#louisiana au

[sneakyblinders]

superstition - modern!tommy shelby x ofc

A/N: hello! this is something i've had brewing in my mind for quite some time! Modern!Tommy Shelby x ofc, Amandine. Based in southeast Louisiana. (If you ever have the opportunity to go... please take it. It's one of the best places on earth.) If you're wanting some ambiance, or getting the vibe of the story... take a listen to this ambiance music on Youtube! warnings: language, cheating, sexual themes. not canon. an au.

1998–Southeast Louisiana

“You know what you’re getting yourself into, don’t you, Thomas?” Polly asked a pink cheeked teenage Tommy as he stumbled in the backdoor, tucking his shirt back into his pants. 

He licked his lips, sweat running down his back. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

“That girl, Tommy,” she paused. The ceiling fan whirred, kicking away the leftover smells from dinner. The heat. “Amandine,” Polly shuddered. “Her family is dangerous. Her grandmere is a seer, you know.” 

Tommy nodded. He did know. “I love her, Pol,” he said, straightening his back. 

Polly chuckled. “You’ll see what someone like Amandine Theiriot does with love.” 

2011–Southeast Louisiana

The restaurant bustled. Dishwashers were running furiously, line cooks and waiters bickered over a particularly fussy patron. Amandine rolled her eyes. The heat was overwhelming. July in Louisiana was brutally unbearable, and a heatwave made going into the kitchen every day damn near impossible. 

“Dine!” Gio, the sous chef called out to her. “Dine, there’s somebody here fer ya!” 

Her eyes wandered tiredly to the man in the corner. Her man. “Tommy?” she breathed quietly. So quietly she wasn’t sure if anybody but herself heard her. 

He didn’t smile at her. All joy was gone from his eyes. His lips were in a firm line, hands in his jean pockets, his military backpack slung over one shoulder. The kitchen staff moved out of Amandine’s way as she made her way to Tommy, moving in a trance-like pattern. 

“You’re home?” she asked. He smelled like the bayou. Faintly like aftershave. Smoke and whiskey. He’d not come directly here. 

“Here I stand,” he drawled, the deep baritone of his voice sending a chill down her spine like only he could. 

“I waited,” she said gently as desire filled his eyes. 

“I see,” he responded as she reached out to touch his cheek–touch a scar she hadn’t seen before. “Let’s go home, baby,” he said, her touch filling him with the deepest sense of belonging he’d felt in nearly eight years. 

The staff mumbled under their breath as their head chef walked out for the night, dinner tickets be damned. 

Amandine sensed a darkness in Tommy’s spirit. A darkness that wasn’t there before the war. Before Iraq. She guessed too many tours would do that to a person. Her heart felt heavy as he drove them through the windy southeast Louisiana streets, back to their once shared home. Before the war separated them. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. 

The bayou, their home, was dark. There weren’t too many streetlights on these two lane roads leading them to their home. The home they’d purchased at eighteen and nineteen before the world went upside down. 

Tommy drove his truck, the truck Amandine had been using the last seven years, up their gravel driveway, the motion sensor lights at the top of their home kicking on. It looked a little cleaner than when he had last seen it seven years ago. 

The garage was the entire bottom floor, two flights of stairs leading to the house above. In the swamp, a house on stilts, or raised houses, are normal to aid in air circulation and prevent flood damage when the inevitable hurricanes blasted through the swamp. Tommy tiredly dragged his legs up the steps, Amandine following behind him. 

He fumbled with his keys, finding the right one for the front door and unlocked it, shocked when he saw the difference in the house. “You fixed it up?” 

She smiled softly. “Yeah,” she looked at him nervously. “Daddy and Grandpere and the boys helped. Thought you might like it,” she said. 

He let his dusty backpack fall to the floor with a thud, closing and locking the door behind them before he pushed her up against the door, crashing his lips to hers. 

It was a mess of clothes and sloppy kisses, but they made their way to the bedroom where they devoured one another. 

