#Statehumans Michigan

[chaoticprussia]

moose michigan. how tf do you draw antlers.

[river-blue]

This been in my head for a minute lol

[weirdestbooks]

Missouri's Medical Report (Wattpad | Ao3)

Bonus scene from A Civil Disagreement.

Missouri followed orders.

Unlike the other slave states, he was loyal. He saved lives, not destroyed them—a doctor, not a soldier. And he was a good doctor.

Even if he felt guilty about what he had done to Michigan. 

It was necessary, he knew that, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Michigan was an amputee now.

As angry as Missouri was about that fact, his temper had been soothed by Mississippi turning herself in, the guilt so strong she surrendered, even if the army she had been with didn’t. Missouri had heard she was still in the dark about Michigan’s condition. Missouri might have considered telling her, but he had been ordered against speaking to her.

And Missouri followed orders.

Martial law had helped to keep him loyal. 

So Missouri continued playing his role as a doctor, writing reports for the surgeon-general’s office and preparing specimens, like Michigan’s amputated wing, to be sent to the Army Medical Museum for further study. 

Those were his orders.

Missouri obeyed.

Any part of him that might have felt guilt over his actions, might have asked Michigan for his permission to send the wing away, was drowned out by the all-consuming bliss of martial law.

“What are you writing?” Michigan asked. Missouri had elected to write his reports by his brother’s side so he could be there if any health issues arose. While the amputation had gone well, Missouri still worried that if Michigan died from an infection, it would still be considered a death caused by another country, as Mississippi shot him, and Missouri helped to amputate the devastated limb.

There was still too high a risk that they could lose their brother forever.

“A report on your injury for the surgeon-general’s office. I’m required to write one for all my cases,” Missouri explained. Michigan shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh,” he said, looking perturbed.

“It’s an order,” Missouri clarified. His family knew he was under martial law. Missouri had practically begged for it, so Missouri knew when he did something that might have been considered abnormal before the war, he had a reason to give.

“Do you…why did you ask for martial law, Souri?” Michigan asked.

“I needed to ensure that the traitors in my state wouldn’t corrupt me. I am happier this way, loyal,” Missouri said, letting his pen fall still as the fog of martial law began to cloud his thoughts. 

It was the most annoying thing about martial law, but Missouri knew it was important. When he wasn’t sure if it would affect what he was doing, he would take a small break from it, something that helped soothe his mind. 

Despite its flaws, martial law was…so nice. 

Michigan stayed silent, and Missouri looked over to him.

“Why are you asking?” Missouri asked. Michigan sighed.

“I don’t know…I’ve just been thinking a lot. It’s all I really can do,” he muttered, crossing his arms and looking away from Missouri. Missouri frowned before reaching over to pat Michigan’s hand. He knew he probably should be able to think of more ways to comfort him, but his mind couldn’t think of anything, with all his emotions numbed to allow him to do his work and forget about the traitors.

“You’ll get better soon. I promise. Mississippi will face justice for what she did, and everything can…” Missouri almost said that things could go back to normal, stopping himself as he realized, no, they couldn’t.

Things would never go back to normal.

“Everything can get better. Once the war ends, things will get better,” Missouri corrected. Michigan still looked unconvinced.

“I’ll never get better,” he said. Missouri sighed, picking up his pen and continuing his report. Before martial law, a part of him might have been concerned with handing over information about his family to humans, but he knew the information was going to go into good hands, be used to help teach people about medicine and learn more about the human (and countryhuman) body. 

So, he continued his report while trying to offer his medical knowledge to Michigan. 

“If you were destined never to heal, brother, you would have died when Mississippi shot you. You’re healing, and you’re surviving, even if you are down a wing. You will…you will continue to get better,” Missouri reasoned. Michigan was silent, and Missouri looked up from his report to check on him, seeing his face twisted into a frown. Deciding not to pry into whatever was upsetting him, Missouri turned to his report as he began to detail Michigan’s experiences after his surgery. 

“How would you feel?” Michigan then asked, voice somewhat angry, “If you found out you could never fly again?”

Missouri blinked, processing the question. He loved flying, as all his winged siblings did. He didn’t—he wasn’t sure how to answer that. Losing flight was one thing, but Michigan’s was different. He lost his wing serving his country.

Yet, Missouri knew how badly he wo—

If you are hurt in service to your country, any injury that comes from that is worth it.

Martial law seemed to whisper to him, cutting off any thoughts and soothing any fears he might have had.

“If I lose a wing in service to my country, then it is not a loss. It is proof I am loyal,” Missouri ended up saying after a few minutes of silence before turning to Michigan with a small smile. “It hurts now, but you didn’t lose them for a stupid reason. It shouldn’t have to be a bad thing.”

Michigan scoffed, crossing his arms.

“I don’t know why I expected you to understand,” he said. The words hurt, but Missouri tried to extend understanding to his brother. He knew Michigan was hurting. Missouri had been treating him since that terrifying day when he fell from the sky.

“I’m trying to, Michigan,” Missouri eventually responded before standing up. “I need to finish my reports. Have a nurse fetch me if your condition seems to get worse.”

Missouri felt bad about leaving Michigan behind, but he knew that the conversation was only going to keep turning for the worse. 

He tried to help, but Missouri treated wounds, not hurt feelings. Michigan would get better with time. They both knew that.

Missouri would just need to give him space.

[usa-manors-library]

Toledo: Prologue

Wattpad Link for your convenience!

"Pout, pout, pout," Rhode Island mused, retrieving the discarded pillow off of the room's green carpet-decorated floor, "...That seems to be all you want to do today, eh?"

