#French speaking squad
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I SAW THIS AT 3 AM IT WAS A WORSE JUMPSCARE THAN ANY HORROR MOVIE
#please I can’t have him go to psg#I barely speak French myself#I need him to stay at west ham#with his cute little squad#west ham#nayef aguerd
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My Mattheo Riddle Headcannons
Okay so I've had these circling my brain for a while. Hope you enjoy, but plz don't come for me if you don't think these are correct. These are just what I think.
Okay for starters, he's definitely Sleep Token coded. You can fight me on this. This is the hill I die on.
Like specifically Blood Sport and Ascensionism. You cannot tell me otherwise.
No matter how the story starts, I feel like he'll maybe pine from afar just to keep you safe. At least during the beginning of your relationship.
I feel like during 5th year, he'll definitely be obsessed at that point and will do anything to keep you safe (specifically from Umbitch)
So I think he'll definitely like join her squad and just be a lot more lenient with you.
He also did it probably because all his friends did — Theo and Enzo probably did it for shits and giggles.
I also feel like he'd be fluent in pet names once your relationship gets going. Specifically Italian and Spanish. Maybe even a little French.
^^I couldn't help to put that one in there cuz I'm a sucker for Italian and Spanish pet names.
He's definitely a tease when he finally doesn't care about staying away anymore.
Like he'll be so frustrating but charming at the same time and you'd hate it.
But don't mind or you get used to it eventually.
I believe it's well known he gets into fights and he most definitely will. Mainly if he hears someone talk bad about you or are just being creeps.
Speaking of that too, HE'S JEALOUSSSS!!! Like so much so if he sees you being all flirty with someone he will immediately intimidate them and tell them to back off.
Circling back to the goon squad thing, he would so use his power to intimidate people too. Why have power if you're not gonna use it?
He would definitely have his friends begging him to actually do something about his feelings for you.
"You're gonna have to talk to her eventually."
And he'll always make up some sort of excuse.
"I can't, I'm too busy for relationships."
Cuz he hates the way he wants to be selfish but can't because he doesn't wanna put you in danger.
Otherwise...he would definitely be selfish.
Sorry if this is bad. I was kinda all over the place. Hope you enjoyed and if you want more Headcannons for Mattheo or anyone else I write for plz let me know!
#writing inspiration#harry potter#mattheo riddle#theo nott#draco malfoy#mattheo riddle headcanon#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle imagines#mattheo x you#mattheoxreader#mattheo x y/n
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INCORRECT HEARTSTOPPER QUOTES (TV EDITION)
Darcy: I've never encountered a problem that can't be solved by an spontaneous musical number.
Nick: Real life should have a fucking search function, or something.
Nick: I need my socks.
Elle: I hate taking off my glasses, because without them, my vision goes from Full HD all the way down to buffering at 240p and I just can't handle that.
Tao: You were wise to seek help from the world's most deadly weapon.
Tao: It's me
Charlie: I’m a multitasker!
Charlie: I can disappoint fifteen people at once.
Isaac, after getting a library card: Now I know what true power feels like.
Tao: Hey, quick question. How petty am I allowed to be?
Tao: Wait you like me? For my personality?
Elle: I know, I was surprised too.
Tara: Wow, left handed AND British? You really are an illusion.
Imogen : Tara, I know you love Darcy. I mean, we all do, she's a very nice person and I respect her immensely.
Imogen : But I think she might be a fucking idiot.
Darcy: If you spell skeletons backwards, it still spells skeletons.
Sahar, deadpan: Wow, I can't wait for Halloween to see some snoteleks.
Darcy: Milkshake with two straws please
Tara, blushing: Aww Darcy!
Darcy, putting both straws in her mouth: watch how fast I can fucking drink this!
Nick: I slipped a little note in your back-pack to tell you how much I love you.
Charlie, opening his bag: This is a 10 page letter. It has an About The Author section.
Imogen: Hey, Charlie? Can I get some romance advice?
Charlie: Just because I’m with Nick doesn’t mean I know how I did it.
Charlie: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?
Nick: Several traffic violations.
Elle: Many counts of resisting arrest.
Tara: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.
Darcy: Also, that’s not our car.
Imogen, not totally used to the Paris' Squads brand of shenanigan yet: It's not??
---
In another timeline
Imogen: Wow, they really hate us.
Sahar: Yes, perhaps they’re homophobic.
Imogen: But we’re not gay, Sahar.
Sahar:
Imogen:
Sahar: We’re not?
---
Tao: And if you have any suggestions, please put them in the suggestion box.
Nick: That’s a trash can.
Tao, watching Isaac & Charlie panic : What's going on?
Elle: Isaac is having an identity crisis and Charlie is just having a crisis.
Nick: The risk I took was calculated but, man, am I bad at maths.
Nick: My stomach growled super loud in French.
Nick: I would like to clarify, my stomach did not speak in French. It growled during my French lesson.
Tara: Bonjour.
Charlie: Le growl.
Darcy: Hon hon hon, feed me a baguette.
#imogen heaney#charlie spring#sahar zahid#elle argent#nick nelson#tao xu#tara jones#heartstopper incorrect quotes#incorrect heartstopper quotes#incorrect osemanverse
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But She’s A Stranger
florence pugh x footballer!reader
summary: originally titled ‘saved’, because that’s what you and this blonde woman seem to be doing for each other
words: 10048
warnings: none (😮)
notes: okay i know i said no more football fics, but i couldn’t help myself. i really couldn’t and you’re going to have to deal with that!
a few of my fav things about writing this include having to check flo’s instagram to see what hairstyle she’s had at what time, creating multiple timelines of club transfers to keep things consistent, and learning catalan! i speak spanish and quite a bit of french so it could have been worse. i also don’t explicitly say this (i think) but the reader played for wolfsburg when she was in germany.
January is fucking freezing. The wind is biting and it rains a lot, clouds lingering, having had to hide for Christmas. The days are grey and dark, trainings are hard, and you’re miserable about being stuck in England after spending a week in Cuba.
You walk down Portobello Road simply because your sister forced you to watch that Hugh Grant rom-com and you’ve got a bit of time before you need to get back to St. Albans. After exploring most of the main road, you stray into a side street, and then another… and another. Until you’re slightly lost (very lost) and in need of food.
Florence Pugh is having a peaceful cup of coffee to make her feel like she’s had a productive day.
Her head snaps to the door when the bell chimes. People don’t often come in here. You sort-of-stumble inside, first looking as if you’re going to walk right out, then settling.
While she is sitting at her usual table (the one in the corner, always with a tulip in the vase), you are aimlessly flitting from seat to seat, deciding on whether this place is worth your precious time. Something about the confusion in your eyes draws Flo in, try as she might to remain incognito. “It’s good,” is all she says, barely looking up from her book, not wanting to have the safety of anonymity stripped away. You glance at the pale blue ceramic mug sitting on her table, and walk to the counter.
“Please could I have whatever she has,” you tell the barista, who takes a moment to understand what you’ve said and then nods with a smug smile. She had been hoping someone would have a little coffee romance in her café.
“Would you like that to go?”
You check your watch.
Hòstia.
Maybe you got carried away on your adventure.
It’s 3.47pm.
Jonas requested everyone meet for team bowling at four, expecting most of you to have been eating lunch together anyway (as that usually happens on Saturdays with the Arsenal women’s football team). Even if you weren’t known to be the most punctual on the squad, getting to St. Albans for that time when it’s 3.47pm now is impossible.
You smile nervously at the woman serving you, and Flo is now intrigued as to why such a beautiful woman looks so terrified.
“Yeah, to go would be great, thanks.” She nods and you are left waiting there, foot tapping, time ticking, nowhere interesting to look other than into those green eyes peering at you from the other side of the room. “Could you… Could you make it quickly, please?”
Flo snorts.
Someone’s just invaded her little sanctuary and then told the barista to hurry up, and she can’t help but find the awkwardness fucking attractive. Like you’re some action in a tranquil day, a rain cloud in a blue sky.
Zach is going to be listening to a very long rant about this later.
It strikes her that you seem different to anyone else she has ever met, though she can barely say to have met you. The way you carry yourself with an air of importance but a dash of humility, the way an accent she can’t place curls around your words, the way you frown at your phone as you furiously type away text after text at the object of your frustration.
The way your eyes meet hers when you realise you’re being stared at.
Before she can defend herself, give you some bullshit about the wall behind you, the barista hands you your coffee. “Thank you,” you say, smiling, though it feels a little ingenuine considering the speed the words tumble out.
As you switch your phone off and reach out to the machine in front of you, the barista grimaces. “Our card machine is broken, sorry. It’s cash only.”
Well she didn’t mention that before.
You gave your last bits of cash to Jordan, having lost some stupid bet about how many of her shots you could save. She said you’d keep a clean sheet; you were humble and said she’d get one past you.
“Merda,” you mutter. Looking up at the barista, you reply, “I’m so sorry, but I don’t have any cash on me,” a little panicked and ready to risk it all by dashing out of the shop.
You and the barista exchange a helpless look. She needs the money, but you don’t have it. It’s frankly super awkward, and makes Flo squirm in her seat. She really has to put a stop to this, she can’t bear to watch you and the barista be struck dumb any longer.
She stands and walks over to you, “here,” handing the barista a fiver and trying her best to ignore how your jaw goes slack. Have you recognised her?
(No, you’re just wondering how it’s possible to be this attracted to a stranger.)
(Like, this is one of those moments when you truly are no better than a man.)
“Oh!” you exclaim, finding words again. “You don’t—”
“It’s okay,” she says calmly, though she feels anything but. You have eyes that seem to pierce through her. “You can just buy me—”
But whatever smooth remark she is about to make is plucked from her tongue and swallowed by an aggressively abnormal ringtone. It’s a new experience to be shut down by a duck quacking, and an unwelcome one too.
You grimace once again, finding that this supposedly simple detour has caused more chaos than £5.00 coffee is worth. The caller in question is Beth Mead, recently granted close-friend status after she found you mid panic attack in the gym having been overwhelmed by the watt bike, having to constantly use your third language, and the fact that Ona was being a little standoffish the last time you spoke (you were being dramatic — she hung up on you in favour of going clubbing with her own team). Beth won’t tell you this, but Jonas realised you were struggling in London at the start of the season and asked her to keep an eye on you.
Keeping an eye on you has, apparently, turned her into your mother.
“Where are you?” is what she greets you with, her annoyance drowning out the faint sounds of a bowling alley in the background. “You can’t skip mandatory team bonding.” After a pause, the woman on the other end of the line seems to soften. “Are you okay? You’re not lost, are you?”
“I’m fine,” you sigh, glancing at the stranger who you are now in debt to. She’s retreated back to her table, accepting defeat, allowing the universe to quell her potential one-night-stand or more. “I’m in Notting Hill. I got distracted by a café, but I’ll be on my way shortly.”
“You’ll be here in an hour, then,” says Beth, unimpressed. “I’m telling Jonas that you got lost, it’ll save you a lecture.”
“Thank you.” You’re grateful for Beth. “I’ll call a taxi now.”
Florence looks at you dumbly. You spare her a concerned look, but then realise she may have been… No, that’s absurd.
“Thank you,” you say once more, this time directed at the blonde, the curve of your lips undeniably attractive and the glint in your eye even more so. Flo nods curtly, attempting to save face, and then forces her eyes back onto Dune. It’s far less interesting than that entire interaction, but what can she do?
The door of the café shuts with a little click, the bell chiming once more, but Flo refuses to watch you leave. That’s creepy, she tells herself.
In truth, as you get into the taxi pulled up outside, you glance back at her, wondering who she is. Why does she look familiar?
You’re seconds away from figuring it out, having a right old lesbian ponder in the car, when Beth pops her head through the abruptly opened car door. “Hola,” she tries, “estas aqui, finalmente.”
“Sí, estoy aqui,” you reply, grinning. She realises your smile might be slightly mocking, pride replaced with slight frustration. “You tried. I’m sure you will improve.”
“It’s not fair if I’m trying to make you more comfortable and you keep talking to me in English,” she groans, but you wave her off.
“I’m grateful, but I need to practice my English.” The pretty blonde woman is worth the struggle. Not that you’re going to talk to her anytime soon. Because you don’t have her number. Or know her name. So really this is all a fantasy, and you’re being a little wistful and probably very horny. Thinking about it, the last time you slept with someone was at least two months ago, and even then it wasn’t the most mind-blowing night of your life. It’s not like the pretty blonde woman is your soulmate.
- - -
She becomes a dream for about a month, something that maybe happened but has become somewhat a fantasy.
As usual, your mother nags you about needing to date someone every time you call her, but unlike previous times where you find it easy to protest and defend your independence (loneliness), you understand what she means.
It’s so fucking stupid that you’re obsessed with a stranger, but it’s the truth.
How embarrassing.
On the 27th February, you forgo playing against Liverpool in favour of attending a big fundraiser for a mental health charity; an event your brother has strongly encouraged you to go to.
You realise why when you get there.
