#briteain

The cat shimmies out of the nations hands to rest against Alfred’s shoulders instead, leaning over closer to Arthur, sniffing him.

“There are cat hotels, or take him with you to meetings. Spice it up a little bit, ya know?” He hums as does move closer to the other country to look at the... ruined food. He makes a grimace.

Incorrect Quotes Generator || accepting

@briteain

Craig: I think I'm having a mid-life crisis. Arthur: You're like 16 years old Craig: I MIGHT DIE AT 30!

BONUS:

“ Haha! ” they bark with laughter, triumphant. “ Jokes on you, Artie. Ah take that as a compliment! I’d rather be a feral beastie than a' squidgy like ye. You came down like a dowie ol’ tree in a windstorm! ”

    Georgie remains largely undeterred by Arthur’s fussing, even as he raises his voice well above what would be considered appropriate for indoors. Rather than shrinking away, they simply tighten their hold on him, wrapping their thin arms around his waist like a baby otter clinging to their mother’s stomach. Except, instead of a baby otter, it was a baby Georgie. And instead of a doting mother, it was... Well, Arthur.

“ Mm, pass. Ah like ‘im well enough, but Craig’s all soft ‘n squishy. Which is funny, since ‘is name is supposed to mean rock. ”

    Georgie lets out a snort of amusement, round glasses slightly askew on their face as they look up at the country.

☆彡 Click. Click. 

The spark of a lighter and the resulting flame illuminates Amelia’s face in the darkness outside of the old pub, watching the rain fall just outside of the shelter of the overhang. She lights the end of a freshly picked cigarette from her box of Newports, and takes a moment to inhale the toxic smoke slowly into her lungs. She blows out the excess through pursed lips, then turning to Arthur. 

“Want a smoke?” 

She motions the box over to him, and waves it around his face like a treat for a dog. She smiles cooly, her own cigarette between her lips, streaming a thin line of smoke from its tip.