The victim of Rhode Island's comments continued to— you'll never guess what— pout, face buried behind his hair and in his pillows.

Rhode fluffed the cushion thoughtfully, taking a seat on the edge of the sulky boy's bed. He glanced down at his younger brother, wondering how on earth he was saddled with the responsibility of comforting him on this brisk afternoon. It was December for crying out loud. Shouldn't the kid be frolicking in a winter wonderland? Eating ice off the ground? Chucking snow at everything, inanimate or not? Contracting hypothermia? Whatever it was, he knew damn well that there were better candidates than him for the job of convincing the boy.

Alas, it would be admitting defeat if he left to find one right now. Especially if the only other soul he could discover was New York. Ew. Disgusting. Repulsive. If Rhode had a thesaurus on hand, he'd keep going for the rest of the chapter's word count. I can't allow that. I'm not that desperate yet. Besides, it's 1816. The first official thesaurus wouldn't be published for another 36 years.

"...Michigan, you shan't be carrying on like this at the old age of eleven if I can help it," Rhode Island joked light-heartedly, "Look at you. Lying here like a sack of flour. You should have a wife and children by now, if you had a shred of respect for yourself."

Curiously, the territory peered up from his bedding, "...Where are yours, then?"

"I gambled away my dignity years ago in a game of—" Rhode Island paused, having a small flashback sequence to a series of Virginia's threats regarding stories she saw unfit to tell the younger siblings. Traumatizing, "...None of your business. Now. That does it. Get off of the damned bed."

Michigan plopped his head right back into the pillow cave he made for himself, "...No."

Shoot. That was a convincing argument.

Rhode Island started to drag the child off the bed. Unfortunately, little Michigan had a grip of steel to the frame. Which was very disheartening yet impressive for Rhode Island, who (like many of his siblings) couldn't help but notice Michigan's serious lack of right arm since the War of 1812. He had to give the kid credit, losing a limb didn't make him any weaker. Or less stubborn.

What the fresh hell had Georgia been feeding this kid...? He'll never know. It might be crack. Actually, he's met Kentucky. It's definitely crack.

Rhode Island stood, grumbling a few not-so-Virginia-approved words to himself before huffing and turning back to Michigan, "You're being an addle-plot."

A very muffled voice responded with a little; "Your mother's an addle-plot."

"And your father's a whore."

"We have the same father."

"Well, you see, that's funny because—" Rhode Island raced over to the room's door and poked his head out, "OHIO!"

Listen, listen, listen. Calling someone in to take over the second he recognized their footsteps in the hallway wasn't quitting. No. He wasn't bested by a tween. It was calling in reinforcements. That's nothing to be ashamed of. He lasted about one minute and thirty-two seconds longer than he usually did, and he didn't think about smacking a child. He's a warrior. He's a leader. He's—

"Are you beefing with the 11-year-old again?"

He's moving out. He needs his own place. He doesn't need to get disrespected like this. How could they do this to him. It's not like he helped raise them or anything. It's not like he was the one to teach them certain rude hand gestures at the age of six. He knows he already has a spot in his state he could go to. It's a humble little mansion. He can move there permanently instead of using it exclusively for business. He can throw parties and not invite any of his siblings. He can—

Ohio whooshed past Rhode Island as the older continued plotting his escape to freedom. Taking Rhode Island's former seat on the edge of the bed, Ohio patted Michigan's back. Michigan responded by kicking his legs into the mattress.

"...You know you can't talk to him like that," The Buckeye State sighed, "He's little."

With that comment as a sharp slap of reality Rhode Island swerved around and squawked indignantly, "I—!"

Ohio blinked and glanced over his shoulder, "I don't believe I was talking to you."

A small, muffled giggle escaped from the pillows. This was just bleak. He was 0-4 right now. 

"I don't need this," The oldest grumbled, retrieving a book of his off of Michigan's small desk, "I have people to spite. Grudges to carry."

"Shelves to not reach?" Michigan's muffled voice suggested.

One day.

One. Day.

May the good Lord give him an abundance of patience, because if He gave him strength there would be lawsuits.

With Rhode Island gone, Michigan flopped from his stomach to his back and offered Ohio a nod, "Morning."

"Morning," Ohio greeted casually, "What's today's tragedy?"

Michigan lifted his head up ever so slightly, "Can't a territory around here act overdramatic and on the cusp of a devastation for fun...?"

Silence. The answer was definitely 'yes'— it's been done many times before by territories, states, and the country himself alike— but saying that wouldn't improve the situation at hand.

Michigan's head flopped back down, "I'm short."

"Devastating," Ohio deadpanned, wondering how he'd break it to his little brother that he was, in fact, a child, "What else?"

"No," Michigan rolled his eyes, "I'm shorter."

Ohio blinked, blank expression on his face. As of right now, Michigan was shorter than a lot of things. Not quite as short as South Carolina's attention span, but still, a lot of things. "...Than who?"

"Than ME."

"You're you. Who's this 'me'?"

"You're Ohio."

"Then who's you?"

"Me? I'm Michigan," Michigan offered a handshake, "Your favorite sibling. Nice to make your acquaintance—"

"That's not— No. Who's shorter?"

"I'm shorter."

"Than who?"

"Than me!"

"Who's taller?"

"Me!"

"You're you!"

"Right!"

Ohio took a deep breath, trying to channel his inner Virginia, "Territory of Michigan, I swear on the grave of New Jersey's hopes and dreams—"

Michigan wailed, quickly getting up to his feet. He grabbed Ohio by the left shoulder and shook him to the best of his ability, "Look at me! Just look at me!"

