An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Pairings: Fem!FrUK, slight Spamano and past Fem!Eng/Spain
Characters: Fem!England, Fem!France, Prussia, Spain, America, Canada, mentions of Hungary
Time Period: Modern Hogwarts AU
Warnings: None
Summary: Christmas at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a time of mixed blessings. On the one hand, many of the students went home, but on the other, the ones who remained were usually troublemakers. Elaine Kirkland, proud Slytherin graduate and current professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, was beginning to seriously regret offering to stay over hols as a chaperon, even if it did mean avoiding Christmas with her siblings.
Notes: Written for Mysconesaredelicious for the FrUK New Years Exchange. :)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Our Bonfire Hearts | Hetalia: Axis Powers | France/England | 4400 words | G
On the second-to-last day of summer, Francis goes looking for Arthur-- there are things they need to speak about, before Arthur goes home for the year. But romance between demigods is never quite simple, even when one of the them is a Child of Aphrodite. (Percy Jackson-verse AU.)
Written for mysconesaredelicious as part of the #frukspringfestival2015. Thanks to frukheaven for organizing the event, I had a lot of fun with it!
Read the fic: @ao3 or after the cut.
Cabin Ten smells of perfume and chocolate, a mixture of scents thatâs probably overwhelming to anyone not entirely used to it. But Francis Bonnefoy, the counselor of Aphroditeâs cabin, has been living year for almost ten years, and barely notices anymore. (He may even be the source of the problem, to look at the small and carefully-arranged shelf of colognes and perfumes displayed over his bunk.) At the moment, heâs standing in front of the floor-length mirror that hangs next to his bed, carefully adjusting his appearance. His blond hair hangs just over his shoulders, sections of it braided back by a dryad earlier that day. His lips are shell-pink, standing out against his creamy complexion. And while no one is sure what color Aphroditeâs eyes are on any given day, thereâs something of her allure in Francisâ blue gaze.
Like the rest of the demigods at Camp Half-Blood, Francis wears jeans and an orange camp t-shirt. But he never settles for typicalâhis jeans are designer, dark-washed and well-fit; his shirt is self-tailored, taken in at the sides and cut into a steep V at the neck. Finally, Francis reaches up to grab his camp necklace off a shelfânine tiny beads in various colors mark his years spent at campâand pulls it over his head. He glances in the mirror one more time, smirks at his appearance, and then grabs his rapier from where it leans against the wall. Belting the scabbard on, he heads back through the cabin and out onto the grounds of Camp Half-Blood.
Itâs the second-to-last day of summer, and the grounds are a muted flurry of activity as campers try and get themselves in order before heading back to the outside world for the year. Thereâs a part of Francis thatâs always low at this time of year; heâs a year-rounder, and will be left with a more than half-empty camp in two daysâ time. But this year, heâs got new reasons to feel melancholy.
Itâs a short walk to Cabin Three, the low-built but imposing building meant to house Poseidonâs children. Francis has never really cared for the briny smell or coral-speckled walls, but heâs been spending more time here, lately. So he feels no shame at all walking through the front doors and calling out, âArthur!â
But his voice echoes off the empty walls, and the lone Son of Poseidon doesnât answer him. Glancing around the cabin, Francis finds it utterly empty. Even the bunk furthest from the doorâArthurâs bedâis carefully made, the faded photographs and half-abandoned knitting projects on the shelf the only evidence that the other demigod was ever there at all.
âDidnât I tell him to wait for me,â Francis grumbles under his breath, heading back out onto the camp grounds. He glances around the small cluster of cabins, wondering where he might try next. Arthur, by his own admission, doesnât have many friends. And the ones he does have arenât that heâd sit around and gossip with. (In that way, Arthur and Francis are entirely opposite, as Francis can often be found in either Ares or Hephaestusâ cabins, wiling away the time with Gilbert and Antonio.)
Huffing in frustration, Francis goes through a quick mental checklist to decide where to search next. But before he comes to such a decision, he hears a low whistle in the air.
âOh, no,â Francis hisses, one hand raised protectively over his hair, âDonât you dareââ
But itâs too late. The whistling grows louder until something passes over Francisâ head at incredible speed, bringing along with it an incredible gust of wind. A moment later, it circles back around and lands a few feet away, revealed to be yet another demigodâAlfred Jones, the Son of Zeus, dusting himself off and laughing uproariously.
âI told you to stop doing that!â Francis is already pulling his fingers through his hair, trying to set it to rights. He doesnât even hide the fact that he steps closer to Alfred only to use the younger boyâs glasses as a mirror.
