#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.

[lostsbooks]

The Crowning of Pepper the Puppy (Wattpad|Ao3)

Set around 1999-2003. not too sure

━━━━━━━━ ✠ ━━━━━━━━

I really loved my new dog. It had only been a little while since I got her, not even a week ago, but suddenly the fuzzy little thing was the highlight of my days.

I'd owned countless dogs over the years of course, as well as other types of pets, but I'd always forgotten just how fun it was to have a new puppy around the house. It wouldn't be long before she grew up of course, but that just made this all the more adorable.

So of course I had to show her off to my family.

"She's really cute Michigan." Wisconsin said, smiling watching the puppy clumsily run around, "Where'd you get her?"

The puppy stopped suddenly, and sat to scratch its little ear, nearly losing balance from the effort. I gave her a soft pat on the head, and she looked up at me, confused, then barked an adorably squeaky bark.

"Just saw an ad of Springer Spaniel puppies for sale," I shrugged, "Figured it's been a while since I had a dog, and I've got enough time to take care of her, so why not."

She nodded, then tilted her head as if thinking.

"How much."

"You're not buying my dog, Connie." I laughed nervously, "Besides, don't you have two dogs already?"

She shrugged, "Brooks is getting older now, and Rollo's still pretty young. I think he could use a new friend."

"Wisconsin, No." I sighed, picking my puppy up protectively, who proceeded to lick my face, "I'll bring her over when she's a bit older, but stop teasing I haven't had a dog in years, I'm not about to give her up."

"Alright fine I'll drop it, but the offer still stands." she smiled, and I relaxed enough to put her down again.

The little dog toddled over towards a rubber ball I'd brought and started sniffing it curiously, eventually attempting to bite it, which failed considering it was only a little smaller than her head.

"Hey- who was your last dog again?" Wisconsin asked, startling the small spaniel out of her investigation of the toy to start play-fighting with her fingers.

"Uhhhhh-" I thought back, "I had two, I think they passed away around '92? Chevy and Sunny, you remember them, right?"

"OOooohhhhh! Right! The beagle boys!"

"Sunny was a girl." I laughed, "but yes."

My ears caught the sound of footsteps I recognized coming from down the hall, and I turned to look toward the door, "Hey Ohio," I said, a moment before he rounded the corner, "What brings you here?"

He scowled at me, "I hate it when you do that. Its creepy,"

"Well I'm sorry for being polite then" I scoffed, "not my fault I've got better hearing than you."

He rolled his eyes, "Sure sure, either of you seen my-" his voice died in his throat before he could finish his sentence,

"Is that a puppy?" he asked incredulously. Watching as she stumbled over her own feet.

"Brilliant detective skills Ohio!" I smiled, "Yep! Nine weeks on the dot! Just got her last Saturday."

"Oh," He thought for a moment, looking at the little brown and white animal, who was turning around in circles clearly unaware that they were all talking about her, "Well I feel sorry for her then, having you as an owner."

"Hey!" I frowned, and Wisconsin laughed.

The puppy wandered over and smelled his shoe, then looked up and wagged her tail.

Ohio's stoicism broke and he started laughing,

"Mitch, I think your dog likes me."

I gasped, pretending to be offended, "You little traitor! Everything I do for you and this is how you repay me," I walked over and scooped her up, "I gotta teach you the Michigander Mindset, Ohio is not our friend."

In response she gave a little whine and fight to escape my hold on her.

"Good luck with that." Ohio said, still chuckling, and reached out to pet her, managing to avoid her open mouth and sharp teeth.

His eyes widened, "Whoa she's really soft,"

I smiled, "I know, right?" and tried to pet her myself, but she just bit onto my jacket's sleeve. I tugged it free as she struggled desperately to hold on.

"Have any of the others seen her?" Ohio asked, but I shook my head.

"You, Connie, plus Indiana are the first. Told dad but he's busy right now, and Noi's off on a trip somewhere." I looked down at the puppy in my arms, who was now nibbling one of my hands. "Didn't want to overwhelm her with everyone at once."

"Ah, fair enough." Ohio nodded thoughtfully.

She leaned back in my arms and yawned, I couldn't blame her, it had been a big day for her.

"Any ideas of what you're going to name her?" Connie said as I turned and walked back over to the couch, still stroking her little floppy ears, and shook my head.

"No, not yet. Been thinking a lot about it. Want something that matches her personality."

"How about Abby?"

"No, Don't want a human name." I shrugged, "Thinking maybe something to do with food? Like a candy? But I don't know about that."

"Maybe Tucker?" Ohio suggested, leaning against the wall, "or Bella, or Piper, Luna,"

"Star sounds nice!" Wisconsin chimed in, "She's got that little white star on her head."

"No, doesn't sound right, besides I'm pretty sure those names have been used before."

"Don't see why that matters." Ohio shrugged, "Every name's been recycled at least twice at this point."

"Hmm," I looked down at the puppy on my lap, who was starting to give into exhaustion and fall asleep, "She's got spots on her back."

I tilted my head, still looking at her, "Kinda like seasoning on something. Like pepper."