"Before— before you give me whiplash," Ohio managed to get out, somewhat playing along with Michigan as he pretended to be incapable of pushing back the shakes, "What- What am I looking at?"

"Brace yourself," Michigan released him and looked at him gravely, "Are you ready?"

Ohio nodded, attempting to smooth the wrinkles the territory's grip had left in his shirt, "As I'll ever be."

"I," Michigan solemnly confessed, "Have lost a whole ten miles."

Ohio paused. He glanced around on the room. He looked left. Right. Up. Down. And, if I may be so bold; all around.

"...Where'd you put them, then?" He joked lightly, pretending to check under one of the many pillows.

Michigan threw his left hand up, nearly hysterical, "This is a grave matter, Oheeo!"

"Gesundheit."

"I woke up shorter! I am a VICTIM of ROBBERY!" The younger declared, slapping his thigh for emphasis on each over-pronounced word.

Ohio raised his eyebrows incredulously. Michigan looked perfectly healthy, with his room in perfect order. Nothing seemed out of place, except... "The only thing you're a victim of is that haircut."

Don't judge him. It was his brotherly duty to bully the child. He was doing his job as an upstanding American citizen. All in a day's work.

Michigan guffawed indignantly, trying not to be obvious as he glanced in the mirror beside Ohio. Smoothing down his unkempt mess of waves and curls nonchalantly, the territory resumed his sulking, "Don't you realize what this means for me?"

"You need to hire a new barber?"

"YoU nEeD tO hIrE a NeW bArbEr?" Michigan mocked, scrunching his nose, "Shove over a couple of steps, I need to fling myself dramatically onto my bed again."

Ohio obliged, letting Michigan partake in his moment. A mere handful of seconds passed before Michigan scrambled off of the bed in a hasty movement.

"I didn't like that one," The younger one said quite decidedly, storming past Ohio, "Let me try that again!"

Ohio shrugged, remaining in his spot as Michigan backed up to the door of his room to get a running start this time. Bolting with the grace and agility of a diseased yet well-meaning gazelle, Michigan flopped back onto his bed. Ohio made a mental note to ask where his father got the set of furniture for this room over dinner. Obviously, it was high-quality and sturdy if it survived the little Mitten this long.

Michigan, after surveying how many pillows the force of his landing knocked off, deemed the fall acceptable. He knew his theatrics well, given his familial connections. I cannot conjure up a single name in this family who isn't some variation of a theatric mess. That could be the curse of personifications. Or humans. Or any of the subjects of my writing, for that matter.

Oh no.

I may be the problem.

"O.H.," The child continued, ignoring whichever sister echoed 'I.O.' in the hallway as she passed, "You don't seem a quarter as invested in this as I imagined you'd be."

Ohio shrugged, "You seem far more invested than I imagined you'd be. Weren't you in the room when everyone was talking about this?"

"So we are in another war?"

The state stared at the wide-eyed, disheveled territory. He'll take that as a 'no.' To the misfortune of Michigan's vocal cords, Ohio wasn't able to correct him before the kid screamed into his mattress with the force of a thousand dying seals.

"I knew it!" Michigan groaned, "Oh, Canada! It hasn't even been two years since the last one!"

"That's not—"

"Pack your bags, we're going north," The child grumbled, trudging over to his wardrobe and throwing it open with gusto. He took random articles of clothing, piling them up on the floor, "We're going to kidnap him this time. Perhaps our hands will slip and he'll lose an arm. Maybe both. A leg, perchance. Who knows? I'm can be clumsy—"

Choosing to ignore how concerning that thinly veiled threat was, Ohio grabbed the bunched up mess of clothes from Michigan's hands before he can put them in his growing pile, "We're not at war, Mitten."

"Don't call me that, it's undignified."

"Apologies, Mr. Mitten."

"Thank you. However, it's Mr. Dr. Rev. Mitten to you."

"Right, Mr. Dr. Rev.— Since when were you ordained?"

Michigan stared at him blankly.

"...No matter," Ohio decided to pick and choose his battles today, "As you know, Indiana became a state rather recently."

"Rather off topic, but good for her. I'm very proud," Michigan feigned a sniffle, "They grow up so fast... I hope she remembers to write me every couple of month..."

"...She was given a smidge of your land on her way out—"

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"I imagined I was getting KIDNAPPED!" Michigan screeched, slamming his hands on the table, "Again!"

Massachusetts patted the kid, who couldn't quite pinpoint if he was shaking from relief or the fear he finally processed from this morning, on the back. He had no idea what was going on, but, to put it bluntly; the small homeboy looked traumatized.

With a slight hint of sympathy, Indiana apologetically patted the territory on the head, "My sincerest apologies, Mr. Dr. Rev. Mitten."

Michigan shot a deadpan stare at Ohio for half a second. Ohio pretended to not notice it, staring off into the existential void. AKA the window that overlooked the backyard. AKA the joys of the great outdoors. AKA Florida— who was the only adult among the outside crowd and shouldn't technically be condoning that kind of behavior— dangling from a tree while 15-year-old Louisiana was preparing the hit him with a sizable branch as 7-year-old Illinois held 4-year-old Missouri's hand and watched. AKA another unavoidable doctor's bill to America, from his feral offspring, with love. Love, and a little spite. Deserved or undeserved, who knows?

