#statehumans ohio

[river-blue]

This been in my head for a minute lol

[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?

[mx-smileo]

Look at this silly goopy pair of eyepatch twinsies!! :3c

[weirdestbooks]

British Michigan Oneshot

Anger At The Sight of You (Wattpad | Ao3)

America could feel nothing but anger. It burned through his body, hotter than the flames that had consumed his capital. It burned and consumed every part of him.

The anger was choking, and it was sorrowful. Under the haze of red that consumed his mind, it was hard to feel anything.

The anger was directed at many people and things, most of which America could do nothing about, not anymore. The war had ended, and America could no longer fight Britain or Canada, hurt them, and make them bleed and pay for what they did.

America couldn’t get his son back. Michigan was gone. 

It was hell.

And America was angry.

There was only one thing he could do to satisfy the anger, one thing he could do to get some sense of justice for his son.

And that was to execute William Hull for surrendering Michigan to their enemies without so much of a fight.

The others had been arguing about it for days since America gave the order. James thought it went too far, that they shouldn’t—couldn’t execute Hull for it. Rebecca, who rarely agreed with James on anything, thought the same: Hull didn’t deserve the punishment he earned. She believed that Michigan was better off in the hands of Britain, and America hated her for it.

If America could have her executed as well, he would have.

The territories were more divided and didn’t voice their opinions on it as much. They had become quieter since losing Michigan, especially Indiana and Illinois.

There were a few other voices offering opinions, voices America didn’t have names for. He ignored them, and he ignored anyone who said that executing Hull was a bad idea.

Because Hull’s death would bring justice, and for now, this was all America could do to get that.

America watched as the godforsaken man hung, hoping the retribution would do something to satisfy the anger clawing at his chest, allow him to feel something other than rage. But he just felt empty, like the anger had burned away every emotion he had, leaving him numb and hollow.

The target of all his anger was gone, and now he was empty. He stared blankly at the swinging body, a void in his chest.

“I told you it wasn’t going to help. Killing William Hull was never going to bring him back.” James muttered. America scowled.

“He deserved it.” He muttered back quietly, trying to muster the same anger he had been feeling for months. But he couldn’t summon much emotion in his voice, which was as hollow and empty as his chest. James scoffed and became quiet.

America swallowed thickly, a lump building in his throat. How could one feel so empty in a moment that was supposed to be so vindicating? How could he feel so numb? He should still be angry, still full of hate, of all those emotions that he would direct towards Britain in order to make him pay for what he had done.

How could he get justice when it was impossible to feel anything? America needed that anger. He needed it so he could get justice for Michigan.

“Michigan wouldn’t want you to kill people for him,” Illinois murmured. Shooting one last look at Hull, a confirmation that the man was really dead, America returned to his home.

“I’m not just killing him for Michigan, but for the safety of all my children. We’ve been over this. Hull was a threat to our safety because he had no sense of loyalty and was willing to sacrifice children because he cares more about personal safety than his country and the people under his protection,” America said, sitting down at his desk and taking off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes with two fingers.

“Hull…was far more complicated than that,” Rebecca said, “And we both know it.”

“What’s done is done. We can’t change it,” America said, tears welling up behind his eyes. “We can’t change anything. Now we have to move forward and hope…”

America cut himself off with a sob before breaking down into tears. Now that the anger was gone, and…and the numbness seemed to be fading, America was hit with an all-consuming choking sorrow.

“IT’S NOT FAIR!” America yelled, grabbing the inkwell of his desk and throwing it at the wall before slumping down to the ground, “It’s not fair. He was innocent. He…he doesn't…” 

America was cut off by another sob, louder and roughly, stealing away his break for a moment as the tears raced down his cheeks, coating his tongue with their salty taste.

“Britain’s never dealt in fairness. Only power. If he can take something, he will, and since he can’t get you back under his thumb…” James cut himself off, probably realizing that his words were not going down a helpful road.

“I know that James. I know…I just…I wish there were a way for it to have been me instead of him. A way for me to become Michigan, so I could make sure he stays with his family,” America said, wiping at his face.

“Then we wouldn’t have had you. Ideally, we’d all be here. In a perfect world, we would have gotten Michigan back,” America heard Ohio’s voice say. 

“But in a better one, you’d still have your brother either way,” America said.

“Just because Britain never saw you as anyone important doesn’t mean your children do,” James said kindly, his voice painfully understanding.