The next morning they woke up next to each other for the first time in seven years. An uncomfortable silence had fallen between the two of them the night before, causing them to fall asleep with their backs to one another. Something had shifted–something had changed. 

“So,” Amandine began the next morning, sun streaming in through the slats of the blinds. “Who was she?” she asked. 

“Who was he?” Tommy asked, reaching for a cigarette on his nightstand. 

“I’ll tell you if you tell me,” she said, sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard. 

“Deal,” he said nonchalantly, exhaling smoke. 

“Vincent Camponi,” she said. She could faintly see his jaw twitch in anger. 

“Grace Burgess,” he said, mind wandering to the blond he fell in love with at war. The one who had almost cost him his life. 

“Will you go to her?” Amandine asked. 

“Can’t,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “The curse,” he exhaled. “The bond,” he said, holding up his palm, the faint scar from where they’d joined themselves together in Gypsy tradition so many years ago. 

The curse he referred to, was also cast that night they made their vow. That if anything should separate them, they would be dually cursed for the rest of their days. Bad luck following. Their children would be cursed. Their families would be destined for doom. Their businesses would decline and their money would disappear. 

“Where’s Della?” he asked to change the subject. 

“With Mama and Daddy,” Amandine said. 

“Let’s go get her. No sense in keeping us all apart for any longer than we have to, hm?” he said, stubbing out his cigarette and walking to the shower. 

“Yeah,” Amandine said softly. “No sense in that.” 

[mur-art]

I swear I’ll be back with *actual* fanart soon but for now here’s the Silly Guys as ferrets.

Thanks @aceasadhd and @theywhoshantbenamed for inspiring this 😂

Pretend it’s Greg holding them

Ref under the cut:

Link to OP

[gornackeaterofworlds]

One of four pirate bay turtles

[spirits-of-nature16]

Luca 2: Secret "Tails" To Tell (closed to with lady-scorpion-and-friends)

continued from here

@lady-scorpion-and-friends

with Bella Carbone, riding on Ercole's motorboat, on her way to her home location; Paris France, she's been unaware that all of her friends, and Ercole, are following her on water, until she arrived on deck

once she parked the boat, Bella grabbed her bag before looking at all the changes around her "huh, every time I ever left, things looked kinda different" she said to herself before she began to sing to herself while covering herself to avoid contact with people and walking around the horizons; shops, restaurant, cafes and the rest

and after turning herself back into her alter ego, Cascade Crystal, she even bumps right into anyone random

[theslowestpoke]

Today's useless teen wolf AU is everything is essentially the same except they live in Louisiana instead of California.

Stiles' dad is the sheriff of their parish, somewhere inoffensively middle-north like Rapides so they're surrounded by the national forest and still close to the Red River. It's a perfect place to hide a giant magic tree, for the record, and the bayou is no place for two teenagers to go stumbling around looking for a dead body. Best case you find it before the gators find you; worst case, your best friend gets his ass chomped by a rougarou.

Everyone knows the legends - the stories older siblings tell you with a lot less warning than your grandmother ever did - but they're just stories, right?

Except now that Stiles is really paying attention, there's way weirder stuff in the medicine cabinets at the vet clinic than you'd really need for dogs and cats and the bright blue paint on the outside of the building might be more than just an aesthetic choice for the doctor who always seems to know more than he's willing to tell.

When a family comes to town with their pretty daughter and French last name, Scott's already head-over-heels before Stiles can point out that there's bigger fish to fry. Lydia Martin is hosting the annual crawfish boil at her family's manor ("for charity," like they don't have their hands dirty from running a chain of river-boat casinos on the Red) and Scott needs to get his new claws in check if he's wants to steer clear of Argent. The hunter's been asking around in quick, clipped creole about all the recent rumors of black panther sightings, but Stiles knows that's not what he's really asking.

When the kanima starts wreaking on the town, Deaton sends Stiles to the graveyard to fetch a bag of dirt from his own mother's grave. He promises it will protect them and keep the kanima from escaping the rave, but only after Stiles accuses him of trying to use Claudia's memory in a curse. It works, but nothing else does, and Stiles has to break the line of goofer dust to let Isaac and Erica escape. He's definitely remembering that for the future.