"Ten miles isn't quite much," Indiana continued, ignoring the very loud *THWACK* followed by a Floridian with way too much confidence in the resilience of the human body insisting 'AGAIN!' from outside, "I wouldn't mind if you wanted to reclaim—"

"The land? The land...?" The territory scoffed, "Are you kidding me? I'm happy it turned out to be you. Keep it. I don't care, I haven't the slightest need for it. Happy statehood. But Indie, I had so many revenge plans! Tomfooleries! Shenanigans! Now I can't execute them against the British! My justification is out to sea...!"

Michigan buried his face in his hands, entirely devastated. It was a bit of a shoddy excuse— he will most definitely try to carry out his schemes anyway—, yet he refused to be thought of as a coward. Especially in front of the older siblings. Ew. Yuck. Disgusting. Blegh.

Cowardliness is reserved for the weak. The weak, and when his father gets home from work. In which Michigan will be clinging to him like a stubborn koala and claiming he had something in his eyes. America wouldn't believe him, primarily after getting the day's synopsis from Ohio, but he would make a comment about allergy season and pretend he did nonetheless.

"Michigan," Massachusetts gently reassured, "Connecticut still exists. You still have people to torment. And for good cause."

Michigan sniffled, "...What cause?"

"He exists," The eldest brother tilted his head, "And that's very, very sad."

Michigan slowly took his face from his hands, meeting Massachusetts's genuine, earnest expression.

"...Very well," The territory sighed heavily, shoving his chair back, "I'm going to go bury his shoes in the snow out back. If I'm not back by sunset, assume I moved a single garden pebble and New Jersey is preserving my remains to fertilize the plants come spring."

Indiana's eyebrows climbed up, "Just like that?"

"Consider the matter forgiven," Michigan shrugged as he stood, doing his best to sound like an adult. A Virginia impression, to be exact. It was thoroughly believed among her younger siblings— for better or worse— that she feared nothing on this piddly mortal plane of existence.

As if he were going off to work a regular nine to five, the child sauntered to the doorway of the almost vacant dining room. Looking back at the small assembly, his facade wavered as he pouted— Er. Made an expression that conveyed a serious complaint. "Not forgotten, though. Next person to move my borders without telling me is experiencing bodily harm."

Amused, Ohio watched as his little buddy went off to cause havoc and turmoil.

The issue of Michigan's land was solved, and will never come up again.

...

Yep. No reason to continue following this novel. I told you it was short. That's it. Nothing else happens. 

...

Click off of this story. Go read some of NewLostIslands's instead. Shoo, now, shoo.

...

You can go. The show's over. Thank you for your time and— Why is this chapter titled 'Prologue'?

...

Oh, Heckerberry Finn. I have to commit now, don't I?

[lostsbooks]

[Archives Entry] Michigan's experiences of 1812 (Wattpad|Ao3)

Dedicated to @weirdestarrow and @aloha-from-angel for creating the Countryhumans Research Archival Project! This also heavily references Weird's oneshot of The Time Spent in a Gilded Cage. Which I highly recommend.

PS. this is Michigan's retelling, so its biased to his perspective. ━━━━━━━━ ✠ ━━━━━━━━

Interview with Michigan State, 15th December, 2023. Transcribed by Alexa Woodbridge.

Interviewer: December 15th, 2023. Interview with The State of Michigan, on the subject of...

[Interviewer pauses]

Michigan: Britain being a /censored/.

[Interviewer laughs nervously]

Interviewer: I'm sorry I don't think we can write that down as the reason.

Michigan: Fine, How about 'Events of 1812 to 1814.' That sound better?

Interviewer: Yes that will do.

[Interviewer clears her throat]

Interviewer: Interview with The State of Michigan on the subject of events from 1812 to 1815. Would you prefer to start or are you more comfortable with prompted questions?

Michigan: Either, whatever you want to do. I'm fine with anything.

Interviewer: All right, You mentioned Britain a minute ago? I wasn't aware you had history.

Michigan: Not exactly common knowledge. Too embarrassing, I think.

Interviewer: How come?

[Michigan gives a dry laugh]

Michigan: Not exactly a great look for a country to lose so much land due to one person's mistake. Everyone wanted to move on after it went back to normal, but i'm not sure what good that did.

Interviewer [sounding confused]: Wait- So what exactly happened? Just to clarify for the record.

[silence for a minute]

Michigan: As a territory I was surrendered to the British at the start of what you call now the war of 1812. I was seven at the time.

Interviewer: So you mean-[cut off]

Michigan: Wait, you guys have customized pens?

Interviewer: Yes, we order them online- but we should really get back on topic. Did you just say that-

[Faint pen clicking]

Michigan: ...Is it okay if I keep this?

[loud sigh]

Interviewer: Sure, why not.

[faint pen clicking resumes in the background]

Interviewer: Are you done now? You are the one who asked for an interview.

Michigan: Yes- sorry, just hard to think about it.

Interviewer: Take your time, honestly I wasn't expecting this. How did you end up under British control?

Michigan: General William Hull, he was in command at Fort Detroit at the time- governor of the territory as well. I don't think they had much warning beforehand that war was declared. So when the enemy showed up, he didn't do anything.

Michigan: Within three days a Union Jack was flying over the settlement. Not so much as a shot fired.

Interviewer: where were you during this?

Michigan [sarcastically]: I was lucky enough to have been ripped away from everyone else, one second nothing was wrong and I was safe, the next I was looking up at the sky, woke up on a hill between the town and fort.

Interviewer: Didn't anyone- your father- come looking for you?

Michigan: Doubt they even knew I was gone at that point. You guys know about Dad's DID right? It gets complicated, but probably didn't realize anything until they got the news themselves,

[A small sound is heard, almost like a choked laugh]

Michigan: Can only imagine how well that went over with them. What with how overprotective Dad is.

