to run. You probably shouldn’t trust them.

(…Right?)

Customize your monster character. New life, new you! Choose your gender identity, change your name, cut your hair, and remember: if you’re starting to grow tired of running from your past, try on a new outfit and start running faster.

Play as one of three runway creatures from Norse mythology — a cunning keeper of the forest, a charming warden of the lake, or a formidable guardian of the mountains. Each has its quirks (would you prefer a hollowed-out tree for a back, or webbed fingers and forearms covered in scales?), but they all have two key things in common: they’ll killto protect their homes, and you’redefinitely not one of them.

Choose your own fate, out of the countless that are presented to you. Had oatmeal instead of skyr with your breakfast this morning? You might have just brought about Ragnarök 2.0. Nice one, asshole.

Multiple romance options, with each available to pursue regardless of your gender or background. Ever wanted to kiss a god under a starry sky? Now's your chance! Or maybe you’re through with immortal beings and desperate to ask the pretty server on a date? Go for it! She’s definitelya human too. Totally. You’d be able to tell if she wasn’t. Wouldn’t you?

Save the world — or don’t.It's your choice, and isn't that what true freedom is all about?

Folksaga is inspired by The Edda, Norse mythology, andTwin Peaks, with a bit of tweaking to the myths as needed for the sake of plot. MC backgrounds have been adjusted to fit for all players regardless of gender identity, and creative liberty has been taken with some smaller points for a smoother storytelling experience. All changes will be explained in an FAQ post (too be added in the links below ASAP!)

AS OF AUGUST 21 UPDATE: The current demo consists of the prologue (introductory lore + character creation), + chapter 1, about 70k words total.

I expect it to be somewhere in the range of 600,000 to 700,000 words, but this is subject to change (and likely will due to my propensity for rambling text. oops.).

I’ve written  short and long-form original fiction as well as a lot of fanfic (say hello @ pentaghastly on AO3, and @kendallroynsfw on tumblr!), but this is my first IF! Bugs and coding issues may appear in the demo; please let me know if any issues arise during your playthroughs.

Folksaga is a work in progress. I would love constructive feedback when the demo is posted, as well as any bugs or grammar issues to be brought to my attention if I've missed them :) I would also love patience, because I'm a full time health care worker who gets sleepy lots xoxo

A Swedish farmer named Sven Andersson was executed in 1691 for having intercourse with a mountain nymph, or bergsrå. I will neither confirm or deny if his Wikipedia article was the inspiration for this IF, except I will confirm it and it definitely was.

MC ORIGINS | RO INTROS | DEMO!!!!! | COG FORUMS | PATREON

[radsoldier]

Runaway

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x fem!reader

Summary: you end up in a city you hate but maybe the company makes it worth the while.

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: none?

a/n: this is my first time writting for Jenna and english is not my first language so keep that in mind <3

It was 4am and you were stranded at the airport. your flight was delayed due to a raging storm and you decided to stay the night instead of booking a room. you were used to airports by now anyway.

Your job required you to travel a lot. You were a firefighter and you also worked as a volunteer with the IFRA (International Fire and Rescue Association) so yes, you spent a lot of time wandering around airports.

You were training some mexican units and the weather was horribly hot, so as soon as the job was finished you found yourself desperate to find a way back home. You knew there would be no direct flights from Mexico to Iceland in fucking November so you settled for a connecting flight via New York.

That's how you ended up slouched over a small table questioning every decision you ever made.

You knew the weather in Iceland, you weren't born there but it was the place you proudly called home. So you knew this storm could either be over in a few hours or block all the flights for at least a week. You didn't like that thought though.

You looked around and saw a large group of people walking towards some free seats near you so you made the smart decision of getting up and gathering your small suitcase and the book you were reading. You were not in the mood for chatting with strangers and you felt the need to move your legs anyway so you plugged your headphones in and started walking with no direction in mind. You found a much quieter and less crowded corner and you unconsciously sped up in hopes to get there before someone could spot the couple of empty chairs under some burnt lights. You were lost in your thoughts and inmersed in the music until someone bumped into your side, throwing you off balance and making you drop your book. You turned around to see a small figure crouching over and picking up your book.