The banner adorning the entrance to the venue clearly states who tonight’s host is: Tomàs L/n. There is the same picture of him plastered around the place; chest puffed out proudly, his Barcelona kit underneath a blazer. No wonder he was so mysterious about this thing. His lack of warning means you actually have to do little interviews, wondering if anyone really cares what you have to say.
“How do you feel about your brother’s recent increase in his involvement with this charity?” a reporter asks you, mic held to your face as if you have an opinion on this.
“I think it’s good,” you reply vaguely. “It’s good to support something you are passionate about.” You can’t say anything else because you haven’t been briefed by his (admittedly over-bearing) publicist.
“You’re missing a match for this, despite playing time being hard to get for goalkeepers. Is family more important to you than your career — seeing as you need the minutes to be selected for the upcoming Euros?”
An odd question, but okay.
Minutes are difficult, but you’ve been first choice all season. The Euros squad will be finalised in early June, though your agent is confident in your selection. “I think that supporting my family should always come first.” You smile. You’re on camera. “And it is a good cause.”
There’s a surge of movement behind you, shuffling and shouting, clamouring for attention. Cameras begin to flash excessively, and before you can turn around, your brother is beside you.
“Hi,” he greets the reporter, grinning with sparkling teeth and a glint in his eye. “Could I borrow her, thanks!” He places a hand on your shoulder and steers you further into the crowd until you reach a corner that isn’t deserted enough to draw attention to the two of you. It being towards the back of the venue makes it somewhere that feels less exposed than the edges nearing the press
“Fuck you,” you hiss in Catalan, happy to switch back to something natural now that you’re alone. “You’re such a dickhead.” He came all the way from Spain to host this event, but you suspect this isn’t the actual reason for his trip.
“Am not,” comes his indignant reply. You scoff, rolling your eyes at his ridiculous ensemble. “Oh, you don’t like the suit? Cèlia said the same. Dolce&Gabbana sent it.”
“Yeah, well, your wife and I are right. It’s awful.” It’s very… loud. Crimson with golden roses. “I’m getting a headache just looking at you.”
“No,” he waves off with a smirk, “that’s from hitting your head against the goalpost.”
“You saw that?” you ask, scrunching your nose up at the memory. You had saved the ball at the price of a few brain cells, luckily scraping a pass in the concussion test you were forced to sit through.
“I’ve started watching your games more,” he admits earnestly. “Barça want you back, you know. You could come home.”
So this is why he’s here.
“To not be played at all?” you retort, walls going right up.
“They’d be crazy to not put you in goal now, and it’s good to play with the national team in the league. That’s easier if you’re actually in the country.” National camps have been going just fine. “I mean, haven’t you had enough of hiding abroad?”
You think about it for a moment. “Not really, no.” An indignant scoff follows, and then, “I have been back, you know. I flew to Barcelona that one time — and then I got the train from there to Madrid.” Plus, your old teammates (and national teammates) go on enough holidays for you to scrape by nervously in Ibiza and Mallorca, and relax in countries further away.
“Y/n, she left the country four years ago. You couldn’t possibly run into her.”
“My chances of that are even smaller in England,” you state firmly. You spent three years in Germany and she still managed to find you twice, conveniently appearing in her stupid, American law firm’s Munich office.. Away from mainland Europe is a safer bet, surely. “Maybe you could copy me and transfer to Arsenal, just like you copied me when I got into the Barcelona academy.”
- - -
Florence hates events held by footballers.
She rarely goes, and doesn’t if avoidable, but the cause is a good one and her publicist wants the media to paint her as a passive advocate for mental health awareness. Nothing too abrasive, but a quiet reminder of her support. It’s quite clever, really.
Sulking in the corner, she sips her martini with a scowl, watching the crowd wearily. The invitees are not her type of people and most seem to have cleared out Dolce&Gabbana’s SALE rack. The guy in front of her is the perfect example, golden roses sprawling across the back of his crimson blazer.
Internally, she rolls her eyes, taking another sip of her drink. This is unbelievable and won’t get interesting until the auction in two hours.
The man in front of her steps to the side slightly, revealing that he hasn’t been talking to himself but rather to someone who looks strangely familiar.
Your eyes meet hers and there’s a moment where you both go into mild panic mode. The recognition in your stare quickly turns into desperation as your mouth moves rapidly to reply to your brother’s opinions. Florence doesn’t understand the conversation at all, but realises she’s being asked for help.
The confidence people see in her usually isn’t real, but she squares her shoulders and walks up to you and the man.
“There you are!” She’s an actress for a reason. “I was just about to get another drink — I’ve been looking for you for ages.”
Your brother’s eyes narrow.
She slips an arm around your waist, hiding any shock about your muscular form, pretending she knows your name. You lean into her.
“Yeah, let’s go.” Flo has half a mind to send him a glare, but you do it for her. “Tomàs, no hi tonaré.”
The venom in your tone does something to Flo’s blood pressure. It’s sort of… sexy.
“What was that about?” she asks once you’re by the bar, snapping you out of a moody trance.
“My brother?” Your brother is Tomàs L/n. Interesting. (If Flo knew the first thing about the football world, she’d have realised who you were by now, but she doesn’t and so you remain nameless.) “He was being stupid. It doesn’t matter now. Thank you for saving me.”
She finds that she would’ve done it again in a heartbeat, which is a little weird considering she doesn’t know who you are. Flo secretly decides to chalk that one down to having just gotten out of a long-term relationship and needing someone to latch onto.
“No problem,” she replies with a smile. “I believe you owe me a drink…”
You smile. “Two martinis, please.” The bartender nods, looking exasperated by the demands of the overflowing bar.
“That’s my favourite,” Flo says — sort of whispers — as she bashfully looks away. The faint blush creeping up her neck and cheeks is hidden well enough by the blue lighting of the place. “How was your coffee?”
For a moment, you look at her blankly and her heart drops with embarrassment. Then, you let out a little laugh.
“I didn’t drink it. It spilled all over me in the taxi!”
“All that stress for nothing, huh?”
Not nothing, you think, but you’re not brave enough to tell her that. “I was recently introduced to Café Nero, and that tastes the most—”
“No!” Flo explains, pressing her hand to her heart. “That’s unacceptable.” You shake your head, laughing more, and she wants nothing but to hear it on repeat for the rest of her life.
“British coffee is unacceptable,” you answer, rolling your eyes. “But I found this place called Reinetta the other day. Very Spanish, very brilliant.”
“Are you from Spain?”
What a genius.
Your incredulous look quickly goes when you realise she’s serious.
“Yeah!” She notices how your smile grows wider but your eyes become a little haunted. “Hablo español,” you say with a smirk, sending her a superfluous wink.
And, if the bartender hadn’t interrupted by serving you your drinks, you would be well aware of how red she goes.
She takes a sip, groaning in appreciation. “This is a good—” She turns around suddenly, squinting at the woman waving at her in the crowd looking furious. “Fuck, I can’t believe I forgot. I’ve got to go.” You catch sight of the person she’s looking at; a stern-faced publicist wading her way through the mass of people to get to her client. In a last ditch attempt of actually getting to know you, she throws out, “you should totally show me this Spanish coffee place,” and rushes off to meet her publicist.
You stand stock-still. Stunned. Oh, that definitely gave you goosebumps.
The rest of your evening is mostly passive aggressive. With hardly anyone else to talk to, you end up hovering in whatever conversation circle your brother is in.
At the soonest possible moment, you leave and join the late-night recovery dinner at Beth’s house, earning wolf-whistles from everyone as you bundle through the door in your formal attire. Beth tells you to change almost immediately, throwing you a t-shirt and jog pants. “Recovery is all about wearing pyjamas,” she says, matter-of-fact. “And eating.”
“What have you made?”
She gives you a wry grin. “Come find out.”
The girls are sitting around her table, eagerly awaiting your arrival so they can tuck in. Jordan, Katie, Jen, Steph, and (surprisingly) Viv are all eyeing the food like starving wolves would look at a herd of sheep. It smells good and familiar and like Beth has kidnapped your abuela and chained her to a paella pan…?
You seem to fill with energy at the sight of the dish, and Katie announces she’s done being patient, spooning a hefty portion onto her plate and prompting Steph to do the same. They begin eating while you remain a little taken aback.
Beth nudges you. “I called Less and practically begged her to give me Ona’s number last week, sending her a text once I got it — to which your friend took bloody ages to reply. And then she was very difficult about when she could FaceTime, so when we eventually could I ended up making a mini version of her paella and memorising the recipe.” Her rambling is nervous. “But I sent her a picture of this one and she said it looked delicious.”
“Déu n’hi do, it looks delicious,” you agree, sitting down as quickly as possible and piling some onto your plate. Mouth now full, you continue, “it tastes like my mother’s cooking! It’s great, Beth, really.”
“She can cook,” Katie proclaims proudly, directing her statement at Viv; you think, for a moment, that she is going to list all of her positive qualities. Your eyes narrow and Beth shoots you a look that says ‘later’. “Y/n, can you cook?”
You almost choke on a prawn. “I can make pesto pasta. That’s it.”
Jen’s jaw drops. “You’ve only been eating pesto pasta this season?!” she asks, sounding scared.
“Yes, because I chose a club without Ona.” At Wolfsburg, you didn’t live on your own. Here you do. “I don’t mind. But Beth might have to make this weekly.”
“Absolutely not. This drained me more than any game of football ever could.” Beth motions at everyone to keep on eating, feeling accomplished that the meal is good. “Katie scored twice today.”
“Did you now?” She nods her head very proudly. “I bet I could’ve scored today.”
The laughter turns into silence as you eat contently, something that is broken when Jen goes, “where were you?”
The thought of having to talk about it causes you to grip your fork tighter, earning Beth’s hand on your shoulder. “Some charity event, right?” she replies for you. “Tomàs hosted it.”
“He came from Spain?”
“Yes,” you answer, and the girls hear how badly you don’t want to talk about this.
No one here knows exactly what happened, but when you abruptly transferred from Barcelona to Wolfsburg four years ago, you allegedly haven’t been back to Barcelona for longer than a day. Ona was saying to Beth the other day that with some convincing you can be persuaded to Ibiza (you’re about to be invited to two trips to the Balearic Islands), but anything on the mainland is strictly business — camps, games, the like.
Everyone has their theories, but Katie and Jenny think something happened between you and your brother. It’s not like you didn’t say outright in an interview that you have had a far better career than him despite being younger, yet he’s the one being paid €12 million a year.
“Guess what Ruesha fucking did yesterday,” Katie changes the topic.
Everyone groans.
“No one cares, Katie. Like I couldn’t care less.” Beth bites her lip to not laugh at Jen’s words. “Y/n, what’s happening in your love life? Got a girl, boy, cat?”
Feeling a bit like a deer caught in headlights, you look up from your plate. “I met a girl in a coffee shop in January. She was pretty.” You wonder how her interviews went. “I saw her today, actually. But I don’t date so—”
“You don’t date?” Steph asks, eyes widened a little.
“Yeah, because, like, it’s hard… with football.” They look at you like you’re a dog tearing apart a slipper: so unbelievably unimpressed. “Because it’s time consuming?”
In reality, you don’t date because your ex is the reason you can’t even be in mainland Europe, but they do not have to know that.
“So what’s this girl’s name and how did you go out with her if you were at an event?” Beth asks and it sounds a bit too much like a police interrogation for you to feel comfortable.
You shift your weight in your seat.
“I don’t know. She was just there.”
- - -
It’s the middle of March when you’re back in Notting Hill. With training sessions left, right, and centre, you’d been pretty much confined to St. Alban’s and Beth’s house for social activity. Today is a rare day-off, coincidentally aligning with both Manchester United’s schedule and Manchester City’s. Ona has dragged Leila, Laia, and Vicky down to London to see you.
“I can’t believe we had to come to you,” is the first thing Vicky says when you meet them at Euston.
“Wow, not even a ‘hello’,” you say back. “Come on, we’re going to a market.”
They roll their eyes. All of them. At the same time.
You wonder why you ever missed them.
Laia is the only one interested in Portobello, darting from stall to stall to another, excitedly giving you a rundown on her life while she does. Leila is hungry, and ruthlessly cuts her off.
“We get it. You felt sad for a week. I need coffee, Y/n, take me to a coffee shop.”
“It was more than sad,” Laia protests, but acquiesces to the group’s change of plans.
You lead them to the place you found in January — maybe this time you’ll actually get to try the coffee. But on the way there, Laia finds a mildly creepy clothes shop and manages to herd you inside. She flings clothes at the girls, while glaring at you for flirting with the shop assistant instead of letting the woman do her job and help.
You’re halfway to getting her number when there’s a commotion outside and the mood lighting of the shop is ruined by bright camera flashes.
For a moment, you wonder if they’re for you. People could have thought your brother was here, and the paparazzi love him.
But there’s something familiar about the voice shouting at them to back off; the rasp, the accent. Curiously, you look out of the window.
It’s her.
With brown hair?
Flo catches your eye immediately, and it doesn’t take much thinking for you to dash out of the shop to grab her hand and pull her inside.
The paparazzi have no choice but to crowd around the window, except none of their shots will turn out well once the shop assistant closes the blinds.
“Gracias,” Flo pants, out of breath.