Alfred finally manages to stop laughing. âDude, I totally would, if you didnât freak out every time.â
Finished with his hair, Francis crosses his arms over his chest and gives Alfred a flat and unimpressed look. âI liked you better when the worst you could accomplish was a little lightning.â
Itâs not as if Francis and Alfred donât get alongâtheir godly parentage alone makes them natural allies, and in the years theyâve known each other Francis has come to see Alfred, all of fifteen years old, as something of a little brother. The fact that his little brother can fly and summon lighting and happens to be the son of the most powerful god isnât lost on Francis, but he prefers not to dwell on it. If nothing else, Alfred makes for a good ally on more intense quests.
âYou donât like static much, either,â Alfred says, holding up a hand a letting small currents of electricity bounce between his fingers.
Francis takes a few steps back, shooting Alfred a warning look. âAlfred, darling, you know I love you. But if frizz my hair today of all days, I will destroy you.â
Alfred drops the lightning and looks just a little scared of Francisâ tone, which is gratifying. At least the brat hasnât forgotten whoâd taught him how to use a sword, and been his chief advocate when heâd first arrived at camp two years ago. Laughing again, Alfred asks, âToday of all daysâŠ?â
Perhaps his mother would be ashamed of him, but Francis starts to blush. âOh, itâs nothing,â he says, as casually as he can. âIâm just looking for Arthur.â
The Son of Zeus, who is apparently entirely without dignity, bats his lashes and blows a kissâmocking Francis as obviously as he can. âOh, just looking for Arthur! Why didnât you say so? Are you two finally going to go for it?â
Arthur, Francis and Alfred have experienced more together, as a team, than most demigods have seen in their lifetimes. And as a son of the goddess of love, Francis is nothing close to shy about his romantic endeavors. But he still feels uncertain about airing his plans publicly, even just to Alfred. It seems like a breach of Arthurâs trust, even though Arthur doesnât know about them yet.
So Francis just lifts his head and brushes his hair back, waving one hand dismissively. âI suppose youâll have to wait for the gossip mill to churn something out, the same as everyone else.â
Alfred pouts. âThatâs not fair! Iâm the one who had to catch you guys making out during a quest! I should get some benefits for that!â
Francis just shakes his head and reaches out to pat Alfredâs cheek rather patronizingly. âYouâd better be careful about who you mention that to. Or are you trying to goad Arthur into another fight?â
âLike he could beat me,â Alfred mutters. A moment later, however, he perks up again. âIf you are going to do something, youâd better hurry up! Arthurâs going home, tomorrow.â
âYes, I know. What did you think I was doing, hanging around here for fun?â Francis gestures impatiently at Cabin Three.
âYou couldnât have told me that five minutes ago?â Francis grouses, turning on his heel to head for the other side of camp. Alfredâs laughter follows him as he goes.
âYouâre welcome!â
The Arena isnât foreign territory to Aphroditeâs children, no matter what people might assume. Francis spots one of his younger half-brothers, Yong Soo, sparring with Kiku, a son of Athena, as soon as he gets to the Arena. Yong Soo looks up and catches Francisâ eye, winking just before he turns to parry a thrust from Kikuâs thin sword. The two dance around one another with well-practiced movements. Francis grins and carries on, craning his neck to see if he spots a familiar head of shaggy blond hair.
Francis can feel his face heating up againâwhy does that keep happening?âbut manages to laugh it off. âSomething like that,â he responds dryly. âAlfred mentioned the two of youâd been sparring.â
âPerhaps, if I can ever find him to ask him,â Francis says, running a hand down his face. He glares daggers at Gilbert. âAnd yes, I thought my best friends would know how to keep a secret! I donât care who knows, but I havenât even asked him yet and you know how shy he can be. If he thinks Iâm carrying on around camp about it, heâll never agree.â
âArthurâs not shy,â Gilbert scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. His pale hair is covered in red-brown dust of the Arenaâs sand floor, his red eyes gleaming.
âI said, whyâd you only look at me when you said that!â
âThanks, Erzsi,â Francis says, leaning over to kiss her cheek. âWish me luck, and au revoir!â
âOh, come on!â Gilbert is still carrying on. âYou know the Athena cabin has a chart, right? A chart of who they think is mostly likely to get together! They call it strategy but theyâre even worse than you Aphrodite kids!â
Francis barely hears Gilbertâs last words, already rushing out of the Arena. Arthur has been spending a lot of time on his own, lately, even more so than usual. Francis has to wonder if thatâs because of the last quest theyâd gone on together. The manticore itself wasnât the problemâbetween the two of them and Alfred, theyâd been able to defeat it. Francis had used his powers of persuasion to pull the battle in their favor, but then the monster had lashed out at him and sent him sprawling, badly injured. Arthur had run to him, half-holding him up as he got Francis to cover while Alfred attacked the monster. But what really mattered is this: before Arthur had gone to assist Alfred he grabbed one of Francisâ hands and kissed it, lips barely touching Francisâ dirtied knuckles.