Interviewer: Then you were captured?

Michigan: Yep! Stayed that way until 1814, when the Treaty of Ghent was signed.

Interviewer: So where were you taken? Were you a prisoner?

Michigan: I don't think prisoner is the right word, but I went to a house, I'm not sure where, but it was somewhere in Upper- er- sorry, Ontario. Out of the way of the war.

Interviewer: Was anyone else there with you? How long did you stay there?

Michigan: Upper Canada also lived there with me. Soldiers were also positioned around the property- I guess to keep me from leaving. I'm not sure how long I was there for, over two years not counting the trips, but i'm not sure. Time seemed to move slower somehow, at a different pace. It could've been that I was a kid, sure, or that I wasn't actually allowed to know any dates-

Interviewer: You weren't?!

Michigan: nope, anything about the war was forbidden. Didn't know what was happening to my family either. Kept me completely separated from the outside world.

Interviewer[weakly]: Ah- well, You mentioned you knew Upper Canada, what was he like?

Michigan: He was... good to me, like a brother. He was always the part of living there that felt bearable. He's the one who taught me what I needed to know. I think he was also part of convincing Canada to adopt me, said it was so we could be real brothers, not just through America.

Interviewer: did you have to agree to that?!

Michigan: ...yes. I don't think I was in the right state of mind to have ever said no by that point. Britain- he has a way of getting into your head, making you think things you normally wouldn't. Its-

[pen clicking fully stops]

Michigan [voice venomous]: -there was a time that I would have believed anything that came out of that bastard's mouth. He got me to disown my family, tried to make me forget about them, and I hate it but it worked.

Interviewer: Do you think there's any reason why Britain did that? Why he wanted you adopted by Canada?

Michigan: To get back at my Dad. What better way to twist the knife a little deeper than to harm his son? Send him back completely different and changed. I doubt he cared about me beyond a sick way to make a statement and prove a point to him.

Interviewer: We've all heard stories of harsh treatment to Britain's colonies before- did that, did he do anything to you?

[sharp intake of breath]

Michigan: From what I remember- yes. He visited the house often, It was always a punishment for something I'd done wrong, for not following the ridiculous rules he'd made. Though to be fair, at the start I usually made a point not to follow them when I could.

[silence for several minutes]

Interviewer: ...That sounds terrible.

Michigan: Could I have a drink of water real quick?

[recording is paused.]

[resume recording.]

Interviewer: We don't have to continue if you don't want to.

Michigan: No, It's fine. I want to talk, besides it's not exactly easy discussing this with my family, too much emotion wrapped up there, it gets complicated. This is better.

Interviewer: Do they know about this?

Michigan: Yes, They're aware of some things, never really tried to get the whole story out at once, so this is new. I think we all just wanted to forget what happened afterwards, and life just moved on.

Interviewer: Have you ever tried therapy before?

Michigan: Well I punched Britain in the face a few months ago. Broke his nose. Does that count? There's not really many options for us.

Interviewer [shocked]: WAIT THAT WAS YOU?

[Michigan laughs]

Michigan: Yeah. I'm still getting thank you cards from his former colonies. Very worth it.

Interviewer [sounding exhausted]: Okay well- getting back on topic- you said you were returned after the treaty of Ghent?

Michigan: During it, yeah. Don't know what would've happened to me if they'd decided to do something else. With how I was at the time I actually wanted to stay British.

Interviewer: How were you able to adjust back to being with your family again?

Michigan: It took time, more time than I care to admit.  I'm still so grateful for the patience they gave me. With how much of an ass I'd been acting like at the time- I really shouldn't have deserved it. They'd only wanted me back and safe while I- I'd pushed them away. I helped hurt them, was glad when they were hurt, tried to sell them out without even realizing how wrong it was.

[inaudible sound]

Interview: Is- is that all you wanted to say? Or would there be anything else you'd like to commit to the archive records.

[Michigan is silent again, then sighs]

Michigan: no, I think that's it. Thank you, sorry again for the short notice.

[end recording.]

[jhen725]

Estado de Michigan

[mx-smileo]

@invisible-hidden

The states openly hate america... for what reason? Not many people wanna say 😥

[ask-the-usa-manor]

Accurate.

“Michi, you’ve already lost one arm, do you really want to lose both?” Minnesota asked casually.

“…Nah,” Michigan shook his head, “Not in the mood right now. Thanks, though.”

“He might lose the one he has from patting himself on the back too hard anyways. Typical,” Ohio scoffed after a quick glance over of the map, “And you’re one to talk about Illinois when you have Detroit—“

Ohio turned to his right, where Illinois was previously sitting, and stopped short. He was met with the blank smile of Chicago.

“No, no,” Illinois Chicago smiled, “He’s got a point! I think mine was accurate.”

“…” Indiana, who was leaning on the door frame, poked her head out into the hall, “‘Nois-Complaint, your city’s trying to replace you again!”

Iowa looked up at the ceiling as an abrupt clamor of rapid footsteps echoed through the upstairs floor, shortly followed by the same ones going through the hallway moments later. Illinois stormed in and dragged Chicago to his feet.

“Not at MY childhood home. Not here. Get out of my chair— What are you doing with my shirt—!?” Illinois paused and looked away from his city, squinting at a frame on the wall, “…Did you tape a picture of your face over mine in my family photos—?”

“I’m a Slytherin!” Iowa threw in, unhelpfully.

“I don’t believe you!” All of the others declared in unison.