"I'm sorry" it was a beautiful voice.

She looked at you and smiled and you just froze.

"Sylvia Plath, huh?" she smiled and your eyes became fixated in the small dimples on her cheeks.

You just nodded, somehow keeping a sense of calmness in your words when you spoke.

"Would say it's my toxic trait but I like to think it's more like my biggest flex."

She laughed and you found yourself unable to look away from her.

"I'm Jenna" she simply said, extending her hand.

"I know" you answered meeting her hand in a soft handshake. "I'm Y/N."

She just smiled, not breaking eye contact.

"It's a beautiful name" she said, disentangling your hands. "Now, Y/N, please tell me we can share that secluded corner for awhile?" she sounded a little desperate despite the playful tone and the lingering smile.

You motioned for her to go ahead and she took a couple steps forward before looking back at you.

"You coming?" her smile made you feel warm inside.

You followed her and sat in one of the chairs, ready to pull your phone out and go back to your playlist.

"There you go" Jenna said handing you the book. "Did you get here too soon too?"

You frowned at her shaking your head.

"My flight was delayed" you answered. "When's yours supposed to take off?"

"In a couple of hours" she said tiredly.

You couldn't help but laugh, earning a fierce glare from Jenna. "She looks cute" you thought.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" you said, still laughing a little.

"No, you're not" she retorted with a smile. "So… Where are you flying, Y/N?" She asked curious.

"Iceland" you said with a happy sigh. " But seems like the weather doesn't like my plans."

"Sure" she snorted. "Iceland seems like an amazing destination, though. Business or pleasure?"

"Neither" you said "well, for pleasure I guess."

She looked at you with a weird look, like she was trying to decipher some kind of mystery.

You cleared your throat and tried to explain.

"I live there. Well, at least when I'm not working or on a mission. I usually go visit whenever I have a few days off."

"A mission?" she said, as if it was the only thing she heard.

"Yeah, well" you touched the back of your neck, unsure. "I'm a firefighter so sometimes we volunteer to go on training or rescue missions."

"Really?" she said, her eyes shinning with a strange glimmer in them.

You nodded, not knowing what to say.

"And you live in Iceland? Whoah" she gestured with her hands while mouting the word "mindblowing".

You had to laugh at that.

"Yeah, but I spend most of the year working on England or traveling, you know" you explained.

She nodded at that.

"Seems like your full of surprises, Y/N" she smiled at you.

You checked the time on your phone only to be met with a notification saying "CANCELLED FLIGHT 18-705".

"Fuck" you cursed under your breath. "They cancelled my flight."

Jenna looked at you serious but didn't say anything until she saw you getting up from the chair.

"Where are you going?" she asked scrunching her face.

"It's almost 6am, I'm getting you to your boarding gate and then I'm calling a friend to see if I can crash at her place" you explained with a smile.

Without saying anything she got up aswell and checked her phone for the info she needed then she started walking toward the gate without much thought.

Until some guy grabbed her arm and started screaming about how he got so lucky to run into THE Jenna Ortega. Her face was showing clear signs of discomfort and… pain? Was the guy hurting her? You inmediately stepped toward them and took his wrist in your hand and with just enough force you made him let go of her.

He wasn't happy, the looks he was giving you made it clear but he wouldn't try anything by the slight fear in his eyes.

"Maybe you should try asking first next time" you said coldly before leading Jenna away from him.

She was quiet and wouldn't look at you and you wondered if she was maybe angry because of what you did?

"I'm sorry, I was out of place but he seemed like a bit too much" you started, smiling tentatively. "I'm really so…"

"Don't be" she cut you off, still not looking at you. "He took me by surprise" she admitted. "Thank you" she continued lifting her face to look at you with some sense of… fondness?

She seemed genuinely grateful and you couldn't shake the feeling that accompained the thought of this kind of situation happening to her everyday.

"It was nothing" you said shrugging it off.