Leila’s eyebrows shoot right up, closely followed by the rest of the girls. “Y/n, that’s Florence Pugh,” she blurts, thankfully in Spanish.
“Y/n?” Flo tries. Now she knows your name and her stomach feels settled with endearance. Your name suits you. “Thank you for saving me. I needed it.”
“I owed you,” comes your reply as you shrug.
“Y/n saves things for a living!” Ona butts in.
(Is she sabotaging you or being your wingwoman?)
There’s a tense silence, of which no one knows what to fill it with, until the shop assistant opens the blinds and informs Flo that the coast is clear. It takes that statement then to be repeated to snap you and Flo out of the mildly creepy eye contact you’re sharing, but once it does she can’t seem to look at you again.
She inhales and resets herself. “Right. I’ll be off. Things to do, people to see.”
“Yes,” you reply, beginning to feel embarrassed in front of your friends’ keen and watchful eyes. “Yes, yeah. Bye.”
“Bye, Y/n.”
With that, you let the woman you’ve been thinking about for months walk away, out of the shop, and down the street. You give yourself an internal kick for lacking the game you know you have in three other languages, but rub it better because now you know her name.
Florence Pugh. Like the actress from that creepy cult film Obi was obsessed with. And the girl from that Marvel movie.
You pause.
“The actress Florence Pugh?” Your question has Leila shoving her Wikipedia in your face. British actress, born in Oxford on 3rd January 1996. Florence Rose Pugh. Maybe you’d heard someone call her Flo before? “Oh, this is the girl I’ve been meaning to tell you about.”
“The girl with no name is Florence fucking Pugh?” Leila shrieks, hands on your shoulders, shaking you. “You know I love Marvel!”
“Sorry,” you chuckle, amused by her overreaction.
Vicky catches your eye, looking like she wants to say something.
Laia does it for her.
“You need to learn how to flirt in English, because that was atrocious.”
You glare at them both. Partly because it’s true.
“The Y/n who fucked four women in a week at the grand old age of eighteen did not just say — no, splutter — ‘yes, yeah, bye’ because she was looking at a pretty girl,” Vicky adds, smugly. “We have finally found the language barrier between Y/n and sex! Round of applause please!”
“Alright, alright,” Ona says, coming to the rescue. “Stop teasing her when she looks like a lovesick puppy.”
Fuck you too, Ona.
“Florence Pugh is practically a stranger.” You look at Leila, “we are not getting married.” You look at Vicky, “she is not being invited to dinner tonight.” You look at Laia, “she will not be upgrading your train tickets to first class.” And finally, you look at Señorita Ona Battle; the woman who has been your closest friend for years. “I am not in love.”
“I’m sure she’s in love too,” Ona says, pushing it.
“But she’s a stranger!”
Your friends are delusional because you’ve been over it in your head millions of times, clinging onto the shreds of interaction, and you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve met the woman. Florence Pugh can possibly be categorised as a celebrity crush at best. What Ona is talking about is way too serious.
- - -
Flo is certain that Ibiza is a good idea. Or so she tells herself.
And, well, Harris tells her.
He thinks she’s been in a bit of a slump since she and Zach broke up. While Flo can barely talk about it without wanting to cry, she mourns the loss in a very vocal manner to her closest friends. She misses him quite a bit.
Harris allows her a month of moaning before putting his foot down; vetoing Flo not joining them in Ibiza because she is sad. “You’re single, you’re hot, and you’re one of the most sought-after actresses and you don’t want to go on a hot-girl vacation…?” His puzzlement is almost comical when he asks. “It’s for my birthday, babe. You can’t not come.”
Her valid apprehension is quelled with the promise of lots of alcohol and sun, and so this is how she ends up on the Spanish island. Harris calls this a ‘come-back curve’ — when you let loose again after being in a long-term relationship.
It’s fun, really. The beach, the time with friends, the drinking. This is the kind of life she had coveted during her youth; the one most believe comes with the fame. When there aren’t any cameras in her face, she feels at peace with her situation.
(Is this what getting over someone feels like?)
Except for one, tiny problem.
Whenever Will drags them all to a nightclub and pumps her full of vodka, she manages to avoid the gaze of every pair of eyes looking for someone to sleep with. Usually, Flo after ten vodka shots would be on top of someone or on her way out, but the days go by and she can’t help but cockblock herself.
She racks her brains to figure out the cause, the reason, but there is nothing in it apart from the echo of your laughter and the sound of you speaking Spanish. She closes her eyes and she can picture you, clear as day, grinning right back at her. She is not okay with it.
Obviously.
Despite the idea of you throwing her off her game, she is still easily convinced to venture out to nightclubs. Leading her here.
Paraíso.
It’s sticky inside; surfaces, people, floor. And packed. Bodies pressed to other bodies, hair trapped, shouting, screaming, singing.
For an already drunk group of people, it’s perfect.
Crammed into a booth in the heart of the club, Flo and her friends do two rounds of lemon drops, the sugar going everywhere. When her nose scrunches at the bitter taste of the rind, Harris snaps a picture, says he’ll post it later.
Good, she thinks. Maybe you will see her having fun.
If one was to ask, and Flo decided not to lie, it would be revealed that she has spent every night this week making her way through articles about you. Your Instagram didn’t take long to find, nor to scroll through, but it saddens her slightly to discover how little people write about you, and how much they write about your brother.
She is dignified enough to refrain from scouring your Wikipedia page.
Funnily enough, you have been doing the same, though the material to get through is significantly more substantial. Mapi has taken to calling it your ‘bedtime reading’, prompting you to announce very loudly to every guest sitting in your family villa in Ibiza that you own the place.
Well, your dad does. (Same thing though.)
Housed in said villa are Mapi and Ingrid, Ona, Laia, Leila, Patri, and Pina. Beth, Jordan, Leah and a few of their England teammates have come along too, staying in a boutique hotel not far away; about a fifteen minute walk. The groups merged very quickly after a bottle of wine.
As you get further into the holiday, you dive deeper into Florence Pugh’s digital footprint, and everyone else is very over it.
“This obsession isn’t cute,” Patri teases, snatching your phone as you spread out on the sofa. “But Leila wanted me to let you know that Florence Pugh is in Ibiza.” Your heart clenches hard; this could be a heart attack. “Oh, and we’re all going out tonight. England girls and us lot. Ingrid is also banning Spanish in case they think we’re talking about them, Pina broke the shower on the third floor, and Laia has fed that stray cat so much that it is now curled up in her bed.”
You glare.
Many of those things are so unbelievably far from ideal.
Patri raises her hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
In time, you wish you had and that your evening was being wasted away in jail, because this place is loud and busy and it is far from acceptable for you to go back to internet-stalking Florence Pugh around such interesting company.
The England girls have chosen a club called Paraíso, though you wouldn’t have known from the way they pronounced it. Most of them are dancing, but Beth, cheeks flushed from a few vodka sodas, has sat next to you in the booth, looking like she’s about to pour her heart out.
You turn to her. “Go on, then. Tell me about you and Viv.” And she grins like that’s the best thing she’s ever heard, launching you into a timeline of events that have you feeling disappointed in yourself about your situation.
If it all hadn’t been ruined, you could have been able to reciprocate the conversation.
It’s a bit like a knife to the stomach to be reminded of something you don’t have.
Eventually, Beth is finished, eyes shining because she is so happy with her and you are so supportive of it. She cares what you think, and is glad you approve.
“I’m going to get a drink,” you say, deciding there’s not enough alcohol in the world to make you feel better but that you can at least try. Beth nods and finds the others on the dance floor.
The bar is well staffed, and it takes all of two minutes for you to place an order of three Jägerbombs. All for you, but you hesitate to tell the bartender that.
Someone brushes your arm and your stomach drops to the floor.
“Hi,” she says, practically sparkling under the club lighting.
This is why you don’t come home. Fucking hell.
“¿Inglés?” you question, raising an eyebrow. Adela used to hate having to learn the language.
“Vivo en Nueva York en la actualidad.”
Tomàs was right. She doesn’t live in Spain anymore. So why is she here? Why is she in the last slice of your home country you can be persuaded to let loose in? Why does she have to ruin everything?
Though time feels frozen, someone else has placed their hand on your waist. You tense as you turn around, but hope Adela doesn’t see it.
When you realise it’s Florence Pugh, you are very close to running away to Australia in search of complete isolation.
“Hey, babe,” Florence drawls casually. She’s an actress, you remind yourself. Improvisation is a skill she’ll be great at. “You alright?” Her hand squeezes your waist in reassurance.
Flo’s hair is blonde again. It looks nice.
“Yeah,” you breathe, feeling a heat pulse through your body. “Just waiting on some Jägerbombs.”
Flo stands her ground. She wants to wait with you. She doesn’t want to leave you alone with the beautiful woman who’s got you on edge.
Is it wrong to feel protective over a stranger?
(Neither of you feel like such — a consequence of extreme internet-stalking on both ends.)
“¿Tu novia?” Adela asks. You smirk at the flash of jealousy in her eyes. “Pensé que estabas follando a todos a la vista como siempre.”
“No, es mi novia. ¿Tienes un problema con eso?” She shakes her head. “Bueno.”
“Sí.” She looks Flo dead in the eyes. “Adiós.”
The two of you let the silence take over, both aware of how she’s still got her hand on your waist, now with her body pressed up against yours.
“Your ex?” Flo asks, praying it doesn’t sound hopeful. There’s no way you’re not into women, right?
“Yeah,” you answer miserably.
She adjusts herself so that you’re now facing each other, but it only aids you both in feeling a little turned on. Seeing the other looking just as flustered does nothing to quell the possibility of where this night is going.
“Want to get out of here?”
She grins. You take that as a yes.
Her hands are sweaty as they cling to yours, but the club is packed now and she’d get lost if she didn’t hold on. Getting outside is like a rebirth, fresh air washing away the grime and a soft breeze cooling her down. That is until you look at her, biting your bottom lip.
“You can if you want,” she whispers as you sort of back yourselves into the alley beside the building. You place your hands firmly on her waist.
You smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” And with that you close the space between you, pressing your lips against hers and a hand against the wall to support you both. She kisses back desperately, opening her mouth, clashing her teeth on yours. Her hands run up your back, wrapping around your neck.
You make out for a while, before she pulls away.
“I’ll call a taxi to my hotel.” She gives you the opportunity to text Ona.
You: no volveré esta noche
You’re about to tell your friend where the spare keys to your villa are, before Flo kisses you again, capturing your attention in order to direct you to the taxi.
From there, it’s a downhill slope of ripped clothing, walking into things, and being fucked into oblivion.
The morning comes brightly, unforgiving of any hangovers.
Her suite is really nice, but is partially destroyed by last night’s storm of a hookup. The sofa cushions litter the living area’s floor when you try to find her.
She is sitting on the sofa, hair wet, lazily watching the TV. As you laugh at the program, she snaps out of her brood.
“Do you understand what they’re saying?” you ask through your giggles. It’s a pretty crass show to have on at 10am.
“No,” she sheepishly replies. Her eyes tear from the screen to focus on you, examining your body from head to toe, resulting in a frown. “I went out and bought you something to wear.” She directs your attention to a shopping bag on the coffee table.
“You didn’t have to.”
“It was nothing, really.”
You pause.
She looks beautiful. You wish you hadn’t been so drunk. Now all this will be is a one-night stand.
“I’ve got to go. I thought I texted my friend where the spare keys were but I didn't, so they've all crashed at our friends’ hotel, and they’re not happy about it.” Flo laughs, recalling giving you enough time to let everyone know of your changed plans. Maybe you were too caught up in staring at her.
“No worries,” she says easily. “I’m headed to breakfast, but feel free to use the bathroom to clean up.”
There’s a stagnant silence.
Neither of you are going to further this interaction. Alright.
It will be fine. She’s less of a stranger now, and no interview could ever inform you on what your name sounds like as she moans it over and over again.
You tell yourself this again as you approach the England girls’ hotel, bar the last bit. (Though it does remind you of the game you once had.)
Everybody is waiting for you in the small restaurant, the group practically filling the space. There are many colourful words, both in Spanish and Catalan, being muttered as you walk in.
It’s fair for them to feel irritated, and you did leave as soon as possible to allow them back in. You probably would have slept in that expensive hotel bed for the rest of the day if Pina’s seventh phone call hadn’t awoken you.
“You are unbelievable,” is the first thing Mapi says, ignoring the questioning looks from the English girls. None of them speak Spanish, though you’ve heard that Lucy is learning. “Where were you? Pina says she saw Adela as soon as we walked in, and was about to go looking for you to get you out of there.”
“Well Pina didn’t do that,” you reply, folding your arms. Clàudia looks away guiltily. “And I spoke to Adela.”
“So you have a run-in with her and you take off? As if the years haven’t made a difference? As if you’re not over her?”
You clench your fists. “No, I was with a girl.”
“Which girl?” Ona excitedly interjects. “Do we know her?”
“Yeah,” you say, but intend to give them nothing else. “I just came back from her hotel. Would you like to get back to the villa or not?”
“Y/n, you’re such a dickhead.”
Beth asks for a translation.