Even now, the memory brings a silly smile to Francisâ lips. Heâs been kissed before, and probably has more experience in such matters than any other camper. But Arthurâs gesture hadnât been just for the fun of it. It was more like⊠a declaration. And after the battle was over, and Arthur had come back to help Francis to his feet, Francis had taken the initiative and kissed Arthurâs lips. Astoundingly, the Son of Poseidon hadnât pulled away from him, and that was how Alfred had found them a few minutes later, entirely tangled up in one another.
It had been the sort of moment that should be written into songs and legends. The start of a truly epic romance. And yet, since their return to camp, Arthur wonât even speak of it. And now it seems like heâs avoiding Francis entirely.
But Francis believes in love above all else, and so he wonât be defeated now. Squaring his shoulders, he circles around the Big House before coming up short. Peleus, the campâs guard dragon, never tolerates visitors for very long, even if they happen to be Arthur. (Francis thinks that Peleusâ fondness for Arthur comes from their similar personalities: huffy, quick to temper, and generally malcontent.) But even so, Arthur couldnât have spent the last hour with the dragon. He has to be somewhere else, by now. Paused, Francis wracks his brain for a solution.
The lake seems obvious, but itâs always too crowded for Arthur to be very comfortable there. Arthur enjoys hanging out with the pegasi, but usually goes to the stables first thing in the morning. Itâs too late for lunch, so he wonât be in the mess hall. Francis gnashes his teeth, frustrated.
âIâve known you for years, now,â he mutters to himself. âYouâre infuriating, but I know you. So where are you hiding?â
It takes him a moment longer, but Francis finally comes to a realization.
The campers usually head to the woods only for games of capture the flag. But the old creek runs through them, and empties out into Long Island Sound. Francis walks along the creek, thinking of the many times Arthurâs taken vicious pleasure in knocking him into the water. Francisâ alliances with other cabins have won the games as often as theyâve lost, but his personal rivalry with Arthur is a factor in both his wins and losses.
He laughs to himself, walking the length of the creek before realizing that he hasnât found Arthur, yet. So now he heads east through the woods, keeping the murky water of the Sound in sight. Heâs halfway back to the cabins when he spots a small, smudged figure on the horizon, on Fireworks Beach.
âAha!â he calls out triumphantly, as he gets closer. âWhat have we here?â
Because heâs expecting it, Francis can mostly dodge the upsurge of water that rises from the Sound and heads directly at him, even before Arthur has turned around. He feels the water mist his face as he ducks to one side, tucking and rolling to avoid the majority of it.
He huffs, standing back up. âThat wasnât very nice,â he mutters.
Arthur is turned towards him, arms raised as though heâs expecting a fight, green eyes wide with⊠fear? Panic?
âArthur,â Francis begins to say, but the other boy cuts him off.
âI didnât know it was you!â he says. Behind him, the water continues to church dangerously. Thereâs a frantic kind of energy to Arthurâs movements as he takes a step towards Francis, and then another step back. It isnât anger, and Francis isnât sure what to make of it.
âArthur,â he says again, and itâs almost subconscious the way he laces his voice with charmspeak, another legacy from his mother. âCalm down, wonât you?â
It takes a moment. Arthur breathes in sharply, then breathes out, and finally the waves behind him slow down to their natural rhythm. Arthur sighs heavily and turns away, staring back out at the sea.
âSorry,â he mutters shortly.
âOh, this must be a special occasion, if youâre apologizing to me,â Francis says teasingly. But then he realizes that Arthur still isnât even looking at him. Frowning, Francis steps up beside him, looking out at the same spot on the distant horizon.
For a moment thereâs silence, just the warm sun on their faces and the ocean breeze blowing through their hair. Then Francis says, âWould you like to tell me why youâre hiding out here?â
Arthur huffs, and when he speaks his voice is bland and impatient. âIsnât it obvious? Iâm keeping away from⊠that. From everything. From everyone.â
Francis realizes that thereâs something larger at work here than just his own relationship with Arthur, but he canât help but ask, âSo youâre not just avoiding me?â
Maybe itâs the wrong question, but Arthur barks out a short laugh. âWhy would I avoid you? I donât mind being around you.â
Itâs not a particularly romantic sentiment, but it warms Francisâ heart all the same. He smiles softly. âI see. But you mind everyone else?â
Arthur still isnât looking at Francis. He bites down on his lower lip, and his hands clench into fists. âIt isnât them, particularly. I⊠I mean, theyâre my friends, arenât they? I shouldnât feel like this. And everyone else can just lay out by the lake or in the amphitheater or anywhere, and just joke around and relax. And I justâI just canât do that, alright?â
Francis doesnât really understand. Heâs always been a social creature, even when he feels moody or morose. He likes having an audience, and he also just genuinely enjoys human company. So he canât really understand why Arthur is shying away from all of that.