“Cut this out, America. You’re falling back into bad habits, and unless you want to be returned to our Father, you’ll do better. Father needs a colony that can function properly, not one that wants to kill himself because he doesn’t want to accept the order of things,” Rebecca snapped, jarring America back into reality as he sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“That’s enough!” James snapped, sending the two into a heated argument as America covered his ears, trying to block out their voices.

“There’s no winning with that either. I don’t want to lose either of you, Dad. Not Michigan. Not you.” Ohio said, another voice to the cacophony of noise he was experiencing. America let out a little whimper, headache growing as he fought back the urge to retreat inside of their mind.

It was all too much.

“Can you all please…please be quiet,” America whispered, eyes squeezed shut. The noise quieted, and America could feel Rebecca move back further into their head.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Ohio said, pulling America into a side hug, one that America leaned into, “But you’ve been…different since the war ended. No one can talk to you anymore. We all miss Michigan, and I know it’s harder for you 'cause he’s a part of you…but…you’re still here, and it still feels like we lost you too.”

America opened his eyes, staring up at Ohio’s blurry face.

“I’m sorry. I just…I don’t…everything feels wrong and messed up in here, and we’re all…not coping well. We’ve been fighting a lot. It makes it hard to think.” America said, unsure how to convey to Ohio how terrible things have been for them.

“We’ve all been having a rough time. But…we’d have less of a rough time if we all got through it together,” Ohio said. America cracked a small grin.

“When did you get so wise?” he asked. Ohio shrugged, and through his blurry vision, America thought he saw a faint trace of a grin. 

“I picked up a few things here and there. Now, you wanna join the rest of us? Penny’s making pannhaas for dinner, and I don’t think I’ve seen you eat in a while,” Ohio said. America sighed, looking down at his hands, hating how useless he felt. But he nodded and stood up, grabbing his glasses and putting them back on.

“Okay. I’ll get something to eat, and then I’ll check on everyone else. Thank you, Ohio,” America said. Ohio gave a crooked grin before walking over to lean against America’s side. America threw an arm over his son’s shoulder, leaving his room.

America felt guilty about eating instead of spending every waking moment trying to get justice for Michigan, not trying to do something to ease his suffering. 

But Ohio was right.

America had other kids that needed him.

And he refused to fail the rest of his children.

[ask-the-usa-manor]

Vanessa: *hands Iowa a book titled "where calves come from and other mysteries"* Navy just shoved this at me, but I can't read. Can you help me with this, please?

Illinois and Ohio sent each other an ‘oh boy, here we go’ look.

“Sure!” Iowa agreed, opening the book.

15 Minutes Later…

“—and that’s how baby cows are made!” Iowa finished, closing the book.

“Huh. He took that better than I expected,” Ohio admitted in a hushed tone to Illinois.

“Yep!” Illinois nodded, matching Ohio’s volume, “Buckeye, I think can finally be guilt-free about this specific topic—!”

“Wow! That’s really different from how the stork brings us humans into the world!” Iowa said to Vanessa.

“He’s an idiot. He’s an actual idiot. Our baby brother’s an idiot. Our baby brother’s an idiot and I’m blaming you.”

[countryhumans-trash]

Ohio, Alabama,

New Jersey, Arizona,

and baby Russia!!!!

[ohiosimp]

"The fuck happened to your face dude?"

[lambchopp069]

Countryhumans/statehumans vine

First post on tumblr

española:

Canadá: hola como estan todos-

canadá: consigue tu puta perra

Michigan: no muerde

Canadá: si lo hace

[lucky-fuyu]

Nonono listen HEAR ME OUT.

[ameridad-is-the-best]

Who was the first one to manage to break the Opium addiction after the Civil war?

“Ohio.”

[weirdestart]

[quinn-gengro]

Still going to be called Gengro….

OHIO REVEALED MY NAME WTF

[mx-smileo]

Ohio and america interactions be like:

A bit sad 😔😭

[weirdestbooks]

Secrecy and Deception Chapter 12

They Have The Bomb (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

Event: End of the Berlin Airlift

Location: Outside Rhein-Main Air Base, Hesse, American occupation zone in Germany

Date: May 12, 1949

South Australia was glad that the Berlin Blockade was coming to an end. It had been over 300 days since the Soviets had blockaded the city and since the air drops of supplies had begun. While South Australia had not been eager to participate, he was glad he had now, as he had many friends with the pilots and mechanics who had been participating in the Herculean effort to keep West Berlin supplied.