Before you can omit the parts you don’t want her to hear, the whole of the group is made aware of what you got up to last night. Patri skips over the background information about Adela once she catches the way you are looking at her. If looks could kill, she’d be long gone by now.
The conversation evolves naturally into something more general, until everyone is gathering their things and leaving the hotel to walk to your place. With a group of fifteen, the pavement is cramped, meaning Ona and you pull ahead.
She nudges you when you go quiet for a bit.
“So…” Ona begins, smirking. “Tell me about your night.”
“My night was too scandalous for Onita to handle,” you tease, ultimately avoiding the question. Her eyes narrow and she grabs your wrist to stop you from crossing the road. “I’m not going to run away.”
“But you love running away!”
You sigh. “My night was good, Ona. Really good.”
Ona is clever enough to piece together a story in her head. Adela has a way of disrupting the flow of your life, and a certain someone is in town.
“Fucking hell, Y/n. You slept with Florence Pugh?!” she exclaims.
“Keep your voice down,” you say loudly, shaking your head as to not let the others know. “It was a one-time thing. A mistake.”
She studies your expression, realising how your regret was easily confused for sternness earlier. “You wanted it.”
“It’s a celebrity crush!”
“Not if you’ve actually met her. Then it’s just a crush.”
“You’re just a crush,” you retort. Ona bursts out laughing.
“You slept with your crush and it’s a mistake because she thinks it’s a one-night stand.” Your friend shakes her head in disbelief. “Now I remember why we stopped talking about your love life. It’s chaos!”
Technically, it’s because your love life went very dry once you reached Germany, but you laugh along with Ona because she’s right.
Your hushed Spanish is safe from the ears of the others, but when you lay your phone on the kitchen worktop in the villa, Beth notices two Instagram notifications.
@florencepugh has started following you.
And a DM.
+44 7701 923892 xx
Flo throws her phone across the room once she clicks send, and hides under the covers from a cackling huddle of her best friends.
- - -
Somehow, you are persuaded to cancel your flight to Gatwick and follow the girls to Barcelona. Now that Adela herself has told you she isn’t in your home city anymore, maybe you can visit for longer than five hours again.
When you knock on the door of your family home, you’re tackled to the ground by your mother. Though you didn’t go radio silent on them, the only time they really get to see you is when you’re playing a home game for the national team. Even then, it isn’t guaranteed.
“You’re home?” she asks, pinching your arm to see if you’re real. “My baby was driven out of the country by some stupid girl, so is this stupid girl dead or…”
“Mamá!” You frown and step past her to get inside. It smells like your little sister has found out what incense sticks are and burnt them everywhere. “I thought I’d visit before the Euros. I was in Ibiza anyway.”
“I know,” she says matter-of-factly, making your stomach turn with guilt. “Eva showed me how to work the Instagram.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise you checked.”
She smiles softly and it feels like everything you have been missing has always been here.
“Of course I check to see what you’re up to. Wherever you are. Especially since you stopped calling as much.” You shake your head as if it will make it better. You’ve been busy in a new country. You assumed having Eva and Tomàs was enough to keep her hands full. She seems to read your mind. “While your brother and sister are a lot, I’ve missed you.”
You’re suddenly fighting back tears.
“I’ve missed you too, Mamá.”
She pulls you into a calmer, firmer hug. The moment is ruined when Eva comes charging down the stairs, screaming at the sight of you.
The last time you saw her in person was when the Barça academy took her team on tour to Germany last year, but she’s acting as if you’ve come back from the dead.
She alerts the attention of everyone else in the house, meaning your grandma and dad flock to the kitchen, dropping whatever they’re doing. You can hardly blame them. You must have become a myth.
Plans are quickly made to go out to the usual spot for dinner with Tomàs and his family. Your older brother has a wife and three children that you never actually see. You haven’t met his youngest because he was born just before the pandemic started (as if you’d have visited anyway).
With that, you are integrated back into your old life.
You dust off your motorbike from the garage and go on rides through your city, watching the sunset from the rooftop of your friend’s old apartment building with Eva. She tells you about how her football is going; how everyone thinks it’s odd she plays neither in goal nor as a striker.
Growing up, you were forced to save Tomàs’ incessant (but increasingly more accurate) shots, meaning you’d had a fair amount of goalkeeping experience by the time your dad put you onto the football team he coached. You played what you knew. Tomàs hated being on the same team as you, but it didn’t last long when you were scouted and put in Barça’s academy. He followed soon after.
Eva, however, decided to stay away from her older brother and sister’s constant practice. She ended up on your dad’s football team too, scouted again by Barça, her name written down like you and Tomàs had done before her. At seventeen, she might be on track to be signing for the senior team next season. You promise to get the girls round and introduce her to them.
In turn, you tell your sister about the woman you keep on running into. How her eyes looked more grey in January than they did in May. How she makes you nervous, makes you forget how to do things. How you slept together five days before you arrived home.
You have her number, and you show your little sister. She begs you to call it, but you quietly admit you’re scared. She leaves you to move at your own pace, even if she finds it painfully slow.
As the days go by, you become Eva’s chauffeur. She finds it exciting to be driven about on your motorbike, and you have nothing to do but wait for the final Euros squads to be announced.
Your little sister often has places to be. Today it’s The Museu Picasso. Apparently, she’s ‘cultured’ and ‘sophisticated’ and will be getting high as a kite before entry. Makes the experience better.
As you weave through taxis and try not to run over any tourists, a certain blonde catches your eye. She sits dejectedly on a bench with her phone held loosely in her hand. You pull over without a second thought.
“Lost?” you tease, taking off your helmet. Florence startles and almost drops her phone, before coming to her senses and recognising you.
“Very,” she sighs. “My driver cancelled and I’m stranded.”
“Need a ride? She’s getting off here anyway.” You nod to Eva, who is looking affronted by the suggestion of that.
“Jo sóc?”
“Sí, Eva.” She stares at you blankly. “Baixes de la puta moto.”
“Ah. Aquesta és ella.”
You hum in confirmation. “Ara aneu a escampar la boira.”
Flo watches the conversation trying not to blush. The Catalan might be sexier than the Spanish.
After a second of rebellion, Eva gives in and gets off the bike, thrusting her helmet into your stomach bitterly. The museum really isn’t far away — about a ten minute walk — but it’s the principle. What happened to sisterhood?
You get off as well, unsure of whether Flo knows how to get on. She does, thankfully, meaning you don’t have to fumble your way through that. Dodged a bullet there.
At first she keeps her arms loosely wrapped around you, awkwardly holding on. When you speed up, she squeezes you tighter. If she hadn’t squeezed tighter and pulled you out of thought, you’d have been pancaked by an oncoming lorry (they’re memories — it makes it worse).
“Where am I taking you?” you ask, shouting to be heard.
“Coffee!” she replies, amusement audible. “There’s this woman I like who owes me one!”
You pretend you didn’t hear her second sentence, focusing on the road in front of you instead.
Florence relaxes quickly, enjoying the way the people change from tourists to locals; the buildings become more homely and less commercial. Barcelona is beautiful. Your eyes are brighter than when she last looked in them.
The coffee shop you take her to is the one you’ve been going to for years, though the colour scheme has changed from blue to red since the last time you came. The staff are fresh-faced and young, but the manager pulls you into a hug immediately. Flo hangs back, feeling like an elephant among the mice. She doesn’t understand what you say, and takes a minute to realise you want to know her order. Even then, she’s uncomfortable with reading anything off the menu and shrugs.
The manager, Pablo, is the son of the owner, and has worked here longer than you’ve been alive. When you first sat down for a coffee fifteen years ago, exhausted from a 10k run, he gave you a free biscuit on the side. You’ve been close ever since.
Naturally he asks who Flo is. Why is she here?
You can only shrug, say she’s a friend, and deal with his unconvinced expression.
Sitting opposite her on a wobbly table starts the first conversation you have intentionally had. One not tainted by alcohol or put in place to distract from an unwanted discussion. It’s now not a failsafe or emergency, but something you want to happen. It’s weird.
“Thank you,” she says earnestly. “I was a lot more panicked than I looked.”
You laugh. “You looked pretty panicked.”
“New city. Haven’t had a chance to get my bearings.” You wonder why she’s here. What do actresses do for fun? Would Florence go to a museum? “My flight got in yesterday, so it’s really new.”
“This is where I grew up.” She figured as such.
“I went to one of your games, you know,” she blurts. “The last one of the season. My friend was looking to invest, and I only put the pieces together once I saw you from the stands.”
“So you don’t know who Tomàs is?” She shakes her head and you look at her with horror. “Do you not like football?” you ask, eyes wide.
“Do you like musicals?”
“Touché.”
The corners of her lips twitch upwards into a smile. “French as well?”
“My talents don’t extend that far.” Innuendo settles in your words. Oh, she knows exactly where your talents lie. “In Ibiza…”
“Who was she?”
“An ex-girlfriend.” She raises her eyebrows. “The ex-girlfriend.”
“We all have one of those,” Flo says with a sly smile. “Mine got me kicked out of the school choir when I was fifteen. Yours?”
Your leg shakes anxiously. There is something so incredibly unfair about having to feel so horrible every time she’s brought up. As if she feels the same way. Your life was the one that was obliterated; the collateral damage.
Flo listens carefully when you talk about signing for Barça’s senior team and moving out. About the lifestyle you adopted from your brother; the parties and the drinking and the constant meaningless sex. And then, when you tell her that Adela seemed so mature, that she had her own place that was quiet, she actually understands. Zach felt like that. An example, a teacher. Someone who was safe and quiet and knew what they were doing.
You would sit quietly in Adela’s little flat while she did her work for her law degree, unwinding and relaxing. She’d stroke your hair and do yoga with you after rough games.
But Adela got tired of it. She was sick of always coming home to either an empty flat or you being exhausted, and she couldn’t handle how much she had to put her own life on hold because of your football. She had been offered a training contract at a big American law firm’s Spanish branch, which would require her to move to Madrid and work like a dog.
She said you were holding her back.
It was the most heartbreaking thing you ever had to do, because she gave you a choice: her or football. And you chose football. But you loved her a lot, and her leaving was like losing your favourite teddy. You became stuck in a dark place; you couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Barça became concerned by your playing standard and you were replaced by another keeper. When the transfer window came, you ran off to Germany without so much as a goodbye to Barcelona and hoped to never have to run into Adela again.
“Good thing she now thinks you’ve got a super sexy, hot, famous new girlfriend,” Flo jokes when you finish, attempting to diffuse the tension.
It only adds to it.
“Did Ibiza mean anything to you?” you ask quietly, nervously. She catches your eyes and holds them, trying to make you feel better. Safer. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you for months,” she confesses, almost a whisper. “Before I even knew your name.”
“I should have called.”
“No, it’s okay. That was very bold of me.” She took a shot before sending it. “I’m not in Barcelona very long, but I have a hotel room and my hotel room has wine. And a—”
“Do we need a bed?” Your wink makes her cross her legs. “First, let me introduce myself, yeah? So we’re not strangers.” She nods. “I’m Y/n, and I saw you in that overpriced coffee shop in Notting Hill.” Pablo pretends to not be listening.
“Hola,” she tries valiantly. “Soy Florence. Call me Flo. Um, that’s the extent of my Spanish.”
“It was good,” you lie. She hits your arm lightly. “No, really! I’m sure you’ll learn some.”
“Oh, I did.” Her smirk is unsettling. “Dámelo más duro,” she moans, imitating you.
Your blush makes your face feel like it is on fire.
“We have got to leave this place right now, oh my god.” She gladly stands. You hand Pablo €20 because you’re not focused on how much money this will cost you. “You’ve got to never do that again. Especially not on the motorcycle. I’ll crash.”
“Yeah, I noticed how you nearly killed us earlier.” You don’t get to make a witty comeback, because she firmly plants her hands on your waist and kisses you hard.
Your heart soars.
- - -
It has taken six months for you and the mystery blonde woman to go on a date, but it’s perfect. You eat out at an Italian place, followed by a different kind of eating out later into the night.
On the 15th June the national team for the Euros is confirmed, she is at your family home, halfway through helping your mother to prepare lunch. The whole family swarm the kitchen to congratulate you on being the first choice of goalkeeper. They couldn’t be prouder.
When you kiss her in front of most of the crowd at the last game of the group stages, she has to wipe away your tears. While everyone else appreciates the effort of your clean sheet, your teammates are thankful you’ve found someone. They knew you seemed different the whole tournament.
Obviously, the quarter-finals are conflicting for Flo. She dons an England shirt, but while her friends seek out their Lionesses afterwards (famous people always think sports teams want to see them), she searches for you instead. You sob into her embrace and she knows how stressful the tournament has been for the whole squad. She supports you fully when you and fifteen other Spanish players email the Football Federation with complaints of the manager.
In September, she’s thrown into the middle of the current hottest scandal in Hollywood. You’re there for her to rant to, scream at, and talk with — even if most of the time it’s over the phone. She misses you the most when you’re away for matches, so for her to be filming in Budapest takes a toll.
Flo tells you that she loves you when you pick her up from Heathrow terminal three, something your little sister goes feral over (another Hugh Grant romcom, apparently).