“—Or that I wouldn’t work as a mitten,” Wisconsin added on, “Look! There’s a thumb there…! Ish…!”

Silence.

She sighed, “…At least I have cheese—”

“Finally! Somebody remembers Iowa isn’t the only corn-guru in the Midwest!” Indiana grinned.

Nebraska ripped his land off of the map and walked away. He didn’t need to surround himself with or waste his breath on people who denied that he was lord of the corn. Sacrilege, I say. Sacrilege.

“I wouldn’t say North Dakota and I are the same,” South Dakota mused, “I mean. I’m the funnier twin. And more attractive. And more outgoing. And smarter. And stronger—”

North Dakota side-eyed him, “Wanna test that theory?”

“Not really, no, you’d kick my ass.”

[theywhoshantbenamed]

SO I HAVE A REAL GOOD EXAMPLE OF THIS BAVK WHEN I WAS IN THE STATEHUMANS FANDOM MY VERAION OF MICHIGAN HAD THE ANTLERS OF THE TWO ANIMALS ON ITS FLAG SO SO HE HAD ONE ELK ANTLER AND ONE MOOSE ANTLER

sorry for shouting I love these ideas

Playing around with the idea of giving the states animal features to make them more cryptid like. Should I give them features from animals on their flags or state animals?

[sane-human]

I can't help but feel like im asking too much when I say this, But any designs on the US state Michigan? I hope it doesn't bother you-

(I LOVE YOUR ART BTW. NO WORDS IN THE WORLD MATCH IT. I'VE SAID IT BEFORE AND I'LL SAY IT AGAIN.)

Sure thing! Don’t worry! AAAAAAA (I don’t mind requests!)

(Thank you!! AAAAAAAAA)

I had fun learning some things about Michigan , tho I only read the first paragraphs of the wiki !

First there were the Métis in the area of Michigan before the French conquered it!

Then I read that the kingdom of France gave it to the British ! Just how many states did France decide to sell?

Also They have deer traits because that’s the state animal ! And :  "Si Quæris Peninsulam Amœnam Circumspice," means "If you seek a pleasant peninsula, look about you." and I think that’s a very cute phrase („• ᴗ •„)

[chaoticprussia]

Midwest Bullshit

[river-blue]

Um um um...she's my pookie bear (gee wonder what us state I reside in? 🤔)

[weirdestbooks]

British Michigan Oneshot

Removing the Taint (Wattpad | Ao3)

TW for Blood

“Now, I hope you remember why this procedure is necessary,” Britain said as he and the American waited in the dining room of Britain’s human home as the surgeons prepared their tools for the surgery.

“Of course I do, Grandfather. Would you like me to repeat it?” the American said in a perfect response. Not too fast, the sign of someone lying or pretending to please him, but not too slow, a sign he forgot. How easily this one adapted, you could be forgiven for forgetting his unseemly origins.

“Yes, do so,” Britain responded, eager to see if the American remembered everything correctly.

“My wings are being removed because they are a symbol of savagery and not fit for a loyal colony of the empire. They were forced onto me by America in an attempt to claim my land for his sinful nation and force you to recognize me as his child,” the American repeated. Britain frowned before slapping the American on the back of the head.

“What was your mistake?” he lectured. The American’s eyes widened, either surprised Britain caught his mistake or not realizing he had made one before he quickly bowed his head.

“The wings, not mine. They are not something I should claim because they are symbols of savagely and a countryhuman’s attempt to kidnap me,” he quickly responded. Britain smiled, grabbing the American’s head and forcing him to return to his previous standing position.

“Good job,” he said, “Any final questions?”

“Will…will this hurt?” the American asked nervously. Britain scoffed. What a foolish boy. 

“Of course not, not if you do everything you’re supposed to,” Britain said, tightly gripping the American’s shoulder and shutting him up. 

After a few moments of blissful silence, the surgeon said, “We’re ready for the operation now. " 

Britain sighed and walked away from the American to the corner of the room. The American shifted, nervous, and Britain frowned.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

The American then froze, paralyzed under Britain’s control. Interestingly, while colonies could never fight off his control, the American seemed to lean into it, accepting the control the same way a starving man would accept food. How interesting. Britain really had gone a long way in fixing up the American. 

First, it was getting rid of that unproductive, independent personality, then any love for America, then assigning him a proper parent, and now, removing the last tangible piece of America from him. The American would never be rid of the taint of America that would permanently deform him, but at least he could be better. 

Besides, it would be so nice to see America’s face when he realized how much Britain had purified and cleansed the child’s former territory. The sinful country would be horrified to learn how Britain had saved the child’s soul from his sinful taint.

The American was in much better hands and could actually prosper in life now.

Britain ordered his newest colony to lay facedown on the table. His shirt had already been removed to reveal the hideous wings that America had cursed the poor boy with. Luckily, it would be a simple procedure to remove them.

“Begin now, and make it quick. I don’t want to waste any more time on this than necessary,” Britain ordered the surgeons, his voice echoing out of the American’s mouth. Controlling the boy was going to get exhausting quickly, but he needed to keep his control to minimize damage to his newest colony, his perfect tool to pull America back under his thumb.

Britain stood, fighting off exhaustion as the surgery commenced. By the time they got through one wing, the American was bleeding heavily, coating his body with his own precious lifeblood. Then, instead of moving onto the other wing, the surgeons began reaching for bandages.

“You can treat him when both wings are off,” Britain ordered, causing the surgeon to jump.

“But—but he might bleed out!”