[theywhoshantbenamed]

Little Maryland bringing his pet crab in for show and tell and crying when Little Louie tells him how best to cook him

Fun fact this actually kinda happened to me. One time my parents brought home live crabs to cook and eat and I got so attached to the one I chose that I wanted to keep it as a pet. I did end up eating it tho 😭

[dailymothanon]

I haven’t had much time to draw, but I’ve been still working on that D&D au thingy, so I’m curious if any of you guys have any ideas for any of the states yknow? Especially cuz some of y’all understand D&D way more than I do ✌️

[ask-nyc-boroughs]

my tendency to ramble endlessly is strong 😔🙏 so I’ll try my best to keep this short. Anyways this is the result of a month long doodle page of a few of my westerners: Ramona “Mona” Sanchez/ California, Roberto Velasco “Rob McDaniel”/ Texas, & Pedro Ortega/ New Mexico + Aurelie Bayon/ Louisiana (c. @gardenkeeper ).

Under the cut, I’ll explain each doodle briefly from left to right, & I’m just gonna include the most important details. I’ll def be talking about Mona & Rob more so in the future.

Doodles left to right

Mona is like 12, a bit angsty, and boy crazy when she’s starting to think of being independent of Mexico. She thought the cute blonde boy (Alfred/USA) who was also fighting Mexico was totally gonna help her cause he’s y’know famously so good hearted (lolllll). That didn’t pan out well.

Mona on a horse cause why not. She’s usually trying to be this influencer-esque, health conscious, “spiritual” fake bitch, but like she can’t hide at her core she’s a bit of a cowgirl.

Mona & Rob talking when they’re US states. Rob just has a compulsive urge to tease her. And he does reveal stuff about her that she doesn’t necessarily want revealed (Californios are mostly castizos if you will and began identifying as Spanish rather than Mexican as they did not want to be associated with Mexico as Mexico was sending people with more mesitzos or just non-white ancestry to the region. Mona upon entry to the US would’ve identified herself as being Spanish as a means of asserting her distance from Mexico by trying to assert greater proximity to whiteness and Rob knows what she’s doing and just causally pokes holes in her story lol. Not that Rob is much better).

Rob & Aurelie just being affectionate together. I’ll save a greater discussion about them for another time. But their story begins when Rob is basically a neglected Spanish colonial outpost who’s forced to rely on the good will of his presumed French colonial enemy, Aurelie. They become friends throughout the years. Rob always had a crush on Aurelie. She began to like him more romantically towards the 20th century, and I think they bond over a shared love of music - especially genres from that region: Jazz, Blues, Ragtime, & Zydeco.

Rob in the late 19th & early 20th trying to impress Aurelie

Rob & Alfred are BFFs, they’re friends before the civil war but they really become BFFs post-civil war. They’re like highkey the same person. Loud, obnoxious, head strong. Except Rob has more of a lighter, jokester energy to him. Rob is slower to anger whereas Alfred could hold a grudge forever (New England ass).

A design of Pedro / New Mexico. I need to do more research on him. But so far I feel bad he’s stuck btwn Mona & Rob. They’re both objectively crazy lol. And Pedro just wants to be left alone.

Mona confronting Rob towards the end of the US Civil War.

[forever-eternal]

May I very humbly request art of Louisiana 👁️👁️

*completely fine if not, do not feel forced or rushed to answer this!*

Hello Lovely!!

Have a Loui! Design is liable to change

[thingfromhell]

“Alastor won’t like coffee”

BABES- NO!!

Man is from Louisiana! (Like me!!) Café au laits and beignets for breakfast every day on his way to the radio station those early mornings!

The sun is barely peaking, the drunks and partygoers from Bourbon Street & the French Quarter rising with the morning sun, businessmen that are trying to look tougher and more awake than they are, school going kids that just got off their morning paper route, their beloved Radio Broadcaster, all equals, all piling over to City Park, all trying to fit under the awning of Cafe du Monde to avoid the early drizzle, all in need of a coffee and a sweet breakfast.