You say it back without hesitating.
You say it over and over again until it’s your most commonly said phrase. The girls tease you for being obvious about when you get laid, because you can’t keep the smile off your face the next day. In truth, you grin anytime you see her.
Christmas and New Year’s with the Pughs makes you love her more, and you reflect on how far you’ve come since January. How she once didn’t know your name, but now can sort out your bills if you asked. Florence Rose Pugh means more than a Wikipedia page because you say it when you propose, and she manages to say yes in Spanish through her tears. It makes the 29th December a special day forever, and it’s still too cold in England for your liking but it’s an excuse to bury yourselves in blankets that night. And for all the nights to come.
She’s no longer a stranger but she has always been so much more than that anyway.
tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @xsophiesx @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz @karsonromanoff
#florence pugh fanfiction#florence pugh x reader#randombush3#woso x reader#florence pugh one shot#florence pugh fluff#florence pugh imagine#florence pugh imagines#florence x reader#florence pugh x you#florence pugh x y/n#florence pugh angst#florence pugh#arsenal wfc#mapi leon#beth mead#vfl wolfsburg frauen
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The Jake Peralta x reader fic was so cute<33
Anyway can I request Jake with a foreign!reader (french if you can)
Where he adapted to reader, help her with English, explain her and like show her American movie (I have so many idea you don't even know :') )
It just got me thinking I want the squad reaction of them meeting reader and learning her nationality
She/her pronouns (message me if you have problems with french cause if you try to make her speak French with Google translation it's not always the best)
YES THIS IS SO CUTE I JUST-, okay ignoring that thank you for requesting and ooh i hope you like this one also SEND ME ALL YOUR IDEAS I NEED TO KNOW LMAO oml and also i haven't used any dialogues in this one hope you don't mind :)
you were a transfer from france so weren't the best at english but jake would help you quite a lot, more than you were expecting honestly
he kept explaining you what this means or what that means and he learnt a bit of french for you, and the squad were really nice too
boyle was excited cause he wanted to discuss about food in france plus he was always happy when a new member joined
rosa was like her usual self but she did show you around and told you things about the place
captain holt actually offered to get you a translater for english to french and you were a pleasantly surprised when you learned he could speak french
gina showed you around more than what rosa had showed and she also told you to stay away from sully and hitchcock
sully was just staring at you the entire, that's it no welcome or something he was just staring at you so you realized why gina told you to stay away
hitchcock was pretty sweet, he welcomed you and gave you a cup of coffee which was nice
jake brought up watching an american movie so you can learn english and so he got the movie "die hard" he told you it was his favorite movie series and you were excited to watch cause well it was jake's favorite and you liked him
he's very sweet, and him learning french for you made you blush a bit knowing there was someone who cared enough to do this
jake thinks its very cute when you don't know a word and try to explain it to him the best you can
well he might be slowly falling for you but in the meantime, he'll always be there for you and so will everybody else
#kurt's fics#jake peralta imagine#jake peralta x reader#jake peralta#jake peralta x foreign!reader#jake peralta fluff#jake peralta x you#jake peralta x y/n#jake peralta x french!reader#<3
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xcom au, nothing especially anything, set in Cellbit's first few days with the group.
Cellbit is sat on the floor of the command room, an old books of crossword puzzles in hand. He has meticulously copied across the chart, not wanting to steal one of the few leisure items from the rest of the crew, and is filling it in. This one comes in French - not a language he knows well, but he is puzzling his way through.
He is just filling in 14A when a vaguely familiar someone ducks down before him. The green jumpsuit tells him little, except that the man isn't wearing it up - no, the sleeves are tied around his waist, the back bunched up, revealing the tank top beneath. For some reason he wears a hat even in here, an emerald hanging off it.
And then, perhaps more obvious, are the great black wings which fold awkwardly behind him. They're hybrid wings, that much Cellbit is sure of, but they do not fold particularly well.
He looks a bit strange.
They're all a bit strange here.
They're all a bit scarred here, too.
"Cellbit, right?" the man perches on the balls of his feet, elbows to his knees and rests his head on his hands.
"Yes?" Cellbit replies. "I'm sorry, I think I forgot you."
"No worries," he's flashed a grin. "You've got a lot of people to keep up to, I bet? I'm Philza. I remember."
Dragged from one matter to another, it takes Cellbit a few moments to put the pieces together. There was definitely gossip about this man, shared in hushed whispers and watching him interact with the others.
Philza Minecraft, Angel of Death, scourge of the Federation. Vanished alongside his partner in crime years ago, becoming little more than a fable.
One living on their ship, trusted to lead and advise though claiming no official role higher than squad captain.
"Angel?" he asks, because how can he not? "Death's Angel."
Philza's smile grows thin, "I swapped my sword for a medkit years ago. You're better off asking one of the others if it's murder you need - Jaiden's pretty hot at it these days."
Jaiden? Cellbit will bare that in mind.
"Sorry," he says, because he knows they all have pasts he would rather not come up - if Brazilian affairs were half as televised as those in English-speaking countries... Well, with Philza's past Cellbit could perhaps be proud, but parts of his own are better left untouched. "Did you need something?"
He's only been here three days; he cannot imagine anyone trusts him with much.
"Kinda," Philza tilts his head to the side a bit, eyes narrowing and looking all the birdier for it. "I'm told you like paperwork? And decoding shit?"
Cellbit blinks - once, twice, and "yes?"
Philza perks up again, "great! Because I've got a weird shit archive dating back about twenty five years that might want someone to look at them. I've been doing my best, but I am a fucking dumbass and cannot make heads or tails of it."
"Archive?" Cellbit can /feel/ his ears perk up at that - his control of the damned things having been lost in years of having them forcibly pinned away. "What sort?"
"Bit of this, bit of that," Philza shrugs. "Copies of mission records, newspaper clippings, shit the Theory Bros were looking into before the war... Weird crap Aypierre and Tubbo are done with, intercepted audio recordings, spy reports, random crap people picked up on missions... Photos. So many photos. Missing persons reports. That sort of stuff."
It sounds like a treasure trove.
It also sounds like it's going to be a nightmare to get into a usable state.
Fuck, if it's just been shoved in a storage room...
"Sure," Cellbit tries to hide both his excitement and his fear both. "I'm not busy."
"Great," Philza hops back onto his feet. "Because I am. I just found a few minutes to show you; Tubbo needs extra hands to test something, you know how it is with engineer types?"
And, yes, Cellbit does.
---
He is led through the ship to a tucked away room, down near the engines. Philza pushes open the door, and shows him inside.
With a flick of the lights... It's not as bad as Cellbit had assumed. Shelves with assorted objects line the left wall, a series of large, metal cupboards beneath them. Everything is fixed into place with metal strips and bolts - even the filing cabinets, all of which also lock. There's a chart on the wall with packs of coloured paper beneath, each colour representing a different research topic.
There are also cotton gloves - proper cotton gloves for working with documents! -
"While I was sorting," Philza says, already moving over to a cabinet. "I found a lot of this shit is related to more than one topic. Couldn't keep it separated by research field like the old archivist had been trying to, just a fucking dumbass idea. So, left to right, oldest to newest. I start filling a new cabinet from the bottom, so it stays better balanced. Anything paper goes in there - the folders are numbered to their order, please put them back right - objects in the shelves. Coloured sticky labels are where I think shit's related, but honestly you'll want to check it."
Cellbit is already peering over Philza shoulder, and into the drawer he opened. It's one of the pre-war old ones - pretty empty, but there's still a few pieces in there.
He grabs a folder and leafs through, marveling at the organisation, and just how well kept the records are - even at twenty four years old, the newspaper clippings are still perfectly legible and the paper at no risk of falling apart.
It's a missing person's report, one marked with the colour-tag as being unresolved. He's not surprised - if it had been it wouldn't be here - but it's not pleasant news.
And, tucked in with it is a series of printed out forum posts, ones discussing the article.
"It's not much," Philza shrugs. "But I try keep it organised, at least. Knew someone would want it some day."
"No, no," Cellbit puts everything back and slowly closes the door. "This is great! I was expecting worse. Can I see that one?"
He points at a random cabinet, somewhere near the middle.
Philza doesn't open it, he grabs a set of keys from one of to desks, and tosses them over.
"These are yours," he says. "So's the desk - mine's over there, though it's mostly used to dump unsorted shit on. Have fun with it all."
"You're leaving?" Cellbit asks. "Me here. With all these records. And the keys. Alone."
"Yeah?" Philza shrugs.
"I've been here three days. How do you just...?"
"Cellbit," Philza says. "Everyone higher than me in this damned organistion trusts you with their lives. Hell, I do too - I know you were feeding us that info. Not everyone does, but..." a shrug "I file the paperwork, you know? Can't solve it, but I can store the damned things. I've seen what you do, Cellbit - you've saved my ass more times than I can count. May as well give you the paperwork, fuck knows I don't know what to do with it."
"I have?" and Cellbit... Cellbit knows his info was good, but to hear it is...
"You sent the Order to Fit," Philza says. "I used my connection to him to get the Order to bail Missa out - my closest friends, I owe you. The warning of the shift in Thin Man biology? Saved our asses on the field. The base locations? The guard rotations? The info on treating laser wounds? There's not a person on this ship who doesn't owe you their life, Cellbit - what the fuck is some paperwork to that?"
"They would have managed," Cellbit says, already unlocking a drawer and flicking though one of the files inside.
This one is much fuller, and he spots photographs - ones taken by Philza, the backs read, showing off the areas where significant things happened.
"But we didn't have to," Philza replies. "Just.. Enjoy yourself, alright? I've left my notes where I could think of something, but I doubt it's worth shit."
"No, no, this is good," he puts the file back and grabs another. "Just needs an index."
"Indexing's all set up on your laptop," Philza taps on it, and only now does Cellbit spot the old piece of tech on the desk. "Tubbo refitted her."
"You indexed this," Cellbit looks at all the shelves, remembers this man leads missions, gives advice on running the Order - hell, he even runs it himself, when the others are indisposed - constantly being asked for aid and giving it... "It must have taken you ages."
"I was sorting through it all anyway, putting it all in date order and tagging the relevant queries and that," Philza shrugs. "Wasn't that much more work. Hour or two here and there over fifteen months or so?"
It's dedication. Cellbit nearly drops a file as the airship moves sharply, and in making sure everything in intact he misses Philza's escape.
Damn it. Well, if he has questions, he can ask later.
The index though...
Cellbit goes to the laptop, pulling it open and waiting for it to boot. There's a couple of things on there - Philza's desk has a full computer and printer, but Cellbit's new laptop has an external hard drive - but he ignores them for opening the index.
He expected just a list of reference numbers and which tags - maybe location, if he was lucky.
Instead.. Full database, all linked up. Reference numbers, tags, and locatgion, yes, but also summaries of the contents, a list of directly related items such as commentaries or other articles about the same event, a column for Philza's notes and one for Cellbit's, the locations of the originals if not stored in the archive...
Cellbit has killed for far, far less than this. And it's just... been handed to him? By someone saying it isn't much?
He doesn't quite get it, but...
He picks a mystery - something small for now. Opens up something to take notes on, and goes to collect the relevant files.
Soon enough he's absorbed so deep that he doesn't even notice Felps not-so-sneaking up behind him until he's already being hugged and told off for missing dinner - for vanishing all over again.
#qsmp x xcom#qsmp fanfic#qsmp philza#qsmp cellbit#i forgot to put this one on the vote list so take it quick-written and take it now lol#there's more of the two of them later in the series if I ever get to writing it#but for now... just this#happy cellbit!!! he's got an archive!!!#even if neither of them think what they did was actually as valuable as it was#cellbit'll work it out. phil... not so much
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What r ur dreamswap headcanons :3
Have to redo this bc Tumblr hates me:
* 7 each
* Human Ver. Specific
Dream
Dream 100% has something that’s dedicated to Ani, (hospital, orphanage, medical organization, etc.)
To add more depth to him being Latino, I choose to believe he’s Chilean-American
He doesn’t like to be touched, but would never correct anybody on it because he doesn’t want to offend anyone and he doesn’t view it as a priority or concern 
Only has one scar and it was prior to the incident (tm), nightmare, dropped a bowl, and a shard of the ceramic cut dream deep enough to form a scar, and subconsciously Dream doesn’t want it to heal, so it doesn’t fully heal, though it is fairly faint, it’s on his wrist directly above the bone 
He’s probably some form of genderqueer, yeah, doesn’t know it and refuses to look into it because he just doesn’t view it as important, he probably goes by pronouns 
His magical blondness, skips a few streaks of his hair, so he has black streaks that he dies blonde to match the rest of his hair
Canonically multilingual, speaking both English and Mandarin, though I would like to add that he can fluently speak Latin, modern Spanish, and French
Bonus: Dream does that OCD thing (w/o actually having it) where all of his pens when they’re laying on his desk are at the exact same place, in a perfect little row
Nightmare
He sits in trees and people watches, like he sits up in trees, kind of in forests and watches people on picnics and fun little family outings, and tries to imagine what his life would be like if it hadn’t been what it is 
His hair is extremely heat damaged, because he totally straightens it (it’s the only thing about him that’s allowed to be straight /j)
Extension on him canonically being Latino: I think he’s Peruvian-American
For some reason collect bottle caps (like the little metal ones you get on alcohol bottles (he doesn’t drink though))
He has a peanut allergy
Despite being an insomniac, whenever he does actually sleep, he starfishes
He doesn’t like looking in mirrors, there’s anything wrong with it, there isn’t really reason why he doesn’t like it, he just find it unsettling and he covers the one in his room with a blanket
Ink
He has one of those canopy beds, but the actual canopy part is custom painted and embroidered (by himself) with band logos, TV show logos, characters he likes, etc.
