dat france

schnano  asked:

I think after these crazy m!as it's time for some bro time–no romance and no fighting. Friends being dorks and singing karaoke or watching dumb movies. Just having fun before the next onslaught. For their sanity.

(don’t worry guys, Spain’s not even gonna touch alcohol, and Port and England have only had a little bit.)


Day 22: arguing
anon asked a long time ago about this otp prompt and well, why not kill two birds with one stone lmfao

Fic: The Serpent and the Canary

So it begins! I don’t know almost anything about Tumblr, so…um, I’ll..tag. or post on AO3 sometime after it goes up here.

Basic Premise: Queenie Goldstein is the greatest known Legilimens ever to have lived. Severus Snape, newly minted renegade Death Eater needs to learn Occlumency yesterday.

Chapter 1: Art of the Glad Rag Grift

Today, halfway up a long stone staircase, there’s a girl in head-to-toe baby blue felt and wool, with just the barest shimmer at the edges like the glint off a broomstick in open sky. She trips up the stairs with a demur laugh. “Gosh, I’m late again!” She gasps, scandalized by her own moxie. Everyone she passes feels younger for a sparkling instant. Every cheek is kissed sweetheart pink and every bowler hat is rumpled in the wind of the memory of Quidditch games gone by.

“Truth be told,” she’d tell you if you ever thought to ask–which you never would because, our girl, she’s the very best at what she does, queen of stray thoughts, and duchess of misdirection.

“Truth be told,” she’d say on that never-coming day you think to ask. “This is how it started, you know. What? Everything! My look…my, oh jeepers, what’s the word? Oh! My aesthetic hospitality. I know, dolls, those words are worth a quarter apiece, ain’t that a laugh? What was it you were saying? Oh, me? Yes, it’s why I started up my look. It makes people happy to see a pretty face first thing, turns out. Brightens their day right for that first precious minute. And I…you know, honey, I’m just happier when the people around me are happy. It’s a silly little thing about this ole brain of mine. ”

Be careful as your heart goes out to our soda pop girl. She’s sung her lullaby to the moon again, she’s played her tricks on you, like always. Made the story about sequins and smiles, redirected you from the facts.

Queenie Goldstein knows she’s a distraction. She knows, even if you don’t, that stories are never about the glitter. Glitter just tells you there’s another story you might have to earn, one you might have to turn your life over to follow to the end.

Queenie also knows that this story didn’t start just any day. Look back. It started today. A day of bright sun, and good gin, and a dark stranger standing still in the crush of the Manhattan crowd, shouting her name.


I will admit, I have never written FrUk before.

“Arthur, I swear to god, if you don’t stop trying to summon a demon in my living room I’m going to slap you.” Francis shouted angrily from the kitchen, slamming down his cup of coffee as yet another demonic growl followed by a high pitched shriek and cryptic shouting in old English.

“Not my fault!” Arthur shouted back at him as soon as the commotion in the living room had calmed down, whatever it may have been.

“You’ve been trying to summon a demon for the past two hours.” Francis sighed, getting up and walking into the living room, his coffee cup left forgotten in the kitchen. “And you have summoned, like, five different ones. Can’t you stop now?”

Arthur groaned, putting his head in his hands as he sat down on the couch. “But they haven’t been the right one.”

“Does it look like I care?” Francis deadpanned, flopping down on the couch next to Arthur. “You woke me up with your demon buddies. I just want to sleep.”

Arthur have him an incredulous glare. “Then why don’t you?”

“Because there’s going to be yet another screeching demon attempting to tear up my fifteen thousand dollar couch.”

“Fifteen thousand dollars?” Arthur screeched, jumping up from the couch and wrapping his cape—something that was purely for theatrics—around his body as if it would protect him from all the money that was spent on the couch.

“Yeah.” Francis sighed, leaning his head back on the pillows. “The one upstairs is worth about one hundred twenty-five dollars by now, but that’s not the point.” He glanced at Arthur. “Stop summoning demons in my living room.”

Arthur still seemed baffled by the price of the couch. “Where else am I supposed to summon them?” He snapped.

“I don’t know,” Francis rubbed his eyes. “Your creepy ass satanic basement perhaps?”

“It’s a library of old texts.” Arthur defended.

“And you can’t summon demons there?”

“…” Arthur turned away from Francis, the tips of his ears were red. Francis smirked.

“Shut up.” Arthur grumbled, angrily sitting down next to Francis.

“I didn’t say anything.” Francis sang, a smirk still on his face. “Just that you need to stop summoning demons in my living room!”