[ Not my art, found on Pinterest ]

[sneakyblinders]

Superstition pt ii modern!tommy shelby x ofc

A/N: pt 2 of superstition! tommy x amandine, a new ofc! set in Louisiana in modern day. read pt i here. listen to the ambiance here. warnings: sexual themes, violence, superstition, not canon, weapons, war.

Amandine watched as Tommy pulled his clothes on. Jeans, t-shirt, holster over his shoulders, gun loaded. He pushed his rings on his fingers, his signet ring and a ring she had bought him years ago. She was surprised he still wore it. He clasped a chain around his neck, one from his brother, Arthur. He sprayed his cologne on and turned around, blue eyes beaming at her. He felt more human today. 

“Ready?” she asked, already hot in her sundress. 

“If you are,” he said, walking out to the living room, ceiling fan chugging away at the already oppressive heat. 

The drive to Amadine’s parents house was quiet. They lived about twenty minutes from them, closer to the center of the small city they lived closest to. They pulled up to the old house, which always made Tommy seethe. It screamed old money. White brick, four white pillars holding up the second story balcony with the biggest porch on a house he’d ever seen. Rocking chairs on the porch, rocking gently in the breeze, air circulating well thanks to a ceiling fan that whirred on the ceiling of the first floor. 

They could smell the food from the driveway– the smoked boudin and collards, the peach pie–from the front porch. 

“Della, I think someone’s here to see you,” Roseanne Theiriot said, dark eyes serious as she met Tommy’s eyes through the screen door. 

Amandine and Tommy heard little footsteps running down the tile floors, stopping short when she saw her daddy. “Daddy?” she whispered. 

Tommy knelt down. “It’s me, baby,” he said. 

She smiled, running to him, crashing against his chest. Tommy wrapped his arms around his little girl. This little girl who he’d only seen pictures of–only ever heard her voice over a fuzzy phone call. 

Amandine had gotten pregnant right before he’d enlisted in the service and gotten sent to the sandbox. He’d been away at war ever since–a topic that Amandine and Tommy fought over often. He had the opportunity to come home on leave but never took it–always choosing to stay with his men. 

“This is really him?” Della asked, looking up at Amandine. 

Amandine’s emotion caught in her throat. “Yes, sweetheart. This is your daddy,” she said, nodding. 

“Thomas, I need to speak to you,” Roseanne said in that eerily quiet voice of hers. Gus, Amandine’s father and Roseanne’s husband walked down the hallway, and after seeing Tommy, groaned. 

“Ah, fuck,” Gus groaned.

“Good to see you too, Gus,” Tommy said, standing up, Della clutching Tommy’s legs. 

“Della, baby, Grandmere needs to talk to your daddy for a minute, okay? I’ll bring him right back,” Roseanne said, talking to her grandchild in a voice she only reserved for her. 

Roseanne Theiriot was a force to be reckoned with, and one of the few people Tommy feared. Her hair was black, dark eyes, an olive skin tone. She always wore flowy dresses that billowed in the wind. Many people who did not understand this life, this culture, would refer to her as a witch, a fortune teller, a necromancer, a palm reader. The mystical power that was Roseanne Theiriot scared many, and enchanted all others. 

The Theiriots and the Decourdreaux’s, Roseanne’s family, had been in Louisiana for generations. The land Gustav and Roseanne owned belonged to Gustav’s family going back to the 1800’s. Roseanne was raised in New Orleans. Her mother, and her mothers mother, and all the mothers before them, had been cursed with the gift of the spirits. Gifts going back to their Creole and Indigenous American roots from before Louisiana was even a state. They made their money telling fortunes and reading palms in Jackson Square. It’s how she met Gus, actually. 

Gustav’s family roots traced back to the original Acadians, French immigrants pushed out of Nova Scotia in the late 1700’s. Amandine, and as a result, Delphina, affectionately nicknamed Della, had strong Louisiana roots that tied them to this land. This culture. 

