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The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 29

Draws and Defeats (Wattpad | Ao3)

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We are officially at the halfway point of this book! Thank you to everyone who has read and commented; you guys are the best!

September 11, 1777

United States’ capital was in danger. The British had moved on from New Jersey and had traveled up the Chesapeake Bay, landed in Maryland before moving through Delaware to get to Pennsylvania. They needed to force them back now before they took the capital.

General Washington had only just restored faith in their ability to win this fight, and they didn’t need all that progress undone by losing the capital.

So when the battle began at Brandywine Creek, United States fought with everything he had, grateful that his father was not in attendance. James and a few of his states had found it weird, but United States hoped that it meant that his father was up in New York, assuming that United States would follow the fighting.

That, along with the fact that they had blocked all the fords of Brandywine Creek, made United States confident that they would win this battle and secure his capital.

“I hope so. If we can’t get your government out in time,” James muttered, prompting United States to scowl. As much as he appreciated them, their talking distracted him, and distracted was not what United States wanted to be.

His heart was in danger. He didn’t want to lose it.

However, the hope of a victory was crushed when United States was informed that another British force had arrived on their right flank. Somehow, the British had got past the Brandywine Creek, and now their forces were in trouble.

“It’s like the Battle of Brooklyn all over again,” New York commented, his voice haunted.

“Should I move to join the forces that are shoring up the right flank?” United States as General Washington as he issued commands meant to deal with the budding crisis.

General Washington shook his head. “No, I want you to stay here with me to help rally troops,”

United States nodded, trying to push aside the ever-building anxiety in his gut. It would be fine. This wouldn’t turn out like Brooklyn.

So United States did his best to take his mind off of the concerns he had regarding the British on their right flank and tried to return his attention to the fight.

But his worries plagued him. What if his father was with the new force that appeared? What if he really was coming for United States? What if they lost? What if the capture of Philadelphia ended the war?

What if, what if, what if.

“States, let me—” James began before United States cut him off, murmured whispers escaping his lips.

“Not unless we know he is here. This is for my capital.” United States felt James back away, but still nearby, ready and present in case his father really was here. Then, United States began to throw his whole being into his attacks, each one becoming more desperate before General Washington eventually called for a retreat.

United States began to fall back, shame building in his gut. He was going to lose his capital. It was going to be his fault. And if this really ended up being the end of things, United States feared the consequences of his father’s anger.

“General Greene, you and your forces will act as a rearguard to cover the army and prevent us from losing more than we already are,” General Washington ordered. United States cleared his throat.

“Can I help the rearguard, sir?” he asked.

“Absolutely not. We’re already close to losing the capital, and I am not going to lose you, either,” General Washington ordered. “You’re staying by my side until we are sure we are safe.”

United States bowed his head, feeling much like a scolded child. The shame was only building, and a part of him wanted to cry. With every battle lost at his hands, United States felt more like a failure. His people deserved a country that could protect them, and United States didn’t feel like that country.

“He’s looking out for you. If we’re losing the capital, having the country captured or injured would deal heavy damage to the morale of the people. He’s doing what’s best. It’s not your fault,” James said.

“I don’t blame you either. It’s okay, Vater,” Pennsylvania responded. Despite the continued whispered assurances of his states, the guilt and shame didn’t go away.

He failed. Nothing would change that.

• ───────────────── •

September 19, 1777

Vermont wasn’t sure if the American army trusted him. He had joined up officially after the Battle of Bennington, arguing that a British army invading New York threatened his national security and that he needed to fight to protect his country and establish diplomatic relations with the United States.

If the Battle of Bennington had taught him anything, it was that the British did not recognize his sovereignty as a country and would continue to impede on it as long as they were in the area. Sharing a border with them and in an active dispute with New York, he needed to do something big in order to ensure that he would have American backing in his future endeavors.

So, he would fight for the Americans. He knew his bravery would have to impress the United States, and then they would be countries together and live in peace. Vermont had dreamed about it before, being with his father. One of the men in this camp, General Benedict Arnold, had spoken to his father, and Vermont will admit that he spent far too long interrogating General Arnold about what his father was like.

His father seemed kind and thoughtful. Vermont wished he was here so he could get to know him.

“Vermont!”

Vermont’s head shot up as he heard General Arnold’s voice, the man walking over to him with quick strides.

“Yes? What is it?” Vermont asked.

“General Gates has given myself and Colonel Morgan permission to engage the British troops that are nearing our camp. Would you like to come with us?” General Arnold asked. Vermont nodded, leaping up and grabbing his gun.

“Of course,” Vermont responded, following General Arnold over to his troops. Despite the fact that Vermont was young and not at all high ranking, he was close to General Arnold as he led the troops toward the British. Vermont didn’t know if General Arnold was doing this to try and get close to his father through Vermont, but it was a bit uncomfortable at times.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out from the front of the line as Vermont watched Colonel Morgan’s men begin to engage the British, pushing them back. A battle quickly began in the small field that they found themselves in.

As it ranged on, Vermont and the Americans began to be pushed back by the newly arrived British reinforcements, pushing them to the southern end of the field. Vermont tried not to let that phase him. They still seemed to have the advantage, and when American reinforcements arrived, Vermont felt even more confident.