You continued walking toward her boarding gate in a comfortable silence.

"This is me" she said with a nervous smile.

"Be safe" you said. "Have a nice flight, Jenna."

You turned to leave but her voice made you stop.

"Wait" you turned again, now facing her. "Thank you, Y/N."

You smiled at her starting to walk backwards as people you assumed wanted to board the very same plane started filling the space and when you could no longer see her you turned fully determined to find the exit and then call Gio to ask for a ride and a couch to crash on.

Meanwhile, Jenna got seated on the plane when a thought came into her mind.

She forgot to ask for your phone number!!

[tagsecretsanta]

From @gumnut-logic

From @gumnut-logic to all of Thunderfam.

Author's note: I didn't know if I could write this year, so I didn't enter any prompts to avoid disappointing anyone. However, I did manage to write nearly 4000 words of something with a prompt from my Hubby. So please, everyone enjoy this for what it is, and I hope you have/had a wonderful festive time.

-o-o-o-

Scott was used to working in loud environments but this was ridiculous.

There were people yelling orders and running back and forth, hammering, power tools screeching, and worst of all, singing.

So much singing. He was glad Virgil wasn’t down here. The cacophony hurt.

“I’m sorry, sir, what did you say?”

“Commander Tracy, from one secret organisation to another, we need help.”

Scott blinked.

The old man frowned. “I said we need help!”

“I know that. That’s why we’re here.” He drew in a breath. “Is there anywhere quieter we can talk?”

Watery blue eyes stared at him a moment before turning and waving for Scott and Gordon to follow.

It had been an interesting half an hour since John reported this situation. They had received a call from Molloy Deep, basically a deep hole in the Arctic Ocean. This would have been a Tuesday call out as there were deep sea habitats all over Earth’s oceans (and unfortunately of varying funding and consequently quality - a bug bear of Gordon’s and the source of many a post-rescue rant on the part of the aquanaut).

However, there were no recorded deep sea habitats in or near Molloy Deep, mainly because it was so deep and because, well, Arctic Ocean, anyone?

But John was able to locate…something…at the requested geographical spot and as they were a rescue organisation, the rest was worked out en route.

Thunderbirds One, Two and Four sped across the planet until they reached the spot between Greenland and Iceland.

As per John’s report, there was something down there.

Scott had elected to go down with Gordon, something about this had him on edge and he couldn’t define why.

And it had absolutely nothing to do with all the times Gordon had gone down this deep and not come back in one piece.

No, not at all.

He earned himself a frown from both Virgil and Gordon, and Alan had to transfer over to One, but he went anyway, Commander’s prerogative.

And there definitely did turn out to be something in Molloy Deep.

The usual midnight zone darkness was gradually broken by spots of light on the cliff they were following down. Closer inspection revealed creatures hovering in the water column like Christmas ornaments.

Gordon was going nuts about new species discovery and the percentage of life that was unknown in the deep, etcetera, etcetera, but they had a mission. He could come back next time he had leave.

In any case, they quickly became less individually important as they navigated deeper, a golden glow emanated from below them, the glowing ornaments increasing in number until the midnight landscape was lit…well…like a Christmas tree.

The glow became a huge dome glittering in the water, surrounded by unique sealife that now had Gordon throwing a full-on fit.

But ultimately, they located an airlock and backed Four into a secure connection, and the pair of them embarked into a very strange world.

A world where it was gently snowing.

It was obvious that the area they entered was some kind of docking space. Several factory-like buildings were crowded about and it wasn’t long before they were grabbed by a young worker and hurried in the direction of a portly old man sporting a white beard and moustache.

He would have been totally cliche and straight out of a children’s story if it wasn’t for the Motörhead T-Shirt, jeans and sneakers.

But considering they were several miles underwater in a giant snowglobe, the list of unbelievables was already maxed out.

The old man led them out of the factory building and into the snow.

“I’m sorry about the cold. The environmentals aren’t happy at the moment.”

The man sighed, turned and stalked through the snow to a house…which might as well been made of gingerbread. Hell, Scott walked past a red and white striped candy cane a foot thick and, taller than him, sticking out of the snow beside the path.