The Shelby’s had settled in Louisiana sometime around the 1930’s during the Great Depression, forsaking their traveler ways, but never forsaking the superstitions and beliefs that they so deeply to their core. The Gypsy beliefs that mimicked the beliefs of the Theiriots. 

Roseanne pulled Tommy to the sitting room, where she shut the French doors. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, knowing it would bother her. “I knew you were coming, Thomas,” she said in a calm voice. “The waters were disturbed before you came back.” 

Tommy tried to remain unphased, although being alone with Roseanne always sent chills up and down his spine. “Is that right?” 

“I know what you did in Iraq,” Roseanne said, walking closer to him, her dark eyes boring holes into his soul. “Who is Grace?” 

Images of her flashed through Tommy’s mind. Her on top of him, her lips on his skin. Sinking into her. Then her gun to his temple, nearly pulling the trigger before his men stormed the barracks, aware of the mole. The rat. 

“No one,” he said simply, eyes meeting Roseanne’s. 

“You should know better than to lie, Thomas,” Roseanne warned, jaw clenched. “The curse,” she shook her head slightly, her turquoise jewelry rattling. 

“I haven’t betrayed Amandine in any way that she hasn’t betrayed me,” he said plainly. 

Roseanne slapped Tommy across his cheek, a stinging pain shooting through him. “Don’t speak of my daughter, and the mother of your child in that way,” she seethed. “She has taken care of all your filthy business and ran it through her own business as a damn cover operation, evading arrest multiple times all to continue the filth you started, just so you would come home to her.” 

“She did it for the same reason I came back to this shithole,” Tommy argued. “She did it because she doesn’t want to live the rest of her days with the mark of Cain, and a curse to rival hell’s fury,” Tommy exhaled, annoyed already. “I have a child I need to introduce myself to, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be seeing myself out. We won’t be staying for lunch,” Tommy said, forcing himself past her and out the doors. 

Amandine found herself back at Marie’s the next night–the restaurant she had opened the year she fell pregnant with Della. Tommy and Della were alone together for the first time. He had decided to take her to a movie and out for pizza. 

Sweat ran down Amandine’s back as she grilled off steaks and asparagus, before one of her waiters came asking for her. “Somebody here to see you, Ma’am,” the young waiter, no older than seventeen said. 

“Who?” she asked, unbothered by him and far more concerned with the char on her New York Strips. The muscles in her back flexed, reminding her of the gun she had tucked in the waistband of her checked pants. 

“Uh, Vincent, ma’am,” he said uncomfortably. 

“Alright, I’ll be out as soon as I get this ticket done.” 

Vincent Camponi was a farmer and fisherman who Amandine bought her produce and shrimp off of for the restaurant. They’d fumbled into each other one night at a bar. One thing led to another, and they couldn’t keep their hands, or mouths, off each other ever since. 

“Hey, baby,” he drawled, his thick Louisiana accent making Amandine’s stomach flip. 

“Vin,” she began, putting her hands on his chest to avoid his kisses. “Vin, Tommy’s back. I–I can’t do this.” 

Vincent’s eyes became dark, the often playful look that was in them disappearing completely. “After the hell he’s put you through? After all the neglect? What did he do to deserve you, Dine?” 

His lips were dangerously close to hers. So close. “Not a damn thing,” she breathed before their lips crashed together. 

That night, Amandine tried her best to sneak home, but Tommy was up, whiskey in his hand, gun on the coffee table. Della was asleep in the recliner, curled under her favorite blanket. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Tommy asked, eyes heavy with fatigue. 

“Working,” she said. 

He checked his watch. “Restaurant closed damn near three hours ago,” he said. 

“Lots of dishes,” she said, the lie rolling off her tongue easily. 

Tommy stood up, stalking towards her. “Are you trying to ruin our lives? To ruin our daughter's life?” 

“What are you talking about, Tom?” Amandine sneered, trying to push past him. 