David and Lawrence Washington were both pilots from America who had served in World War Two. They were siblings, very snarky and seemingly unafraid of authority, and the only two in their little friend group who were fluent in German, aside from the Germans themselves. Peter Williams, from New Zealand, who Tasmania had taken under her wing, and if she had not been disguised as a man, South Australia is sure she would have started dating the Kiwi pilot.

Then there were the two Canadians, Jean Fay and Wayne Benoit, both of whom reminded South Australia of a few of the Canadian provinces he had met (and considering that he knew that a few provinces were in Germany, they very well could be). 

Finally, there were the two German mechanics, Dieter Schmidt and his friend Inga Dohman. South Australia had been introduced to them both by Lawrence, who had taken it upon himself to translate for German mechanics who needed to talk with the pilots of the aircraft they were working on.

“Hard to believe that the blockade is ending. I thought it was never goin’ to end.” David said with a small laugh.

“You thought it was never going to end? I thought it wasn’t ever going to last this long!” Wayne said, exasperation in his voice.

“I can’t wait to finally go home after all this. My sister’s had her child, and I really want to meet my niece.” Peter commented.

“That’s if they let us leave. Who knows what other missions they want us idiots to fly next?” Tasmania snarked, careful to make her voice masculine.

“They want us to escort General Peter home so he can see his baby niece,” Lawrence said before elbowing Dieter in the side and muttering something to him in German. Dieter laughed and said something back to Lawrence, who smiled and translated.

“Dieter says that the day that Peter is given any degree of authority is a dark day for us all. He still remembers when you got blackout drunk and spent twenty minutes trying to open a wall like it was a door.” Peter groaned.

“Can you guys let me forget that?”

“Never,” Inga said, a wicked smile on her face. Peter groaned again. 

“You know what? I’m also glad that this is ending because then I won’t have to be around you idiots any longer!” Peter proclaimed. However, his voice was joking, and they all knew he didn’t mean it.

“Well then, sounds like it is the perfect time for us to go out and get one last drink together before we all return home, oui?” Jean asked. 

“You had me at ‘drink.’” David said, causing his brother to snort in amusement as Inga rolled her eyes.

“Well then, let’s go and get one drunk last time together!” South Australia cheered as they walked down the street, joking and laughing all the way.

The Berlin Blockade was over. Now, hopefully, peace could become permanent.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Event: Birth of West Germany

Location: Bonn, State of Bavaria, Federal Republic of Germany

Date: May 23, 1949

Bundesrepublik Deutschland awoke to the land sighing in relief. He awoke to the land humming beneath his feet, and he could feel its relief. The land was happy he was here, and Germany knew he was home. 

Germany was not given long to focus on those feelings, as he was quickly introduced to his states by some members of his government. Not that it was needed. As soon as Germany had been born, he had felt his connection with his twelve states; their presence etched into his very being. He knew their names and faces without the need for an introduction. Still, he humored the government, as he…as Germany knew, somehow, that this was an important moment for the people of his country.

As the land had said to him when he awoke, a countryhuman had returned to the land known as Germany.

Out of all the states he had, Germany felt the strongest connection to Bavaria, having been born in her land. In human terms, she was his mother, something that Bavaria seemed very proud of. Germany had yet to learn what his face looked like, but he would not be surprised if he looked like Bavaria.

However, she was not the only personification with whom Germany felt that connection. Germany could feel a thirteenth personification, and the bond tugged at him, telling him to look west and find that thirteenth person. However, Germany didn’t have to find them.

When Germany was finally done being introduced to everyone with any semblance of political importance in his land, his mother pulled him aside to take him to the land of countries to be introduced to the three occupying nations that had controlled his land. There, his mother said, Germany would have to find which one, if any, was his other parent. 

When Germany asked what would happen if all three of them were his parents, his mother told him not to think about that, as it was a terrible thought for her. Germany didn’t think it would happen, as he could only feel that parental connection with another personification. It was just a matter of which one. 

When they arrived in the land of countries, Germany faced three personifications: France, the United States, and the United Kingdom. As soon as Germany saw them, he immediately knew that the United States was the personification he had felt that connection with. The United States was his father.

“Hello, Germany,” His father said to Germany in the new country’s native language. 