“Scott-“

“Gordon.”

“Do you think-?”

“Focus on the mission.”

“But-“

They reached the house and were ushered into a warm living room complete with an open fire and…yes, a Christmas tree… in July.

“Have a seat, gentlemen.”

Scott hesitated. “We were called in for an emergency.”

The stocky man turned to frown at him, his bushy white eyebrows colliding with his nose - not unlike what Virgil’s did on a fairly regular basis.

“Yes, this is an emergency, but we have time. Just enough.” And as if to prove the point, he walked across the room to the mantlepiece, opened the face of the ornate clock sitting up there and pushed its long hand back by a good fifteen minutes. He closed it and turned back to Scott. “See? We have time.”

It was Scott’s turn to frown. Gordon nudged him and pointed to his diving watch on his wrist.

It matched the time on the mantlepiece.

What the-?

The old man gestured them both to the sofa. “C’mon, you have questions, I have answers, sit down so we can get to the meat of the problem.”

Of course Gordon moved first, practically bouncing across the room to take a seat. Scott moved a touch slower, eyeing everything, assessing and questioning.

“Sit down, Commander. I don’t bite.”

Scott had no choice but to obey.

The fire crackled and bounced as the old man sat in a large sofa chair opposite them He scratched his beard a moment as if pondering where to start.

“As the Commander of International Rescue, you are aware of the need for secrecy when working for the good of all?”

Those blue eyes held his own. “Yes, sir.”

“We both need that secrecy, Commander Tracy. So I am hoping we have the confidence of you and your organisation.”

“Of course.”

He paused a moment. “I have no doubt that you have your suspicions as to mine and my organisation’s identity.” Beside Scott, Gordon was fit to burst. “But I will ask for no extraneous questions.”

Gordon froze. “But-?”

Those cool eyes turned to pin the aquanaut. “Do you like coal, Mr Gordon?”

His fish brother gulped. “No, sir.”

“Neither do I. It is one of the reasons why I need your help.” His attention turned back to Scott. “The ice is disappearing and with it, its protection. We have to move, to find a new base of operations. I have a place in mind, but I need to get there.”

“How many are needing rescue?”

“Four million, five thousand and three.” A soft blink. “And myself and my wife.”

Scott’s jaw dropped.

“It’s a lot, I know, but from what I’ve seen of Thunderbird Two, it should be able to do the job.”

“Four million…sir…that would take years!”

“We will make time.”

“Sir!”

“We have less than six months.”

“Not possible.”

Those watery blue eyes stared into his soul. “Do you have dreams, Commander?”

Scott’s lips hardened. “I thought we weren’t asking extraneous questions.”

“Hmm, I guess it could be seen that way from your point of view, however, dreams do lead to possibilities, do they not? And I need to move our base of operations as soon as possible to these coordinates.” He reached down to a table beside his chair and handed a piece of neatly folded paper to Scott.

Opening it, he found a set of coordinates written in perfect copperplate cursive.

Cursive or not, the location was clear.

“You want International Rescue to help you move to Antarctica?”

The old man shrugged. “It’s land, it’s a geographical pole, and it’s basically empty. Though note it is East Antarctica - I fear West Antarctica will befall the same fate as the Arctic.” He looked up at the ceiling and glanced around the room. “I will miss this place.”

“Sir…” Scott sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Nikolas.”

Beside him, Gordon twitched.

“Nikolas, I want to help you, but moving four million people is just not possible, much less in six months.”

“Five months and fourteen days.”

Scott sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The logistics - Thunderbird Four can only carry a maximum of ten people at a time, maybe fifteen at a stretch. You are over five kilometres below the surface. Thunderbird Two can carry many more, yes, but getting them up there…four million…”

“Commander, the four million are the easy part. If I were you, I would be more concerned about the reindeer.” With that he pushed himself to his feet. “Come along, time is a-wasting.” He turned his back and walked out the door.

-o-o-o-

More to come @gumnut-logic in the next few days :D