“That’s fine. I can’t say he doesn’t deserve it, for how ungrateful he was when I got him. A death will be good for his health anyway, clearing up that pesky healing process. Now continue,” Britain said, voice hard. The surgeon, understanding his place, nodded and proceeded with the surgery, the other wing coming off quicker than the first.

But, just as the surgeon predicted, the loss of both wings caused the rest of his colony’s lifeblood to drain out of him, as Britain felt his control snap with his colony’s death. Tutting his tongue, Britain walked towards his colony, shaking off the exhaustion that came with that form of control. 

When he reached the colony, he began running a hand through his hair, somewhat matted with blood.

That was fine. Britain would get it cleaned up.

But, as requested, the wings were gone.

“Congratulations, Michigan. You’re cured,” Britain said, smiling softly at his grandson, “Get rid of those wings now, and then you are free to go. I have things handled from here.”

“Of course, sir,” the surgeon said before leaving, and, like clockwork, Lower Canada entered the room.

“It’s done?” he asked.

“Yes, it is. Is the bath prepared? Death has healed his wounds, but I want to wash the blood before he wakes; that way, when he wakes up, it will be as if he was born anew, free of America’s chains, and completely and totally one of us,” Britain said. Lower Canada smiled and nodded.

“It is a great achievement, and my son has prepared the bath. Everything is ready,” Lower Canada said, eyes consistently flickering back down to his son.

“You’re both mine, remember? You can have your child back when I’m finished,” Britain said. Lower Canada took a step back, bowing his head.

“Of course, Father. My apologies,” he said. Britain nodded in approval before picking up Michigan, the boy’s limp body growing colder under his touch. Britain walked over to the room where the bath was, barking a quick order at Virgin Islands to clean up any blood that dripped on the floor before setting his colony in the tub, watching the water turn red from the blood.

Britain then shoved Michigan's head under, deciding to take care of the blood in his hair first, just in case he came back during his wash. The blood, not yet dry, came out of his hair quickly, and Britain worked next on the area around the wings, pulling out all the remaining feathers, some of which caused more blood to leak out of Michigan’s still body.

After about five minutes, Britain deemed Michigan clean enough, standing up and walking out of the room where Lower Canada, ever the loyal follower, waited.

“He’s cleaned. Don’t worry about saving the clothes, just change him into new ones. Put him in your room. Understood?” Britain asked. Lower Canada nodded.

“Yes, Father,” he said before rushing into the room as Britain shook off his hands.

What a productive day. He couldn’t wait until he got to show off his colony to America.

It would make all the struggle to tame him worth it.

[ameridad-is-the-best]

What makes you so sure I’ll ever like that old nickname again?

-MI

“Because you still love it. Even right now.”

[lostsbooks]

Paintings and Primroses (Wattpad|Ao3)

One of my favorite writings I've made. Inspired in part by @weirdestarrow's oneshot Shot From the Sky, which can provide some context to events.

━━━━━━━━ ✠ ━━━━━━━━

Part of me hated being here again, at the house. Ever since the start of the civil war it seemed like a different place. Any sense of connection and warmth it had once fostered had been whisked away and shattered, leaving it feeling like a ghost of its former life.

Even now, walking through our home it felt cold and empty, As if the building itself had turned hostile during the years of war, and refused to heal now it was over.

'I need to get out of here.' I thought urgently, taking a sharp turn and heading in another direction the moment I heard voices nearby, Arguing, someone crying.

It only added to the miserable feeling that clung to the air.

Taking a shortcut through a different door, I cursed, having incidentally wound up at the portrait hall, Starting at the end with the most recent additions to the Union, and continuing down the hall in order of admission.

Walking quickly, I avoided looking at the paintings, but it still felt as if the shadowed faces were watching me somehow.

I stopped momentarily upon reaching the spot where my own portrait hung, and stared, meeting the gaze of the younger version of myself. Struggling to fight down a strangled feeling of grief and loss on seeing it.

I'd been so proud when that had been made, so proud to see it hung here, as a new state, nearly thirty years ago.

I could barely remember what that was like.

I doubted my life could ever go back to that way, too much had changed, too much was broken.

It hurt to see laid out so plainly, an image of happy days that would never return, frozen in time. A version of myself I would never be again. My breath sharpened and I tried to force myself to be calm, blocking out the thoughts that always seemed to resurface.

There was a little guilt in taking it off the wall. Portraits took a long time to make, and were something to be displayed with pride and respect. A work of art that deserved to be admired by many.

But I really couldn't bring myself to care.

In a second I'd decided It needed to be gone, off the wall and away. Seeing it there made me feel something, whether it was anger, grief, or jealousy, it was too many emotions to deal with right now.

Better to ignore it all, while I could.

I followed the portrait hall until it opened to its larger connected room, scanning the area for a closet where I could hide the painting, at least until I felt a little better about seeing it on the wall.

Thankfully, there was the perfect place, a small storage room, already packed full of old sentimental objects, photographs, and random assortments of dusty heirlooms.

It wouldn't make a dent in the clutter that was already there.

I was about to put the painting down when my eyes drifted instead to the fireplace. The fire was still lit, starting to die now, but the embers still burned hot.

Looking down at the painting again, I tried to grapple with my thoughts.

It seemed like centuries ago I was that young, that naive. No clue of what would come next or how painful life would be only a little while later.

Maybe if I'd known that before, I wouldn't have tried so hard, just to be hurt in the end.

That it really wouldn't be worth it.

I hastily grabbed a pile of photographs that lay on a shelf, not really thinking of what I'd do with them, before closing the closet's door and changing course yet again.