He is really bad at spelling, professional emails are more like word scrambles
If someone were to ask him to draw them, he would draw them, claim he made mistake, tear it up, then draw a stick figure, and give it to them
Usual Ethnicity one: he actually doesn’t know his ethnicity beyond being Latino, but he is Cuban-American
He’s emo and claims his favorite color is black, but it’s orange which is equally as bad
He has no real gauge of his own pain tolerance and usually has to be forced into medical situations by other people, usually Dream when he reports back to him
Ink’s allergic to bleach and ant bites
Cross
He hasn’t had his first kiss
He uses Old Spice cologne in the classic scent. But he does it to a NAUSEATING level.
He’s Irish, ethnically. I don’t make the rules.
He’s minorly lactose intolerant
This man owns like five Tamagatchis
He makes really good bread for some reason? Like this man SLAYS a sourdough
Cross uses 3-in-1 bodywash
(This is a Tamagatchi if you don’t know)
Blue
This man wears hair curlers to bed 100%
He’s really bad at math
Probably advocates for eating healthy (being a yoga instructor, possible influencer)
Blue is so ADHD to me
American-Italian/Portuguese
Has never made a bed in his LIFE
Blue seems like the kind of man who would burn water
Error
Clean freak, he prefers to keep the house clean, but it ends up a mess anyways because Cross and Nightmare always end up messing it up
Easily the best driver of the Meme Squad
His lock/homescreen is an inspirational quote
LOVES the rain, finds it calming and loves the smell of it, but hates getting caught out in the rain (loves the aesthetic, hates the actual thing)
Maybe American-Moroccan?
He likes dark fantasy books
Was top of his class when he had been in school, prior to his amnesia
Kevin
Can read. (Can’t write (no thumbs))
Can and does steal from the meme squad
Bonus:
How long I think it takes DS to get ready in the mornings:
Dream takes a solid hour and a half
Blue takes an hour
Nightmare takes 45 minutes
Cross and Ink take 15-20 minute for the sake of layers
Error and Finch take like 5 bc they dress really basic
dreamswap by @\onebizarrekai
#dreamswap#dreamswap dream#ds dream#dreamswap finch#ds finch#ds error#dreamswap ink#dreamswap error#ds cross#ds ink#ds nightmare#ds blue#dreamswap cross#dreamswap nightmare#dreamswap blue#dreamswap headcanons#ds headcanons
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OTMA's personalities according to Colonel Evgeny Stepanovich Kobylinsky
Kobylinsky is a fascinating inividual, here is a short summary of his life: Colonel Kobylinsky was employed by the Provisional Government and oversaw the Romanovs during their captivity in the Alexander Palace and Tobolsk. He was eventually replaced due to being viewed as not strict enough, and enabling their desires for activity and entertainment. Unusually, he went on to join the White Army in 1918, until he was captured and sent to a concentration camp. In order to escape the camp, he traded his freedom for a position in the Red Army. He eventually married Klavdia Mikhailovna Bitner, friend and tutor to OTMAA. Together they had one son. In 1927 he was accused of being part of a 'monarchical conspiracy' against the Soviet State and was executed by firing squad. Bitner was also arrested under a similar charge ten years later, and executed. Their son, Innokenty Evgenievich, was orphaned aged seventeen. He was drafted into the Red Army, and fought against the Nazi invasion.
"The Grand Duchess Olga was a nice looking young blonde, about twenty-three; her type was Russian. She was fond of reading, capable and mentally well developed; spoke English well and German badly. She had some talent for art, played the piano, sang, (she learned singing in Petrograd; her voice was soprano), and she painted well. She was very modest and did not care for luxury.
Her clothes were modest and she restrained her sisters from extravagance in dress. She gave altogether the impression of a good, generous-hearted Russian girl. It looked as if she had had some sorrows in her life and still carried traces of it. It seemed to me that she loved her father more than she loved her mother. She also loved her brother, and called him "The Little One" or "The Baby.
The Grand Duchess Tatiana was about twenty. She was quite different from her sisters. You recognised in her the same features that were in her mother — the same nature and the same character. You felt that she was the daughter of an emperor. She had no liking for art. Maybe it would have been better for her had she been a man. When the emperor and empress left Tobolsk nobody would ever have thought that the Grand Duchess Olga was the senior of the remaining members of the imperial family. If any questions arose it was always Tatiana who was appealed to. She was nearer to her mother than the other children; and it seemed that she loved her mother more than her father.
The Grand Duchess Maria was eighteen ; she was tall, strong, and better looking than the other sisters. She painted well and was the most amiable. She always used to speak to the soldiers, questioned them, and knew very well the names of their wives, the number of their children, and the amount of land owned by the soldiers. All the intimate affairs in such cases were always known to her. Like the Grand Duchess Olga, she loved her father more than the rest. On account of her simplicity and affability she was given the pet name by the family of "Mashka." And by this term she was called by her brother and by her sisters.
The Grand Duchess Anastasia, I believe, was seventeen. She was over-developed for her age; she was stout and short, too stout for her height; her characteristic feature was to see the weak points of other people and to make fun of them. She was a comedian by nature and always made everybody laugh. She preferred her father to her mother and loved Maria Nicholevna more than the other sisters.
All of them, including Tatiana, were nice, modest and innocent girls. There is no doubt they were cleaner in their thoughts than the majority of girls nowadays.
The czarevitch was the idol of the whole family. He was only a child and his characteristic features were not yet worked out. He was a very clever, capable and lively boy. He spoke Russian, French and English, and did not know a word of German.
In general, I could say about the whole imperial family that they all loved each other and were so satisfied with their family life that they did not need nor look for intercourse with other people. Never before in my life have I seen, and probably never again shall I see, such a good, friendly and agreeable family."
SOURCE: The Last Days of the Romanovs, published 1920, George Gustav Telberg, Robert Wilton, Nikolai Sokolov, ch. Examination of E. S. Kobylinsky
PHOTOS: Colonel Kobylinsky, dates unknown. Arrest photograph of Klavdia Mikhailovna Kobylinskaya, formerly Bitner, shortly before her execution
#Ipatiev House#Ekaterinburg#Alexander Palace#captivity#romanovs#OTMA#sources#descriptions#Olga Nikolaevna#Tatiana Nikolaevna#Maria Nikolaevna#Anastasia Nikolaevna#Colonel Kobylinski#Klaudia Bitner#Klavdia Bitner#Alexei Nikolaevich
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Mischa headcannons!
-Mans cant cook shit, he tried. He trys so hard to cook but ends up buring it. The only thing he can cook is those lyrics
-I frimly belive he would be oh so kind to ricky, Noel and you. Fuck everyone else. Yall tree matter most
-If your a singer. Hes always listening to you sing. One time you sung him to sleep and you deny it everytime he says it.
-Imagine your first kiss like this. You invited him over to your house and you two take a walk. The sun is setting and your admireing it. You say the sun set is beautiful. He says your more beautiful then the sun set, makes you look at him softly and he kisses you. AHHHHHH
-Lets you and you alone play with his hair. Like you two could be at choir rehersal and hes sitting i front of you, your sitting an a chair hes on the floor and your just playing with his curly hair.
-In his phone your name is "My pretty girl💘" and in yours its "My pretty boy💞"
-One time noel saw this and he always makes fun of yall for it.
-Speaking of noel. Yall are like such an iconic friend group. When yall have sleepoevrs yall are up timm 4am watching stupid movies.
-Mischas fave movie is 100% Suiside squad, One of noels is little miss sunshine
-Noel being the third wheel
-You three would go on road thrips and every hour and a half someone else gets the aux. It would start with mischa,noel then you. If someone falls asleep. They would contenue to the person before thems playlist
-Hear me out. He watches Grays Anatomy for hours.
-If you ever fall asleep on him he would literally tell everyone to shut the fuck up. No noise. The baby is sleeping.
-He hates. HATES. Small dogs. Unless its like a french bulldog.
-He also has something agaisnt cats. He dont hate them he just doesnt like them
-yall would get matching tattoos. Like something dumb too. Like microphones, smiley faces, muisic notes, continuing rap lyrics from like Eminem
-He has a tattoo that looks like a peice of lined paper so he can write stuff he needs to remeber on it
-He has such poor memory too
Thats all i got right now
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Realtime Updates
🚨LARGE BOMBING IN KERMAN, IRAN AT ENEMY GENERAL’S U.S. ASSASSINATION COMMEMORATION… 2-4 bombs set off, reports of 100+ killed, 170+ wounded. Iran blames Israel, no claims of responsibility from Israel (and Iran has plenty of enemies, and mass bombing a public event is not Israel’s style).
⬆️ Northern Front 🗞 Airstrikes in Markaba, a-Labuna, Ayta Ash Shab. Rockets at Dovev. Over 25 IDF air force strikes today.
Hezbollah leader Nasrallah to speak at 6:00 PM Israel/Lebanon time. Anti-tank missile hits electric infrastructure near Malkia, knocking out power.
⚠️BE PREPARED… with the risks from Gaza having lowered, most (not in or affected by army service) have returned to normal life routines. This is a tense moment and the possibility of a major attack from the north is real. Listen and follow ALL Homefront Command instructions. Taking precautions this evening and tomorrow in Israel is wise. Homefront command in Israel (only works in Israel) https://www.oref.org.il/en
⬇️ Southern Front 🗞 Rockets from Gaza to near-Gaza towns, 1 round.
Holes drilled through walls, looks like a dryer air vent, it’s an RPG shooting position, or anti-tank missile shooting position, or sniper position. Other times it might simply be an observation position - to direct fire of one of the above. Combat teams are frequently finding shooting positions and observation positions…
In Kherbat Ahzaza, IDF combat teams located and destroyed observation posts and anti-tank launching positions, and a tunnel shaft in a school. Interestingly the school included laminated pictures of different types of weaponry… ‘children, can you say soccer ball? grenade? RPG?’
In Khan Yunis, IDF forces pushing deeper into the city. Terrorist attempted to attach a bomb to a tank, he and his squad taken out by drone strike. Weapons captured, safe with hundreds of thousands of shekels captured (thanks for the war effort donation Hamas!), munitions production facility bombed.
In Tupach Michlal, an enemy drone squad was eliminated by drone strike.
IDF warns civilians to evacuate Nizirat.
In destroying a tunnel network in southern Gaza yesterday, the IDF used TONS of explosives and blew up the network and the whole neighborhood above.
Enemy claims to have shot down an IDF Hermes 900 observation drone via a shoulder launched anti-aircraft missile. Analysis: possible.
➡️ Eastern Front 🗞 Counter-terror, (enemy report) IDF blows up an explosives lab and whole building in Noor Shams, Tulkarm. In East Jerusalem, suspects arrested, building in Jebel Makbar, East Jerusalem prepared for demolition.
🚢 Red Sea Front 🗞 The Houthis attacked a ship in the Red Sea after it did not respond to calls. Houthis say the CMA CGM Tage was attacked. French shipping company CMA CGM said “the vessel did not suffer any incident” and was sailing through the Red Sea toward Alexandria, Egypt.
▪️ECONOMY - In the 12th week of the war, public spending reached 11 billion shekels - a jump of 19.2% compared to an average week, headed towards recovery.
▪️US SEC STATE - to visit Turkey on Shabbat, Israel on Monday.
▪️HEZBOLLAH LEADER HAS BEGUN SPEAKING… after a delay. So far: pays tribute to the assassinated commander and companions. Salutes martyrs. Speaks of good results for Palestine, Lebanon, Syria and Iraq.
▪️IRAN ON THE MOVE IN SYRIA - (enemy’s enemy report) IRGC are evacuating their bases in northern Syria.
▪️HOSTAGE KILLED - The IDF has notified the family of hostage Sahar Baruch that he was killed during an attempt to rescue him on December 8, and says is unable to determine the cause of death at this stage, it is unknown if he was murdered by Hamas or killed by Israeli fire. Two IDF soldiers were seriously wounded in the failed hostage rescue attempt.
▪️IDF PUBLISHES PROOF OF USE OF CHILDREN as spotters, ammunition carriers, and messengers, as well as sending them to indoctrination camps with weapons training.
▪️TUNNEL LOCATED - JUDEA… IDF forces locate tunnel in the area of Kfar Tarkomia near Hebron, headed towards the town of Salem.
▪️MK’s WHO LIVE IN JUDEA-SAMARIA GIVEN VESTS AND HELMETS… due to increased security concerns, by the Knesset Guard and recommended by the police.
