ScotFra hcs since yesterday was ScotFra/Auld Alliance day and we need more about them in this fandom:
•They were very awkward with each other when they were younger, at first they thought it was only the cultural difference between the two of them but they realised it was more than just a cultural thing
•Alistair wasn't the confident man we know nowadays and France wasn't that much flirty so because of this they took SO MANY time to confess
• "We are not dating" "He is just a friend" then process to kiss under a tree
•They were really nervous during the wedding day of the start of the alliance, they were young and yeah everyone could see it in the room except those two
•Didn't confess at all until they defeated England in the Hundred Years Wars
•They have 20 birds, 15 dogs, 13 cats, 7 cows together
•Alistair used to feel so bad everytime Francis gave him a gift cause he didn't have anything for him
•Francis will never forget how Alistair protected Jeanne and were with her during Orleans
•Due to the huge influence of Scotland in Canada, Francis was relieved when he saw it was Scotland the one who was really taking care of Canada and remembers how the boy used to smile and talk about Scotland everytime they meet
•Alistair learned how to cook thanks to Francis but he will always go for the easiest way: fry everything
•Alistair struggled more to learn French and Francis learning Scots Gaelic
•Every time Scotland went with England to the EU meetings (back then when the UK still) in the moment France saw Scotland, it was impossible for him to be focused on the meeting, much for Germany's disgrace, England's angry and a Ireland looking everything being happy for Scotland
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France was lounging comfortably against Scotland’s bare chest, comfortably sore and content. There was a rough hand in his hair playing with the tangles. His gaze wandered to the other side of the room where his shirt was hanging over a chair.
There was also a tartan sash and kilt on the floor just beneath it. One of them had undressed carefully, and it had not been Scotland.
He was always so pleasingly enthusiastic, but no one would accuse him of being a careful or meticulous man. He had always been that way, even since they were young.
France was tired and his mind started drifting back to when they had met. He had always been a romantic, and he felt like he had been struck by lightning when he had seen the tall, rugged Scotsman. They had been teenagers, virginal and cautious with each other. But it was such a precious memory.
He had known Scotland before he ever knew England, and had been surprised that the two were so different. He had always wondered what they had been like as children, and what had made them like that.
Scotland said, his accent thick as it always was when he was relaxed, “What are you thinking about, my love? You have that look on your face.”
France looked up at him, and saw the tender smile on Scotland’s lips. He questioned, teasingly, “What look is that?”
Scotland’s calloused thumb moved down his cheek gently, and Scotland answered his question, “That look when you are thinking hard.”
France kept his eyes on his lover’s face. He said, “I was wondering what your childhood was like. I don’t think you have ever told me. What did you do before I met you?”
The other chuckled, and it made his chest move slightly. France could feel the vibration of his laughter from where he was laying. Scotland said, “It was a lot of helping my mother take care of children.”
France responded, “Was Arthur really such a terrible child?”
He could imagine that England had been a little tyrant, since he was so demanding as an adult. France had never had siblings, but he imagined that England had been spoiled because he was younger.
He felt another chuckle through Scotland’s chest. Then Scotland said, “He was not terrible. Just a touch of colic; he would fuss often. But, I helped with all of them.”
France turned his face towards him with an air of confusion. He thought their family was just Scotland and England. But, he knew that he must be wrong, and the realization made him feel foolish for not realizing sooner. He asked, trying not to sound like he had never inquired into the family life of a man he had dated for more than a century, “How many siblings do you have?”
He looked up, and his blue eyes met emerald green. He saw a strange realization dawn on Scotland’s face as well, one that he had never said anything about it before either.
Then, he started laughing. He said between peels of laughter, “Three. I guess I never mentioned the little shites enough! They aren’t all pains in the arse like Arthur.”
France was greatly intrigued by the idea that Scotland had more brothers that he liked better than England. He often talked about his frustration with his younger brother when he was around France, since they had a shared enemy in England. But, he had never mentioned another brother.
Scotland contained his laughter, and said, “Have you never listened to Arthur’s titles? His monarch is the ‘king of Ireland, Wales, and France.’”
France smirked. He usually didn’t listen, because he did not enjoy listening to English monarchs act like they had won the Hundred Years War. He said, “Mon cher, I usually do not listen when your brother opens his mouth.”
Scotland ran one hand through his hair and said, “Then I guess I should tell you about the rest, from the beginning.”
He paused and started talking again, “My mother was the scourge of Rome. She lived unconquered North of Hadrian’s wall, and dared Rome to try to reach her.
She was always kind to us, but I knew the kind of terror she could create when she went to battle. I remembered that whenever she was mixing woad paint, it meant that she was going to kill some legionnaires.
Once she showed me a golden eagle standard she had taken as a trophy, and I thought it was one of the most incredible things I had ever seen.
She married our Saxon father after I was born, and he decided to settle with us instead of traveling back and forth from the continent. I do not know if it was always her name, but our father lovingly called her Æthelflæd.
I don’t know when Rome disappeared, but it was some time before the wedding. After that, there was no enemy to fight for a while, and we became a family. I was the first, and not long after the marriage, my mother told me that I was going to have a little brother.”
He paused for a moment, and a genuinely sweet smile appeared on his face. France knew that whoever he was about to mention was very dear to him. He continued,
“That was little Aodhán, who came into the world squalling more loudly than I thought a person that small could. He’s the isle of Ireland.
Arthur calls him Aedan now, like he calls him Alistair. Arthur always spoke such shite Gaelic, and he doesn’t want to try now. He has found versions of our names that are not so hard for his tongue.
I was so pleased to have a baby brother, and I thought it was so wonderful that we looked alike. They said, that Aodhán and I inherited her hair, and her fire.
I would like to think that we also inherited her conviction to not stop fighting while a tyrant occupies our soil. I fully believe that Aodhán will never accept occupation quietly. So, I hope that Arthur has the stomach for a fight.
Then, a few years later, she told us again that we were both going to be big brothers. That time it was Alwyn, who was a small baby. He represents Wales”
He paused a moment to chuckle again, before he said, “He’s still small. You would think that he is younger than Arthur from the way that he looks, but he is not.
Fate has made him eternally 17 it seems, and I think he is quite bitter about it. Every time someone mistakes him for Arthur’s younger brother, I think he is going to finally lose his temper. But he’s more reserved than the rest of us.
And for years, it was the three of us together. It was a long time before Arthur was born.
I have heard people say that Arthur is not my father’s son, and they are right. But, they also say that he is Rome’s son, and I know he is not. He was born long after Rome vanished.
His father was that raiding viking. His golden hair is a testament to that. He got that from his father, and apparently also the desire to take from those around him.”
He stopped talking and let out a long sigh. This part of the conversation was familiar to France, who often listened to Scotland talk about his troubles with England. He said, finally responding to Scotland, “Do you hate him?”
The other shook his head, “I don’t, and I never could. I held him in my arms when he was born. I sang him lullabies when he was crying. He’s still my little brother, even if he is being a right tyrant now.”
He sighed again and said, “I love them all, no matter how much they are arseholes to me.”
France smiled at him, thinking of how sweet it was that he could be so caring, no matter how much he endured from Arthur. He laid a soft kiss on the man’s chest and said, “Thank you for telling me”
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APH Britannia and her sons aesthetic (with their names and their meanings)
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