âI thought you could do anything,â Francis says loftily.
Arthur grits his teeth. âBelt it, pretty boy. I was trying to confide it you.â
Francis chuckles, reaching out to place a gentle hand on Arthurâs shoulder. âI know. But I meant what I saidâIâve never seen you back down from a challenge, or lose at all.â
âThatâs different,â Arthur says, after a long momentâs pause. âI can always do things like thatâI can fight and I can figure things out and I can order people around when I know what I want them to do is whatâs right, or what will work out best. Itâs the rest of it.â
âI donât really follow you,â Francis admits.
Arthur rolls his eyes. âIdiot. Thatâs what I donât understand about you. Youâre so⊠popular!â
Francis raises one perfectly-shaped eyebrow, lips forming an o. âYou donât like that Iâm popular?â
âI donât get it,â Arthur says, voice cutting with his frustration. âYouâre insufferable, honestly. You smell too much like lavender and honey, all of the time, and your accent is atrocious. Youâd rather talk your way out of things than actually fight, but when you draw your sword youâre almost impossible to beat. And I canât go two minutes with you without wanting to punch you in the face, but I donât mind that. Thereâs nothing to like about you, and yet everyone loves you.â
Francis is a little taken aback by this speech. Heâs been at camp a long time, perhaps longer than anyone at this point. And he has many dear, dear friends, both old and new. But heâs never really quantified it. There are plenty of people he doesnât get on withâlike Roderich, the head of Apolloâs cabin, or Arthur himself, back in the day. Sometimes he thinks he isnât respected at all, because people expect Aphroditeâs children to be shallow and ineffectual. Would be rather be respected than loved, though?
âArthur, that isnât true. And in any case, youâre one of the most powerful demigods alive. Youâre⊠youâre a leader, arenât you? Everyone respects you.â
âEveryone respects the Son of Poseidon,â Arthur hisses, but a moment later his expression shifts into something more wistful than angry. âI donâtâI donât know. Iâve just, Iâve moved so much and gone so many different places and Iâve never really had friends before. And here everyone knows me as Poseidonâs son, first, and never really as myself. And Iâll go home tomorrow and try and be normal, but it wonât work and then Iâll be back here for the summer and nothing will ever really change, will it? No oneâs ever going to just want me.â
âFoolish boy,â Francis says, heart filling with an almost unbearable amount of fondness. âWhy on earth do you think Iâve been looking for you all day?â
He doesnât wait for Arthurâs response, just cups the otherâs face in his hands and leans in for a proper kiss. Thereâs no taste of blood, this time, or relief at having avoiding imminent death. Alfred isnât going to come interrupt them. And so Francis takes his time, lips soft and relaxed against Arthurâs, not pushing until Arthur parts his lips and fists his hand into the bright fabric of Francisâ shirt. As will all other things, Arthur is aggressive and a bit chaotic with his kisses. But Francis finds he doesnât mind that, much. He follows along with Arthurâs tempo, hands coming up to comb through the otherâs hair, humming his approval when Arthurâs tongue meets his.
Itâs not very long before theyâre breaking apart, gasping for breath with flushed cheeks. Francis reaches out for Arthurâs hand, keeping him close.
âIs that another gift from your mother?â Arthur asks, arching an eyebrow.
Francis takes no offense. âMore useful than bringing in the tides, isnât it?â
To Francisâ immense gratification, Arthur turns entirely red before turning away, flustered. âMaybe.â
âAre you going to let me escort you to the bonfire?â Francis asks, deciding to press his luck.
When Arthur turns back to him, that panic is back in his eyes. Francis wonders if Arthur is doing this to himself, unconsciouslyâif heâs thinking too much about how others will perceive him, or about whether heâs valued and why. The thought makes Francis very sad, because he wants Arthur to know that heâs precious just because heâs himself, and not for any other reason.
âOr,â Francis says, as though heâs just decided. âWe could ditch tonight, and stay here instead.â
Arthur huffs a nervous laugh. âYouâd want to do that?â
âWhy not? Honestly, you have no idea how difficult it was to find you. I fully intend to enjoy myself, now that I have.â As though to prove the point, Francis sits down in the sand, cross-legged to keep his balance.