▪️3 TERRORISTS ARRESTED IN ARGENTINA… possibly planning terror attack against Jewish community. (N12)
▪️HIGH COURT RULES… it is ordered to postpone the applicability of Amendment No. 12 to the Basic Law: The Government regarding the arrangement of the Prime Minister (and under what basis he can be suspended as PM), so that it will enter into force at the beginning of the 26th Knesset term. This is because it is a distinctly personal amendment that constitutes an abuse of the Knesset's constituent authority.
⬆️ Northern Front 🗞 Airstrikes continue at a heavier pace than previously. Hezbollah has fired 6 very-large rockets at Israel.
⬇️ Southern Front 🗞 Heavy fire in the Sheikh Radwan area, north Gaza and IDF Navy firing at west Gaza targets.
➡️ Eastern Front 🗞 IDF operating in Jenin, Jericho and Qalqilya to make arrests. Firefight during the operation in Jenin. Tulkarm, IDF dozer hit by huge IED (via enemy video).
🚢 Red Sea Front 🗞 (no updates)
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I'll forever cherish those concert vibes and the unexpected surprise of spotting our little French-speaking squad in Käärijä's flag pic. Can't believe it's been a week already—feels like we were rocking out just yesterday!
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I’ve already said I hc that Anthony speaks French when he’s having Big Feelings, but I would like to add to that: if it’s bad enough, he can get “stuck” in French. As in he genuinely cannot form English sentences even if he wants to. The words just don’t come to him, or they’re so jumbled and grammatically misplaced it’s unintelligible. And his friends understand like- four words in French combined. All of them via Anthony’s speaking the language. So if, say, he’s having a panic attack bad enough to get stuck, he will be unable to communicate why.
Not that he would if he could speak English, but the squad would have a fighting chance at figuring it out based on what he does say.
#this is based on me#as usual#I’ll switch to Dutch accidentally#and then be unable to switch back#in the middle of a conversation#very annoying#anthony tremaine needs a hug#I made it angsty#anthony tremaine#descendants books#descendants#disney descendants
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Hey! Welcome to the random incorrect quotes of the mafia au, mostly by Dia.
For those of you wondering, it’s pretty much a random idea I said and these cool artists I admire created it— and well now we’re all (kinda?) friends, and so I decided to do a goofy thing of all of our mafia characters with incorrect quotes.
Just canon characters— sorry for all the cool canon ones, but most of these quotes were made a while ago, just not put into this at the time of it being posted. These were generated a while ago… sorry for any characters that might’ve been added to canon since then!
Don’t worry, I’ll do another one on just the aces mob/ the blacks (for anyone seeing this out of context, it’s not a race thing, just ‘black cards’ against ‘red cards’. Wanted to clear that up before confusion started!) so any canon characters I didn’t have here- I’ll have there!
Characters are
M!Dash
M!Kay
M!Jeffery
M!Candice
M!Dia
M!Diamond
M!Rabid
M!Bun
M!Moshieee
M!Arsenic
Dia, Diamond, Candice, and Jeffery all belong to @dia-smthidk
Rabid and arsenic (plz tell me if I spelt that wrong) belong to @rabid-mercenary15
Moshie belongs to @moshieee obv
Bun belongs to Milo/Bun — @bunnybunnsowo
Dash belongs to @ner5y
And lastly Kay belongs to me! Most of these are sonas, so that’s why they might have the same or similar name to the creator, you should check all of them out!
A lot of them do tadc content mostly (or at least as of current times) but their all amazing at so many other things, like this AU they all made, so go and check them out! (And their all amazing artists and just fun to interact with or see)
Note: Dia and Diamond are different people (bc I’m not gonna bring up the whole name debate) just know that
Diamond -> sister of Dia, part of the enemy mob
Candice -> old friend of Jeffery, leader of the enemy mob
Arsenic -> Traitor. Friends with the enemy.
And remember, a lot of these situations would never happen for multiple reasons, but, I still found them funny!
Other mafia incorrect quotes
——————
M!Rabid: If I say I love you, will you say it back?
M!Arsenic: Yes.
M!Rabid: I love you.
M!Arsenic: It back.
*Later*
M!Moshieee: Why is M!Rabid crying face-down on the floor?
••+^+••
M!Moshieee, running: Slow down, M!Bun, I can’t ketchup!
M!Bun, not slowing down: You’ll just have to use all the strength you can mustard.
••+^+••
M!Kay, excitedly: Heeyy!!
M!Candice: Hey, someone's excited.
M!Rabid, deadpan: Yeah, and it's making me sick.
••+^+••
M!Kay: Hostage or not, sometimes it’s nice being held.
M!Dash: Are you okay.
••+^+••
*Squad is playing Among Us*
M!Candice: I believe M!Diamond is innocent, I was with them the whole time. M!Rabid, what were you doing?
M!Rabid: Oh, I was just murdering… I mean, nothing!
••+^+••
M!Moshieee: My stomach growled super loud in French.
M!Moshieee: I would like to clarify, my stomach did not speak in French. It growled during French class.
M!Dash: Bonjour.
M!Rabid: Le growl.
M!Bun: Hon hon hon, feed me a baguette.
••+^+••
Police: You’re under arrest for trying to carry three people on a single motorcycle.
M!Diamond, with M!Jeffery and M!Kay behind them: Wait, what do you mean THREE?!
Police: Yes…three.
M!Diamond: Oh, my God— What the fuck!?
Police: Wha-
M!Diamond: M!Dia FUCKING FELL OFF!
••+^+••
M!Bun: Why do humans have different blood groups?
M!Moshieee: So mosquitoes can enjoy different flavors.
••+^+••
M!Jeffery: My favorite thing about big dogs is that when you push them over, they're all like "Oh, I'm lying down now! Someone might scratch my stomach! I might nap! Endless possibilities!"
M!Arsenic: ...whereas, when you push little dogs over, they're all like, "Vengeance! Death before dishonor!"
••+^+••
M!Diamond, spraying a melted cutting board with a tiny water gun: We gotta cool this bitch down. Cool it down.
M!Moshieee: I actually just put the cutting board in the oven...
M!Dia, visibly confused: Okay, so they decided to put the cutting board in the oven?
M!Diamond, spraying M!Moshieee: You FUCKING DUMBASS!
M!Moshieee: Dude, I forgot-
M!Diamond: OH MY FUCKING GOD! We're trying to make Chicken Alfredo right now, and you fucking MELT the cutting board in the oven at 400 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT!?
M!Kay: *Watching in complete confusion while trying to process this whole situation.*
••+^+••
M!Kay: Please! Pretend I'm useful!
••+^+••
M!Diamond: Enough! How dare you mock me in such a manner!?
M!Dash: Well. How would you like me to mock you? I take requests.
••+^+••
M!Dia: You know guys, sometimes I feel like M!Rabid doesn't take me seriously enough.
M!Jeffery: "Sometimes"?
M!Arsenic: "Enough"?
M!Dia:
M!Arsenic: Change that to 'at all' and we'll talk.
••+^+••
M!Candice: Yeah I'm LGBT.
M!Candice: cuLt leader.
M!Candice: God hates me personally.
M!Candice: cowBoy hat.
M!Candice: *sniffles* Trying my best.
••+^+••
M!Diamond: So my therapist was talking to me and she said that I really just need to break down my walls and let people in.
M!Diamond: So I’ve decided to break the fourth wall.
M!Diamond: *looks at camera* Hi there. I use humor as a coping mechanism.
••+^+••
M!Kay: The shadow realm? No, I’m sending you to Ohio!
••+^+••
M!Kay: Can you PLEASE peer pressure me into doing my project?
M!Dash: Do it or you're straight.
M!Kay: I said peer pressure, NOT THREATEN!
••+^+••
M!Kay, about M!Bun: I could fix them, but honestly whatever the hell is wrong with them is way funnier.
M!Rabid: That's what any god probably thinks about me.
••+^+••
M!Bun: You wanna fight?! You got one!
M!Kay: Okay! *raises fists*
*M!Arsenic runs in, scoops M!Kay up in their arms, and runs away carrying them*
M!Bun:
M!Bun: What?
••+^+••
M!Diamond: Heyyy M!Kay, how’s your… drink??
M!Kay: What do you mean drink? It’s coffee.
M!Diamond: You sure?? *Looks to coffee maker*
M!Kay: *Looks to coffee maker*
*Cement sitting beside the coffee maker*
M!Kay:...I’m on my third fucking drink right now, I should be dead.
••+^+••
M!Moshieee, opening a Capri Sun: Guess I'll drink my sorrows away.
••+^+••
M!Dash: Whoa, M!Kay, what’s up with that angry face?
M!Kay: M!Diamond won’t stop talking about how “Ancient Egyptians were furries”.
M!Diamond: But they were! Just looks at all their gods-
M!Kay: Oh my god, SHUT UP!
••+^+••
M!Kay: Why are you drinking, M!Diamond?
M!Diamond: I don’t drink anymore, so don’t start with that.
M!Kay, holding an empty water bottle: So why was this under your bed?
M!Diamond: WE NEED WATER TO LIVE!
M!Kay: NOT IN MY DAMN HOUSE!
••+^+••
M!Jeffery: There are some things beyond our understanding. We must accept them and learn from them. Because these moments of crisis are also potential moments of faith. A time, when we either come together or fall apart. Nature always has a way of balancing itself. The only question is, what part will we play?
M!Rabid: Did you just make that up?
M!Jeffery: No. I read it in a fortune cookie once.
M!Rabid:
M!Jeffery: A really long fortune cookie.
••+^+••
M!Kay on stage: Everyone's talking 'bout climate change,but when is M!Arsenic gonna start talking 'bout some underwear change? Am I right ladies?
Crowd of People: *cheers*
M!Kay: *pulls out a gun and shoots M!Arsenic until they run out of bullets*
M!Kay: *reloads, then shoots M!Arsenic until they run out of bullets*
M!Kay: *looks into camera after a brief pause* Who killed M!Arsenic?
••+^+••
M!Arsenic: M!Diamond, you’ve tried 37 times and you’ve failed every time. Give it a break.
M!Diamond: DO I HEAR “FIRST TRY PART 38?”
••+^+••
M!Kay: Did you know spiders can hold 8 guns at once?
M!Dash: How does it WALK??
M!Kay:
M!Kay: Did you know spiders can hold 7 guns at once?
••+^+••
M!Kay: Why do you think I don’t like you? I do. I would kill for you.
M!Kay: Ask me to kill for you.
M!Diamond: ...First of all, calm down-
••+^+••
M!Rabid: Which way did M!Kay go?
M!Candice: Well, based on the direction of the wind, the broken sticks in the corner, and the slight disturbance in the dirt, I'd guess they went left.
M!Rabid: You could really figure it out from that?
M!Candice: No, you idiot, M!Kay sent me a text. See?
••+^+••
M!Jeffery: Lol. Heads up if you try to make a candle with food coloring, the food coloring will just sink to the bottom of the glass, and when the flame eventually reaches the bottom all the food coloring will catch fire and become one giant tall flame that you cannot possibly blow out and the glass will start to crack and then you’ll throw your tea on it in a panic and then the extremely hot food coloring will boil and sizzle horribly and then the glass will shatter. Please take my word on this.
M!Dia: What did you do M!Jeffery?
M!Jeffery: a Mistake.
••+^+••
M!Dia: I can catch one of them. Let's go, M!Kay.
M!Kay: I didn't volunteer.
M!Dia: A stake out needs two people! Think, M!Kay. Who's gonna watch all the crime stuff while the other one eats a hoagie?
••+^+••
M!Kay: I’m gonna kill you.
M!Rabid: Get in line!
••+^+••
M!Rabid: Alright M!Dia, M!Kay. Let's go over this one more time.
M!Rabid: If something breaks?
M!Dia: We try to fix it before M!Moshieee gets home.
M!Rabid: If it doesn't work?
M!Kay: We blame M!Jeffery.
M!Jeffery: Seriously guys, what the hell?!
••+^+••
M!Dia: I hate to tell you this, but one of you was adopted.
M!Kay & M!Bun:
M!Kay: Only one...?
••+^+••
M!Moshieee: You're alive.
M!Kay: There's no need to sound so disappointed.
••+^+••
M!Kay: Comparing M!Dash and M!Diamond is like comparing apples and oranges.
M!Dash: We’re both unique in our own ways?
M!Kay: Apples are superior in every way and all oranges should be eliminated.
M!Diamond: Which one of us is the orange?
••+^+••
M!Moshieee: Astrology is fun because I can pretend that all of my behaviors are just a result of being a Gemini and not symptoms of mental illness.
M!Rabid: Being a Gemini is a mental illness. That’s not hate it’s just a fact.
••+^+••
M!Kay: Caw caw, motherfuckers.
••+^+••
M!Moshieee: Am I a boy? Am I a girl? It doesn't matter. I'm going to burn your house down.
••+^+••
M!Arsenic: Go to hell!
M!Kay: Oh! I’ve been there, thank you. I found it quite lovely.
••+^+••
M!Arsenic: Why are you drinking?
M!Diamond: I drink when I'm depressed.
M!Arsenic: But you're always drinking?