Scratching her sleepy little face, I finalized my decision. "Pepper, that sounds nice. A perfect name for a perfect little dog."

[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?"

[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]

[mx-smileo]

Ohio and america interactions be like:

A bit sad 😔😭

[weirdestbooks]

British Michigan Oneshot

Letters to a Dead Man (Wattpad | Ao3)

The Upper Peninsula is a state called Sylvania in this AU

August 12, 1868

Dear Michigan, 

I must confess I don’t know precisely why I am writing this letter. I suppose I am just curious about my Canadian neighbors, and I want to be on good terms with you. While I know that we are on good terms politically, I am curious about the men behind the governments. I am sending a similar letter to Ontario, asking if either of you is interested in meeting in person and fostering an era of peace in our region now that tensions between our borders seem to be dying down.

Sincerely, 

The Superior State of Sylvania

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

September 7, 1868

Sylvania, 

While I am intrigued by your offer, I will admit I am not willing to visit your land with my newborn brother due to our nation's history. While I do not want to slight you by implying your offer is deceitful, but I have little reason to trust an American state. Vermont insists you are being truthful, so I am willing to extend an offer for you to come to my capital city of Detroit and meet my younger brother and I.

I cannot say that it will start a friendship, but perhaps it can satisfy your curiosity and put suspicion to rest. If you are willing to accept those terms, then I will prepare accommodations for you and arrange the date.

Sincerely, 

Michigan

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

September 28, 1868

Michigan,

I heard that you responded to Sylvania’s letter and spent days agonizing over whether or not I should reach out to you. While you talked to Vermont and have responded, she has kept the details of your correspondence a secret, so I am unsure whether my letter will be appreciated. But I have much to say, and I am no longer willing to hold my tongue, not now, in the aftermath of our great Civil War.

Sometimes, I wonder if you remember any of our childhood, of the jokes, the joy, and the laughter. Some nights, I am haunted by those happy memories and the thoughts of what you are going through. Vermont says you are happy, and I try to believe that, but there is little it can do to soothe the unhappy thoughts that haunt my sleep.

I am so very sorry I wasn’t there for you. I was the closest member of our family at the time, and I often regret not traveling to Detroit to protect your land, as you were not able to. I regret not being there to convince Hull not to surrender. If I had only been less foolish, I could have saved you from your fate.

I will never forgive myself for that. I hope you forgive me.

It is hard to put into words the many, many things I have to say to you. I want to know you are safe, that you are okay.

I miss you so much, little brother.

I hope that this letter is not an intrusion and that it doesn’t get you in trouble with Britain. I know you and the Canadians are supposed to be somewhat independent now, but knowing Britain, I wonder how much control that really leaves you with.

If you are willing and able, I would like to meet you in person, to talk to you again. It has been many years. I miss you so.

Your faithful older brother,

Ohio

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

October 3, 1868

Michigan, 

I couldn’t believe it when I heard from Ohio that you were starting to talk to others in our family aside from Vermont. I was so happy that I nearly cried with joy. I have missed you so, so much, and I can’t wait to start talking to you again.

It was terrifying losing you. I thought at first that you were just quieter than usual or that you had gone to sleep for a long time like Newport, Portsmouth, and Warwick sometimes do. Getting that letter and realizing that you were gone, that you had been taken by the man who had hurt our father so much, that hurt our family, I was so scared.

Learning that you weren’t ever going to come home was scarier. I was so scared for you. You were my big brother, and you always seemed so strong, like nothing could hurt you.

And then Britain took you. And he hurt you. (I presume. Every British colony I have met has stories of how he hurt them, and considering how much he hates our father, I can’t imagine he was willing to be nice to you.)

I didn’t want to believe that you were going to be gone forever. I was convinced it was a trick, a lie, anything but the truth.

But he stole you.

Mitchigan, I miss you so much. I have never been closer to a brother than you, and every day, the ache from your being gone, being trapped, beats in my chest like another heartbeat. It is a gaping wound in my soul, one that has never healed. Sometimes, I will sit on the shores of the lake that shares your name and stare out across the water. 

I cannot see your land, but I pretend I can. It helps.

I have bought your birthday gifts every year you and I have been apart. Since I got my body, that is. I sometimes wonder why. I have never gotten the chance to give them to you, and you and I have not spoken since we were both young and innocent.

I want to see you again if you are willing. I have a lot of gifts for you.

With all the love I have in my heart, your little brother,

Illinois

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

November 1, 1868

Sylvania,

Please tell your siblings to quit sending me letters. Vermont is my brother, and you are my neighbor, but I refuse to engage with any of the states involved in America’s delusion that I was once American and am, therefore, his child. I won’t have my family be dishonored by this.

I don’t care who they think I am, but I will not be manipulated into thinking I am related to them. I will not give up my family to feed into the delusions of a country that I am not and have never been a part of. I will not betray my father or, my proper siblings, or my grandfather for them.

Please ensure they know that, as I do not want to be hounded by their letters and delusions.

Sincerely, 

Michigan

[quinn-gengro]

Still going to be called Gengro….

OHIO REVEALED MY NAME WTF

[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