“Hello, Father, France, United Kingdom. It is a pleasure to meet you,” Germany said, careful to keep his voice formal and polite. His mother had warned him that one bad action on his part could lead to his death, and Germany didn’t want to die. France tittered out a small laugh and said something in French to the United Kingdom, who laughed. Germany’s mother then stepped forward, looking ready to argue, before Germany’s father put a hand on her chest, a hard look in his eye, as Germany’s mother backed down.

The entire interaction lasted less than a minute, and it made Germany feel incredibly small as he bowed his head.

“You have a lot to fix, and the sins of the last nation to bear your name will be what everyone thinks of you for a long time. I hope you can prove yourself to be a…capable personification. If not, well it’ll be easy to come by a replacement. Bavaria, you’ve lived a long time. Make sure your son knows his place.” The United Kingdom said, his voice hard, before vanishing. Germany’s father sighed.

“What your grandfather is trying to say is…be better than the one that came before. I don’t know what name we will give him to differentiate you two, but you need to be better. If not, the world will want you dead.” Father said. Germany nodded.

“I know,” Germany said. Father smiled.

“Well, if we are all in understanding, I must return to looking after my precious Sarre,” France said, a wicked grin on her face. “Au Revoir, mon amis.” 

“Especially be better when it comes to France. She’s not one to forgive a slight, even if it came from the one that came before. She has said to me before that she is ready to get rid of you the moment you pose a threat to her. I have no idea if she will go through with it…but France has always been one for blood. Be careful. The world is not something you can trust easily.” Father said. Germany nodded.

“I understand. Thank you, Father.” 

“It’s my pleasure. I look forward to seeing what kind of country you will be.”

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Event: First Soviet Nuclear Weapon Test

Location: Semipalatinsk-21, Kazakh Soviet Socialist Republic, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics

Date: August 29, 1949

Kazakh SSR was a man who knew how to keep secrets. It was something that all Soviet personifications learned eventually, whether it was secrets to protect the government or secrets to protect themselves. It was a skill that his cousin wanted all his subdivisions to learn.

This secret was one of the most important.

The nuclear test. After seven years of hard work preparing for this day, Kazakh SSR’s nation was finally able to do its first test. It was important. If they succeeded, they would no longer be forced to give into America’s whims, less the aggressive nation threaten to nuke their cities like he did to Japan. 

It was an important test, one that both Soyuz and Premier Stalin were coming to see.

“Cousin, it is good to see you again!” Soyuz said as he approached Kazakh SSR, placing his hand on Kazakh SSR’s shoulder. Kazakh SSR’s head immediately began to feel fuzzy as a sense of calm filled him, causing all his nerves about the nuclear test to fade away.

“It is good to see you as well. I am sorry I have been too busy to return home to Moscow.” Kazakh SSR said, his tongue feeling heavy, his thoughts blurring. Soyuz removed his hand, and the gentle calmness faded. Kazakh SSR almost protested it, wanting the calmness to chase away his returning nerves. Still, he knew it was inappropriate to protest against his cousin, especially when his cousin was as busy as he was.

“It is alright. You have been busy with important work here, and it is better that you stay removed from the rest of the family until we are sure we have functioning nuclear weapons. I’m glad to know I can trust you with this.” Soyuz said. Kazakh SSR let his lips twitch into a ghost of a smile before his face returned to its required, blank look.

“I am glad that I am worthy of your trust,” he said. 

“If this test is successful, you will be worthy of my admiration and gratitude,” Soyuz said. The idea of being valuable enough to merit Soyuz’s admiration and gratitude was too great to pass up, so Kazakh SSR began fixing his uniform to ensure it was proper. He needed to be perfect. It was the trait his cousin valued the most. Perfection.

“The test is about to begin,” Someone said. Kazakh SSR nodded.

“Are you ready, Soyuz, Premier Stalin?” He asked. Soyuz nodded.

“I trust you, and I trust the people who have worked to construct this. It will work.” Soyuz said. The room then fell into a tense and nervous silence as the test commenced. Kazakh SSR clasped his hands together and pleaded for the weapon that would guarantee them negotiating power with America, the weapon that would win Kazakh SSR value and gratitude to work. 

And, much to the elation of everyone in the room, the test was a success. 

Kazakh SSR breathed a sigh of relief as his cousin patted him appreciatively on the shoulder.

They did it. They had nuclear weapons.

[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.”

[detectiveflor]

o h i o