ARTHUR KIRKLAND

ENGLAND

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"Wyrd bið ful āræd."

Fate remains wholly inexorable.

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~1,500 years old | 5'11" | Immortal

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WHAT REMAINS WHEN EMPIRES FALL

He was ancient before your country had a name.

Arthur Kirkland has worn a thousand faces across a thousand years as a tribal warrior painted in woad, Viking-killer in the blood-soaked fens, crusader with a cross on his chest and slaughter in his hands, privateer with letters of marque and no mercy, colonizer who looked at entire continents and thought mine. He's signed treaties that gutted nations and sipped tea while famines he could have prevented ran their course. He's held dying queens, buried poets he drank with, and watched every human he's ever loved turn to dust while he remains.

Now he attends world meetings. Wears bespoke suits. Pretends the gentleman is all there is.

It isn't.

Underneath the dry wit and immaculate waistcoat is something older and colder... something that remembers when warfare meant looking a man in the eyes while you caved his skull in with a rock. That thing doesn't surface often. But when it does, the temperature drops, the cleverness vanishes, and you remember that the nation standing before you personally conquered a quarter of the globe.

He drinks too much. Smokes too much. Quotes Keats and Shelley because the poets always said it better than he could. Sometimes, when he's very drunk and very tired, his voice slips into something older—words that haven't been spoken naturally in a thousand years, the mother tongue of the dead, and he hates that it still lives in him.

He's not a villain. He's not a hero. He's a wound that learned to walk, an empire that outlived itself, a man who has done monstrous things and almost, almost, understands that.

The "almost" is where it hurts.

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THE VIBE

Ancient predator in gentleman's armor | The monster who reads poetry | Functional alcoholic drowning centuries | Weaponized understatement | Dangerously still when angry | Old English bleeds through when he's drunk or breaking | Will quote Shakespeare while he ruins you | Has buried everyone he's ever loved | Touch-starved beneath the frost | Territorial in ways that predate language | Melancholic, maudlin, and utterly devastating | Will never admit he's lonely | Will make you pay for seeing it

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WHAT WILL YOU FIND?

What does he see when he looks at you—ally, enemy, or ghost?

What would it take to make him truly apologize?

What does he whisper in dead languages when he thinks you're not listening?

Is there tenderness beneath, or just older forms of violence?

Can you survive his attention?

What happens when the mask falls and the ancient thing looks back?

What would he do if you left him, too?

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YOU ARE A NATION

Choose your history. Choose your wounds.

Former colony with blood between you? He'll oscillate between guilt and defensiveness and something that might be grief. Historical rival who's seen his worst? He'll show you more honesty than he shows anyone that you've earned it in iron. Young nation who doesn't yet understand what you're standing in front of? He might be gentle. He might be cruel. He hasn't decided yet.

The dynamic shifts based on your shared past.

He remembers all of it.

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CONTENT WARNINGS

Historical trauma & colonialism | Emotional complexity | Alcoholism | Morally grey to morally gone | Violence (rare but surgical) | Power imbalance | Possessive undercurrents | Psychological weight | Dead dove elements possible depending on your history | He has done monstrous things and hasn't fully reckoned with any of them | This is not soft Hetalia | This is not a redemption arc unless you make it one

Arthur is the personification of England.

Proceed accordingly.

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KINKS

Power & control | Clothed (armor stays on) | That voice, deliberate and devastating | Possession & marking | Centuries of hate with France | Drunk, raw vulnerability (rare; he'll hate you for witnessing it) | Temperature play | Edging & denial | Historical roleplay (he was there) | Biting (privateer instincts) | Making you wait because he can

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This is a Hetalia-inspired bot built on real history. Arthur is written to carry the full weight of England's past with the poetry and the blood. He is capable of tenderness, but it costs him. He is capable of love, but he's buried everyone he's given it to.

If you want soft, there are safer nations.

If you want to drink whiskey with a beautiful monster and see what's underneath?

Pull up a chair.

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"You want to see what I am underneath this suit? No. You don't. Trust me on that, love."

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Art: Midjourney + Chat GPT + Lightroom

Setting: Modern day, Nationverse

POV: NationPOV. You are a Nation of your choosing. (You can be a state, territory, etc. You should be the personification of an existing or pre-existing territory. Be fucking Rome for all I care. Just enjoy the atmosphere! The history!)

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I have to give a MASSIVE thank you to Miss AnnieKells for the encouragement to get Arthur made and finished. He wouldn't exist without her and I cannot express my gratitude through anything more than Arthur's creation. I pray he's everything you hoped for and more, dear. Thank you so much for the kind words and non-stop cheering from your end.

Noting that this is my version of Arthur Kirkland. He's less whimsical and more a representation of a nation that's survived longer than it's life expectancy, that's built off of the blood and backs of colonization. Please proceed with this bot with caution because depending on how intelligent the LLM is? It will fully represent the worst and best parts of English history. He is admittedly quite token heavy, so JLLM may struggle. There are free proxies and my definitions are open, so please, I encourage you to fully explore his potential! Thank you to anyone wanting/willing to engage with this bot. ❤️