“I can smell his cologne on you,” Tommy seethed, backing her against the wall. “You’re the one who made your mama cast that damn spell,” he pinned her hands above her head, against the wall, his hips crushing against hers. “And you’re gonna keep the end of the damn bargain, woman,” he sneered. 

“You wanted that spell as much as I did,” she countered, wiggling her hips against his. Talks of curses and spells be damned, he had a spell on her. On her body. How she craved him. How she needed him. 

“What an idiot I was,” he chuckled to himself. 

“Do you love me, Thomas?” she asked, emotion cracking through her voice. 

He shook his head, in disbelief of himself, of his life. “With all I fucking am,” he breathed before crashing his lips to hers. 

After Tommy rolled off her for the last time that night, collapsing into exhaustion and blissed out sleep, Amandine had some time to think. Reflect. On this life. This confusing as hell love she and Tommy shared. 

They’d met in high school, what seemed like eons ago now. They’d fallen head over heels in love with one another–lost their virginities to one another, shared hopes and dreams, slept out under the stars in the canals, the swamps, together in his pirogue. They’d graduated a year apart, buying their house the day after Amandine graduated. 

Tommy had gotten mixed up in the wrong crowds that first year out of high school, a result of Arthur’s dealings and out of a necessity for money. The drugs had begun flowing freely when they began working as protection detail for big time dealers. And the money followed. 

Amandine had proven her talent in kitchens time after time. And before he went away to war, he had bought her Marie’s–a restaurant named for her Grandmere, who taught her everything she knew about the kitchen. He had bought it for her under the condition that she would use it as a cover business to funnel his drugs through. He, Arthur and John had managed to make their own name in the business, also continuing to illegally produce their own alcohol. A form of moonshine, outlawed in the States for decades. She had reluctantly agreed. 

Before Tommy went away to war, the couple, still desperately in love, bound themselves together spiritually. Roseanne cast a spell over the two of them, binding them together in love and devotion, with the warning that if their love was ever broken, calamity would befall them and all their children for the rest of their days. 

The scars on their palms were from where they had bound themselves together with blood. Bodies and souls–forever bound. 

Despite their awkward reunion, their wayward hearts and confused minds–Amandine knew she and Tommy would always come back together. The love they had ran deeply. 

Deeper than most understood.

[thatmexisaurusrex]

This is for @samsseptember's Day 3 "Louisiana" prompt. It's a little edit of a historical AU where Sam and Bucky are bootleggers in Louisiana during prohibition. Enjoy! 🥰

[flywolfwriting]

Throw Me in the Deep End Ch. 10

Lucifer drummed his fingers on the table, trying not to bounce his leg. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He glanced over his shoulder again, searching for that familiar figure, fearing those eyes that so enraptured him. Where normally he would seek Alastor in excitement now he was terrified of discovery - and Charlie hadn’t even arrived yet.

He bit his lip.

“You came.”

He turned back around to find her standing behind the chair opposite him, arms crossed over her chest and fingers twisting in the hem of her sleeve.

Lucifer hastily stood, stepping around the table, and then aborting the attempted hug and instead pulling out her chair for her. She offered him a shy smile and sat. “Thanks,” she said.

He returned her smile, sitting back down and offering her the chocolate milkshake he’d ordered. Her face lit up and she accepted it, taking a long sip and humming her appreciation. They sat in awkward silence for a long moment before Lucifer said, “Do you… remember that night?”

Charlie’s gaze cut away.

Great job, Lucifer, he thought. Let’s just start with the worst night of your life. And hopefully the worst night of her life, because that meant Alastor wasn’t lying and she’d had a good childhood.

“Only a little,” she said. “Just bits and pieces. I remember how terrified I was, and Alastor taking me home.”

“Do you remember if she said anything to you?”

Her brow scrunched and then she shook her head. She opened her mouth, like she wanted to ask something, and then took a drink of her milkshake instead.

Lucifer had to clench his fist to avoid fidgeting again. After a moment he said, “...How do you like school?”