M!Diamond: *smug grin*
••+^+••
M!Kay: *Reading a letter*
M!Bun: Well, what does it say?
M!Kay: It’s a confession letter. It turns out M!Diamond killed my pet rock.
••+^+••
M!Rabid: If you bite it and you die, it's poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it's venomous.
M!Dia: What if it bites me and it dies?!
M!Rabid: Then you're poisonous. Jesus Christ, M!Dia, learn to listen.
M!Diamond: What if it bites itself and I die?
M!Rabid: That's voodoo.
M!Kay: What if it bites me and someone else dies?
M!Rabid: That's correlation, not causation.
M!Moshieee: What if we bite each other and neither of us die?
M!Rabid: That's kinky.
M!Arsenic: Oh my god.
••+^+••
M!Kay: Its hard to resist, I'm really sorry- I mean, considering your approach so far, you had us tied here for- what? Hours? And you haven’t even had us confirm what exactly we are!
M!Rabid: What are you then?
M!Kay: I'm a Virgo!
••+^+••
M!Arsenic, in a high voice, holding Barbie: Hey, Ken! I was thinking about going back to school and starting a career!
M!Kay, in a deep voice, holding Ken: Nonsense, Barbie. You’re staying home and having my kids.
M!Bun: What the fuck are you guys doing?
M!Arsenic: Playing systemic oppression.
••+^+••
M!Dash: Where are your parents?
M!Kay: What are parents?
M!Dash: That’s just about the saddest thing I ever heard get said.
••+^+••
M!Rabid: You should have realised, M!Kay, if M!Jeffery didn't kill you, we would.
••+^+••
M!Kay: Now it's time for some witty back and forth banter. You go first.
M!Jeffery: *sobbing*
M!Kay: Look, I'm not sure where to go with that.
••+^+••
M!Kay: And then they ran into my knife. They ran into my knife ten times.
M!Dash: You mean you stabbed them?
M!Kay: They ran into my knife.
••+^+••
M!Dash, singing: I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need—
M!Kay: A family.
M!Rabid: A better love life.
M!Diamond: Mental stability.
M!Bun: *clueless* Bagels?
••+^+••
M!Rabid: My life is a little too much panic and not enough disco.
M!Candice: My life is a little too much fall and not enough boy.
M!Dash: My life is a little too much chemical and not enough romance.
M!Kay: My life is a little too much imagination and not nearly enough dragons.
••+^+••
M!Rabid: Look at the buns on that guy!
M!Kay: *lying on the floor, covered in hamburger buns*
M!Jeffery: This is the comedy police! The joke's too funny!
M!Rabid: I'm not going back to jail!
••+^+••
M!Candice: It’s not gonna work, I’m not a snitch.
Cop: Fine, let's try something else. Tag a friend you recently committed a crime with.
M!Candice: Lmao, @M!Diamond.
••+^+••
M!Dash: Just so everyone knows, don't ever try to climb a tree at night carrying a strobe light, owls DON'T like it.
M!Moshieee: ...what happened?
M!Dash: I made a VERY bad mistake.
••+^+••
M!Jeffery: So, what's for dinner?
M!Rabid, staring at the food they burnt: Regret.
••+^+•• (hehe friends quote below)
M!Diamond: Hey guys, what do you think about making that beach trip an annual thing?
M!Arsenic, M!Kay, and M!Rabid: No!
M!Moshieee: Alright, that’s it, you guys. What happened out there?
M!Arsenic: What? We took a walk. Nothing happened. I came back with nothing all over me.
M!Moshieee: What does that mean?
M!Diamond: Come on, what happened? M!Kay?
M!Kay: Alright.
M!Arsenic: No. M!Kay, we swore we’d never tell!
M!Rabid: They’ll never understand.
M!Kay: But we have to say something. We have to get it out. It’s eating me alive.
M!Kay: M!Arsenic got stung by a jellyfish!
M!Arsenic: Alright! I got stung. Stung bad. I couldn’t stand. I- I couldn’t walk.
M!Rabid: We were two miles from the house. We were scared and alone. We didn’t think we could make it.
M!Arsenic: I was in too much pain.
M!Kay: And I was tired from digging a huge hole.
M!Rabid: And then M!Kay remembered something.
M!Kay: I’d seen this thing in the Discovery Channel.
M!Diamond: Wait a minute, I saw that. On the Discovery Channel. Yeah, about jellyfish and how if you— EW! You peed on yourself?
M!Moshieee and M!Dia: EW!!
M!Arsenic: You can’t say that! You don’t know! I thought I was gonna pass out from the pain. Anyway, I tried, but I couldn’t... bend that way. So... *looks at M!Kay*
M!Diamond, M!Moshieee, and M!Dia: Ew!
M!Kay: That’s right. I stepped up. They’re my friend and they needed help. If I had to, I’d pee on any one of you.
M!Kay: Only, uh, I couldn’t. I got stage fright. I wanted to help but there was too much pressure. So, I, um, I turned to M!Rabid.
M!Rabid: M!Kay kept screaming at me, “Do it now. Do it. Do it now.” Sometimes, late at night I can still hear the screaming.
M!Kay: That’s because sometimes I just do it through my wall to freak you out.
••+^+••
M!Jeffery: Hey, M!Kay, have you thought about having children?
M!Kay: ...
M!Kay: Does looking over you and the others not seem like I already do? Because I promise you, it sure feels like it.
M!Jeffery: But we're not childr-
M!Kay, already distracted: M!DIAMOND, PUT THE FIRE DOWN!
••+^+••
M!Kay: I find it very unseemly of M!Dia to start dating again. Isn't the customary period of mourning 10 years?
M!Candice: Die. Let's find out.
••+^+••
M!Candice: That's greatly offensive to my people.
M!Arsenic: College dropouts?
••+^+••
M!Rabid, throwing a pokeball at M!Diamond: M!Diamond, I choose you!
M!Diamond, not looking up from their book and catching it: You need an Ultra ball to catch this Legendary Pokémon.
••+^+••
M!Bun: M!Dia… I’m bleeding…
M!Dia: Oh god… what’s your blood type?!
M!Bun: B positive…
M!Dia: I’m trying to but you’re bleeding-
••+^+••
M!Rabid: I dunno if I'm ready to process the ramifications of this bullshit.
••+^+••
M!Dash: There's no meeting today because M!Rabid is at the police station.
M!Arsenic: They're in jail?!
M!Kay: We have to get them out!
M!Diamond: Jailbreak! I'm in!
M!Kay: I'll dress up and distract the guard!
M!Diamond: Ooh, I'll bake some food to help distract ALL the guards!
M!Arsenic: I guess I could bring my frying pan in case we need a shield to keep us from being shot-
M!Dash: No! M!Rabid wasn't arrested! They're undercover, taking the system down from the inside. They don't need our help!
••+^+••
M!Moshieee: *spits mouthful of blood onto floor* You’ve become far more powerful since we last crossed paths.
Dentist: Please stop, there’s literally a sink right next to you.
••+^+••
M!Kay: Hey, M!Dia. What kind of flowers do you prefer?
M!Dia: I like sunflowers.
M!Kay, pulling out a bouquet of Venus Flytraps: Well, shit-
••+^+••
M!Dash: When M!Rabid was born, the gods said, "They're too perfect for this world."
M!Dia: Please. When they were born, the devil said, "Oh, competition."
••+^+••
M!Jeffery, to M!Kay and M!Bun: *holding knife out in front of them* Are you or are you not an enemy of the people?!
M!Kay: ...
M!Bun: ...
M!Kay: That is such an open-ended question.
M!Bun: Yeah, it really depends on a lot of different factors-
••+^+••
M!Dia: *bites lip* Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?
Cop: That isn’t gonna work, hands behind your back.
••+^+••
Cop: What are your names?
M!Diamond: Don't tell them, M!Jeffery.
Cop, writing: M!Jeffery...
M!Diamond: Crap.
M!Jeffery: Nice going, M!Diamond.
Cop:
M!Jeffery: Uh oh.
••+^+••
That’s all for now! I’ll be sure to link if I make another one! Remember to check all these awesome people out, AND to ask their mafia sona/characters!
Kay - @mafia-kay
Dia + Jeffery(kinda) - @mafia-dia-smthidk
Rabid - @mafia-rabid-mercenary2
Moshieee - @mafia-moshie
Bun - @mafia-bun
Dash - @the-mafia-bear
(Sorry for the double ping, y’all)
#mafia jeffery#mafia sona au#mafia rabid#sona mafia au#mafia bun#mafia diamond#mafia sona#mafia au#mafia dash#mafia dia#m!dia#mafia Kay#mafia Candice#mafia of the reds#incorrect quotes#glitchyk randomness#rabid mercenary#dia smthidk#bunnybunnsowo#moshieee#long post
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Mac I feel like we should shoot the blorbs into France as a treat, school trip style, and the stupid squad can have comedy hijinks and get kicked out of the clothing store for not being cool enough. and get lost in France bc idr if any of them can speak French lmao.
They are extremely lost Lumiose is big and the only one who knows any French is Val and they are still learning
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Barbie movies settings (including mentioned places that aren't the setting of the movie)
Nutcracker and Swan Lake - Russia. Based on Russian ballets, Tchaikovsky can be seen in a picture in Clara's house, Ivan has a Russian name and accent
Rapunzel - Germany
12 Dancing Princesses - Germany. Based on a Brothers Grimm story
Princess and the Pauper - England. Based on The Prince and the Pauper, which was set in England
Magic of Pegasus - Netherlands during winter. Annika is a Dutch name and several characters, including her, wear vaguely Dutch clothing. Other places that have been theorized are Scandinavia and Russia.
Fairytopia trilogy - Portugal. Elina mentions knowing Mariposa, who's from Spain, and is "cut off from Flutterfield".
Barbie Diaries - Malibu, California
Island Princess - Italy. Names such as Rosella, Antonio, Luciana, and Ariana already tell us a lot, but the sunny weather, the characters all having tans, and some of the architecture also indicate this.
Christmas Carol - London, England
Three Musketeers - Paris, France
Diamond Castle - Europe, likely Germany/France, and/or Greece. Liana and Alexa wear stereotypically European dresses, the house looks like a traditional French cottage, but the Muses wear togas and the Diamond Castle itself looks vaguely Greek temple-ish on the inside.
Thumbelina - United States. Updated the setting and time period to the 2000s, clearly not in Denmark.
Fashion Fairytale - Paris, France
Mermaid Tale - Malibu, California
Mariposa - Spain. Also because of the accents.
Mermaid Tale 2 - Australia (the Ambassadors are however coded as Korean, African, Brazilian, and Russian), maybe New Zealand (Aquellia is implied to be near it)
Fairy Secret - Malibu, California (Gloss Angeles is another dimension)
Princess Charm School - Europe. No indication as to where "Gardania" is. However, most speaking Charm School students are from other places (Hadley is from South America, Isla is from Japan, Portia is from Scotland, and Josette is from Africa)
Princess and the Popstar - Monaco. Meribella looks like Monaco, with it's small status and how rich it is. Also Amelia mentions her grandma knowing the King of Spain.
Mariposa and the Fairy Princess - Malta. Shimmervale is "across Fairytopia", and the British accents of many people, as well as several dark haired background fairies, some with light skin, some with dark skin, a common feature of Maltese people.
Pink Shoes - United States, France, Russia (The ballet world uses Giselle, a French ballet, and Swan Lake)
Pony Tale - Switzerland
Pearl Princess - Denmark. A mermid story with some similarities to The Little Mermaid.
Secret Door - Europe (Zinnia is another dimension)
Princess Power - Europe or an alternate reality America, or somehwere in the near distant future
Starlight Adventure - Space, in the future
Great Puppy Adventure - Willows, Wisconsin
Puppy Chase - Hawaii
Rock N Royals - Europe (with campers from other European places: Sloane from Scotland, maybe her two friends are American as they resemble Dua Lipa and Halle Bailey vaguely, Aubray from Ireland, Genevieve from England, Svetlana Petranova from Russia)
Spy Squad - Los Angeles, California
Video Game Hero - United States, "Japan". Her video game is heavily Japanese inspired, with animesque characters and Nintendoesque visuals.
Dolphin Magic - Malibu, California
Princess Adventure - Europe
Lost Birthday - United States
Big City Big Dreams - New York
Mermaid Power - Malibu, California
#barbie#lore#barbie lore#barbie in the nutcracker#barbie of swan lake#barbie as the island princess#barbie as the princess and the pauper#barbie as rapunzel#barbie in the 12 dancing princesses#barbie in a christmas carol#barbie in the pink shoes#barbie: a fashion fairytale#barbie: big city big dreams#barbie: fairytopia#barbie: the princess & the popstar#barbie mariposa#barbie and the magic of pegasus#barbie and the three musketeers#barbie fairytopia magic of the rainbow#barbie mermaid power#barbie princess adventure#barbie and her sisters in a pony tale#barbie and her sisters in the great puppy adventure#barbie a perfect christmas#barbie a fairy secret#barbie mariposa and the fairy princess#barbie and chelsea the lost birthday#barbie dolphin magic#barbie video game hero#barbie starlight adventure
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