There was a numb bit of satisfaction seeing the fire light up again, eating at the bottom of the portrait and slowly turning it to ash. Splitting through the middle and crumbling to nothing.

I slumped, letting myself sit down on the ground, suddenly feeling exhausted. Leaving most of the photos stacked beside me, I started sorting through some of the cards in my hand, inspecting them.

Coming across an old picture of Mississippi, there was a stab of hatred and I threw it into the flames as well.

I felt a little better watching it burn. A small bit of payback for the hurt she'd caused, for what she'd done to me.

For what they had done to all of us.

Finding some photographs of myself, I hesitated before they faced the same fate. I tried to glean some satisfaction from watching them curl up and turn to ash, but it just made me feel more sick than ever.

I winced as the slight pain increased in my wing, prickling at the point where it had been destroyed.

Cursing, I stood up and walked away from the fireplace, trying to stamp down the fresh feelings of hurt and anger. Half thinking of finding something else to throw in the fire, in case that helped.

My heart jumped on hearing another voice, "Michigan-? What are you-" Missouri was standing in the doorway, his eyes drifted to the fire where some of the photographs were still burning, and he fell silent, eyes widening in shock.

I felt a pang of guilt, and moved to block his view but it was too late, he'd seen. Now Missouri was going to worry more, think there was something wrong with me.

"Souri- I- I can explain" I tried to say, but he didn't let me finish.

"What are you doing?" He asked, rushing over to the fire, panic and fear in his hushed voice, "Those- those are- Michi, Why."

My mind felt blank, everything was wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen, he shouldn't be here. Tears were forming at the edges of my eyes, but I couldn't cry and my voice didn't seem to work anymore.

Words seemed to echo over and over in my head, growing louder by the second, my breath coming in sharper. I wanted to hide I needed to get away from the panic that was creeping in again, but I couldn't move. Everything felt too big and suffocating but blank at the same time.

'I'm supposed to be better now damnit why am I still like this.'

A wave of shame hit me and I took a step back, away from my younger brother.

"Michigan- what happened?" he said, eyes still wide with fear and concern, "Are you hurt?"

I tried to relax my breathing, force myself to calm down, distract myself from whatever was going on in my head, for some inconceivable reason, it wasn't working.

"Should I get Mass?" he asked tentatively, I barely heard him.

"No!" I snapped, not really processing my own words, "I'm fine. Please- he's- that's one of the last people I want to talk to right now. Would only make things worse."

"Is there anything else I can do-?" he said, "if you need something-"

"I said I'm good. Missouri." my words were harsher than I meant them to be, "I'm going home now."

He grabbed my wrist before I could fully turn away, startling me out of my thoughts.

"WAIT!"

"You can't keep me here." I said coldly, regaining my posture and staring him in the eye, I pulled my arm out of his grip.

"I know that I just-"

I broke his sentence off halfway, anger flaring up, "Why do you even care so much? It's not like this matters to you."

Tears formed in Missouri's eyes and I took a nervous step back.

"You're my BROTHER, of course I care!" he nearly yelled, wings spread out, "Besides this is my fault! You're like this now because of me. I chose to- and I could've-" His breath grew choked and raspy, I didn't know what to do.

"No!" I- You didn't-" I stuttered, fear rising up again, making it hard to think.

He took a deep breath and managed to regain himself a little, "Mitch, it's my fault." He said miserably, "you're stuck with the wing because of me, If I'd just- I could've done something different! And then you wouldn't have ended up with that!"

I tried to smile, "You just gestured to all of me."

Missouri crumpled onto the couch, face buried in his arms, "I didn't mean for-" he whispered, "I just don't- seeing you like this. It's all my fault."

"Wait- you think-" I said, caught off guard again, "'Souri- you saved my life."

"No I didn't." he mumbled into his sleeve, not looking towards me, "I ruined it."

I stared at my little brother, "Missouri I nearly- I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

He didn't say anything to that, only shrinking deeper into the couch as if he wanted to disappear, covering himself under his wings.

I went to sit next to him, not knowing what else to do, and followed his gaze into the fire. The frame of the painting was nothing but charcoal and ash now.

"Why did you do that?" he said after a moment's pause, looking over to me, "that was your portrait. Right? I would've understood if it was Mississi-"

"Don't  say her name."

Missouri nodded and looked down at his hands.

"But why you." he said in a small voice, "That's- it's worrying, Mitch. I don't like it."

"I don't know." I said, suddenly feeling hollow, "I don't know why. It just- it didn't look like me anymore."

We sat in silence a minute longer before I sighed,

"I didn't look like me anymore, I guess."

"You still look like you to me." Missouri said quietly, and let out a deep breath, "I don't like what you're doing, You keep avoiding us and I don't want to lose you as well, not after everything. I- I can't. Not now."

"Since when did you start acting so grown up?" I said halfheartedly, trying to change the subject, "I thought I was supposed to be the older one here."

He gave a soft smile at that, but it faded back to regret a second later.

"I'm sorry, Mitch. I'm so sorry it turned out this way. I wish- I wish I'd had other options, other choices, I just-"

"You didn't, though." I said softly, picking at some of the feathers on my good wing, feeling numb, "There wasn't- I don't blame you, Missouri."

He wiped his face with his arm, I pretended not to notice. but looked over when Missouri said my name, and he pulled me into a hug.

"Don't leave again, okay?" he said into my shoulder, "I don't know how but can't- I didn't want to lose- I don't want to lose you. Promise me, okay?"

"I can't-"

"Please, Michi."

"I'll try."

[weirdestart]