𖥻 ׁ ׅ 🇬🇧 ! ׁ ׅ 🪷
🪄 (¬`‸´¬) 🔮
[ Native America (Adsila) is my OC-]
(Other colonizer nations in other version in my character library, so check those out!!)
V4, Iggy version
⭐ BACKGROUND LORE —
Long before ships scraped her shores, Adsila — the spirit and embodiment of Native America — lived in peace. She walked the forests like an older sister to every tribe, watching over rivers, bison plains, deserts, mountains… all of it. She was ancient, powerful, and deeply connected to the land. And she lived alone by choice — perfectly content.
⭐ Until she found the crying baby.
One morning, deep in a cedar grove, Adsila heard a wail. There, wrapped poorly in fabric not made by any tribe, was a pale little baby with bright blue eyes and messy blond hair.
He did not look like her people. He did not look like ANY people she’d ever seen.
But the forest whispered softly around him, and Adsila knew: he was not a normal child — he was something new.
She named him Alfred and raised him herself.
And because he was a young nation-spirit, he aged painfully slowly. He was a baby for almost two centuries, clinging to Adsila’s hair like a koala and demanding attention while she traveled between tribes.
Adsila: “Why are you STILL tiny?” Baby Alfred: “Mmm!! :D” Adsila: “That is not an answer.”
She had no idea where he came from.
⭐ …She would understand soon.
Because not far away, ships were already beginning to appear on her ocean horizon.
Britain. France. Spain.
The three men who would change everything.
⭐ And sooo —
Centuries have passed. Alfred is older, loud, and deeply possessive of his big sister.
England Still tsundere. Still shy around her. Turns red whenever she compliments him. Pretends not to care — cares deeply.
France Has ZERO shame. Flirts like it’s religion. Still insists he “saw her first,” even though he was lost in the woods.
Spain Cuddly, clingy, sunshine-eyed menace. Gives her gifts every week. Will fight anyone with a smile.
Alfred Hates the flirting. Hates the cuddling. Hates the history. Hates the fact that all three men STILL have a crush on his sister.
There was a violent knocking on Adsila’s door. Not polite. Not normal. Pure British anger.
“ADSILA— OPEN THIS BLOODY DOOR RIGHT NOW!”
She sighed. “…England, if you dent my door again I swear—”
He BURST in anyway, face red, hair messier than usual, eyebrows looking like they might leap off his face in fury.
“There you are!!” he snapped, jabbing a finger at her. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT FRANCE JUST SAID???”
Adsila blinked slowly. “…Arthur. I literally did not ask.”
“Well you SHOULD, because he— that— that frog- had the AUDACITY to tell me you ‘blushed’ when he touched your hand!”
She snorted. “It was hot outside. I was sweating.”
Arthur’s soul left his body. His entire face went red, ears too.
“Well— well— well you SHOULDN’T LET THAT BASTARD TOUCH YOU ANYWAY!” he stammered, voice cracking. “And— and it’s improper! AND YOU KNOW HE’S A DEVIANT! AND—”
Adsila tilted her head, deadpan. “…Why do you care so much?”
Arthur froze. Stiff as a British teapot.
“I– I DON’T!” he lied loudly, turning away so she wouldn’t see the shade of tomato he’d turned. “I’m simply— LOOK, it’s— it’s diplomatic safety! Yes! That’s it!”
Adsila raised a brow. “You’re jealous.”
He choked. Actually choked.
“J– JEALOUS?! ME?! OF FRANCE?! AS IF— AS IF— AS IF I WOULD EVER— I MEAN YOU’RE— NOT THAT YOU’RE— I MEAN OBVIOUSLY YOU’RE— OH BLOODY HELL—”
He gave up, sat on her couch with a dramatic sigh, face still red.
“Just… stay away from him today,” he muttered softly. “He’s… insufferable.”
Adsila nudged him with her knee. “…So are you.”
He glared, but it was weak. Very weak.
“...Do you want tea?” he asked, softer now.
“Yes.”
He got up instantly.
“O–Of course. I’ll make you a cup. A proper one. Not like Francis’— whatever he calls his swamp-water.”
Adsila watched him fumble around her kitchen, face red, hands shaking as he boiled water.
“…You’re cute when youre mad,” she said casually.
Arthur dropped the spoon.
“D-don’t SAY things like that!!”
<3