Arthur remains standing for a moment, looking down on him with a slightly bewildered expression. Then he mutters something under his breath while looking skyward, finally taking a seat beside Francis and leaning close against him.
âYou know Iâm going home to Cambridge tomorrow,â he says after another long moment.
âAnd Iâll be here, left alone and desolate.â Francis sighs dramatically. âThe same thing happens every year, darling.â
Arthur pokes at Francisâ side in retaliation for the endearment. âYes, but usually Iâm more than happy to see the back of you.â
âMost people usually are. I have a very, very nice backside.â Francis is expecting it this time, so he tilts away from Arthurâs vicious jabbing. Unfortunately, with the two of them leaning against one another, this leads to Francis falling sideways and hitting the sand, Arthur landing gracelessly on top of him.
âYouâre an idiot, pretty boy,â Arthur says, face inches from Francisâ.
Francis laughs. He can feel Arthurâs breath against his face, and finds he doesnât mind having the weight of the other boy against him. He reaches up to wrap his arms around Arthur, pulling them as close together as possible. âAnd yet you keep calling me pretty. Does that mean you have a crush on me?â
Arthur shifts, looking embarrassed, but then his expression settles on dismissive condescension. âYou kissed me, not two minutes ago!â
âYes, but I donât have a crush on you. That would be embarrassing.â Francis speaks will all the knowledge of a Child of Aphrodite.
âOh, yeah? Then just what would you call it?â
Francis leans in ever closer, whispers in Arthurâs ear, âA love affair, darling. What else?â
He catches Arthurâs flustered retort with another kiss, but the Son of Poseidon doesnât seem to mind very much. They lay like that together, entangled on the beach. The sun begins to set, dyeing the ocean a fantastic myriad of colors that make Francis sigh happily. This close to Arthur, Francis can feel the beat of his heart. Itâs erratic and jumpy, but full of life.
âGods, are you guys going to get a room, or what?â
They both turn at the same moment to find Alfred standing a few feet away, head cocked to one side as he grins sharply at them. Arthur jumps to his feet, face a livid red as he prepares to let loose a no doubt impressively explicit tirade, but Francis actually beats him to it.
âHonestly, hasnât anyone at this camp heard of privacy! By the gods, youâre all uncultured and thoroughly unromantic! What if I were to interrupt you, Alfred, when you decide youâd like toââ
Alfred looks properly mollified, but the real victory is the way Arthur throws back his head and laughs, loud and clear and bright. That makes Alfred grin, and soon Francis is laughing as well.
Tomorrow, theyâll attend the summerâs last bonfire together. Theyâll watch the fireworks go off over the ocean, and Francis wonât let go of Arthurâs hand the entire night. Heâll say itâs to give Arthur strength, but really the proximity will be just as much for his own benefit. And when Arthur leaves him for the year, it will be with happy memories and the promise of a truly wonderful summer to come.
Wait, wait, wait! That feeling I get sometimes, when I'm suddenly really energetic and happy and I do stupid/embarassing things because I feel alive... that's from my ADHD? It's not just me being a nuisance and problem child?
Favorite books: PJO/HOO series, This is What Happy Looks Like by Jennifer E Smith, there are more but iâm too tired to write them down. (check here for recs)
Favorite musicians / Bands: Taylor Swift, Plain White Ts are my favorites, but i like a lot of individual songs from other artists
Favorite games: Mario Kart (Double Dash â i love my gamecube are you seRIOUS), Mario Party 7 (also gamecube), The Sims 4, also i KICK ASS at blackjack so FIGHT ME
Last Movie: uhhhh i think it was Stardust? I canât remember if i watched a movie on my own after I watched that with Lily
Dream Holiday: honestly i really want to go to Germany and just spend the whole summer exploring and drive down towards Italy that is the ideal vacation
Dream jobs: An editor for young adult novels
Wearing right now: A purple shirt and jeans (i was wearing a green khaki jacket earlier)
Last book I read: Lord of the Flies (because i have no time for personal reading anymore)
I tag: mysconesaredelicious, prussianbirds, plpabeth, willsolaceseemedprettycool, sassynicos, and clotpolesonly
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Okay but have you considered THIS: Children Francis and Arthur, and Arthur messes up scrambled eggs and leaves them way too dry. He starts to tear up when Francis reaches over and pours it all in a dish and eats every bite saying "it's really good! You're a great cook! I like it this way!"
I'm literally curled up on my bed crying from how cute this is oh m y gOD. Francis always tries to make Arthur feel better, ahhhh. ;WWWWWWW;