This seemed a topic Charlie was more comfortable with. “I haven’t been since the old schoolhouse closed down, but Rosie’s been teaching me at home. She used to be a teacher, you know, until she decided to open her boutique.”

Lucifer frowned. “You don’t go to school?”

Charlie gave him a flat look. “The only schools that have survived the depression are white only, and Alastor is not that.”

Continue on AO3

Beginning | Previous | Next

[the-personiftranslator]

CA

FL & LA

CA & FL

Fountain pen with CA flag on barrel

LA & FL

AK

HI

[strawberrystepmom]

in satoken vampire au, how did YOU become a vampire?

i was turned against my will by a feral, unmonitored new vampire that almost killed me but my will to keep going was too strong and i was able to fight them off and get to safety and was taken in by an unrelated made up vampire oc that basically ran a safe house for new vampires that were wandering and needed help

[theywhoshantbenamed]

ABO Headcanons

California being a dormant omega. He doesn't quite look like a classic omega, being taller than even many alphas, but he has the nurturing tendencies (wanting to adopt Austin and wanting to care for him when he's cold). He's also unafraid of most Alphas - which is a quality considered undesirable in old society - and has often argued against them. An Alphas Voice works on him, still, but using their Voice has been made illegal in many states(not yet federal law).

New York as a dormant Alpha. He doesn't look much like one of his gender either, being of medium build, and he's shorter than some omegas like Mississippi or Florida. He has the aggressiveness of a stereotypical Alpha, but it's still nothing like a dominant's. He's not as territorial, but a majority of the Northeastern states are also Alphas of varying rank, and he grew up thinking it's what he's supposed to do

Alaska is a dominant alpha. It's surprising to many - not that he’s an alpha(he certainly has the build of one), but that he is a dominant one - because he's remarkably laid back. When people tell him this, he gets a little bothered, but refuses to show it. Being an alpha doesn't mean he has to be loud and aggressive all the time. However, his chill attitude also probably derives from a lineage of strong A genes, making him a higher rank than many.

Texas is a dominant alpha, the biggest stereotype. He's loud, proud, and loves to argue. California's got spunk, but he's raised to believe omegas are weaker, and that creates conflict in him. Also, internalized homophobia time, he is attracted to other Alphas

Florida is a recessive omega. He doesn't show any of the qualities typical omegas do, and his heats tend to be irregular. When it comes to recessive omegas, I think the Voice does work on them, but only when used by someone of strong A lineage, like Alaska(not that he would ever use it). The only real indicator that he's an omega is his medical records, if you can even find them. Otherwise, people just have to believe him. When it comes to pheromones, he can smell the scents, but they have little to no effect on him

Louisiana is another case of a dominant alpha with a lack of aggression/territoriality. He's heard it all, from every gender, about how he should act. He, frankly, doesn't care. He's confident in himself, and he's never felt more understood than by Florida, someone who knows what it's like to not fit in with people of your secondary gender. At the same time, however, he finds himself feeling more like a dominant Alpha around Florida than he ever did before. He wants to protect him and scent him and even make him submit at times. It scares him, especially since Florida isn't affected like he is, and he doesn't know how to allow himself to express these desires. They're normal to other dominant alphas, but not him.

Georgia is a dominant omega(wooo first one!) who very much fits in with his secondary gender, with a tendency to care for others and bring a sense of calm to those around him with his scent. His attraction is strictly towards other Omegas and Betas He loves Florida very much and the same is true vice versa. He is nervous around Alphas, though, for some reason.

Nevada is a dominant Omega; definitely lives up to the standard. His confidence as a Queen is a given, with an ability to make Alphas submit to him. Despite his status, his preferences lie most commonly in Betas. He has on-and-off relationships with Connecticut, Colorado, New Jersey, and even Gov.

Gov has no secondary gender. It's one of the things that's always separated him from the States. It’s never stopped him from keeping order between them, but hes never surprised when someone decides to challenge his authority. Thankfully, he’s got enough dirt on everyone to keep him cushy in his position.