The British fire seemed ineffective, but Vermont could see how devastating their fire was towards the British, and even though the British had artillery, due to their position at the end of the field and in the tree line, the artillery mowed down trees and not people.

The British tried a bayonet charge, and while he briefly pushed back Vermont and the other Americans, they were able to reform their lines.

The battle raged on, and neither side was able to force the other back for long. Vermont was dimly aware of General Arnold leaving at one point during the battle but didn’t pay much attention to it. More and more British troops had arrived, and Vermont’s focus was on them.

However, when night fell, Vermont and the others were ordered to fall back to their positions on Bemis Heights.

Looking back over the battlefield he was leaving behind, Vermont was sure that the battles were far from over.

#countryhumans #statehumans #countryhumans america #historical countryhumans #the shot heard around the world by weird #statehumans vermont

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weirdestbooks · 3 days ago

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Wrong Reflection Chapter 10

The Family Tree is Still Terrible (Wattpad | Ao3)

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Alfred would have to be blind not to notice how nervous Sam would get at times, how awkward he seemed around the other nations. Although Sam and Alfred were counterparts, they were different enough that it was easy to see the other as a different person. It was clear Sam was struggling to maintain that same separation with everyone else.

Especially with Matthew. While Alfred knew that Sam and his Canada weren’t twins and that they weren’t going to be close, the distance he kept from Matthew and the fact that he seemed to adopt a frostier, more professional personality around Matthew was…odd.

Sam had dropped some of it since he and Matthew actually started talking, but some of the alters, like James, were outright hostile to Matthew. It was confusing.

Alfred wished that Sam would just explain things to them, but he never did. He avoided the subject and danced around saying anything, leaving Alfred more confused than he was before. Alfred wasn’t sure bringing in more countries was the right move, but Francis insisted on coming as soon as his schedule cleared up.

Alfred hoped Francis wouldn’t be too much for Sam. He didn’t seem shy but rather quickly overwhelmed, and Francis could be a lot to handle sometimes. However, Sam didn’t seem bothered by Francis.

“Yeah,” Sam said, looking Francis up and down, “You’re a lot like my France. I’ll let you know soon whether we think that’s a good thing or not.”

Alfred did his best to hide a snicker at the comment, as Arthur barely managed to disguise his laughter at Sam’s comment.

“Thank you? Is Arthur like your England?” Francis asked. Sam snorted.

“Far from it,” he said, “What’s your relationship with Arthur?”

“I don’t like that you’re asking that,” Arthur said, looking concerned. Alfred exchanged an amused look with Matthew, who looked like he was barely holding back laughter.

“We’re dating,” Francis said, striding over to put an arm over Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur was quick to push it off, looking very annoyed.

“We’re not.”

“Please tell me you’re asking that because your England and France are dating,” Allistor said, causing Arthur to flip him off.

“England is not dating anyone, as far as I’m aware. I know he had something with Portugal, but I honestly have no idea how much of that was like, love and how much of it was ‘let’s make us look like we have a good alliance,’” Sam answered with a shrug, “Now Britain on the other hand…”

“Oh god,” Arthur muttered.

“I think they’re just fucking and not actually dating. But I have no idea. They’re both weird. I’m AroAce anyway, don’t go to me for romance advice or if people are dating,” Sam said.

“Oh, you’re AroAce?” Alfred asked, ignoring how Arthur was contemplating giving up on life as Allistor was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

“Yeah, are you not?” Sam asked. Alfred shook his head, and Sam replied with a thumbs-up before turning back to face Arthur, who was now sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. “You good?”

“I wish I didn’t have to know that,” Arthur said, sounding very, very tired. Sam shrugged.

“It’s far from the worst thing about them. I think…they have at least one child together. Probably more, but I’m not in charge of keeping track of my half-siblings, so I have no idea how many,” Sam said. Alfred winced at the thought as Arthur groaned loudly.

“Well, they were fucking,” Alfred deadpanned, turning to Francis, who was scarily silent. The man looked incredibly caught off guard, mouth opening and closing as he presumably tried to think of a response to that information.

“Sex isn’t required to have kids. It’s just a person being involved in the creation of something. So someone having three biological parents isn’t impossible,” Sam said before frowning, “If sex were required, I would have way less kids than I do.”

“Every single time I learn something new about this family tree…I…this is horrible. How do you live with this information?” Arthur asked, picking himself off of the floor.

“Britain’s family tree is a nightmare, but not even the worst one. I still shudder when I think about how Tonga and Hawaiʻi explained the Oceania family tree to me,” Sam answered with a slight grin, the only hint that he was getting any sort of amusement out of the situation.

“Everything you tell me about your world makes me more apprehensive about sending you back there,” Allistor said, a joking tone in his voice. Sam’s eyes narrowed before a smirk flickered across his face.

“Please, everything I’ve told you is tame compared to some of the shit that goes down there. And to me, your world is the weird one,” Sam said before gesturing to Matthew, “I mean, I cannot imagine my Canada lugging around a polar bear cub. He’s not exactly a nurturing person, and I wouldn’t trust him with any pets. No offense, Matthew. My Canada’s just a bit of a dick.”

“Well, my Mathieu is nothing like that,” Francis said, having recovered from his shock and walking over to Matthew to pull him into a hug. Matthew blushed, looking down at his feet, seemingly embarrassed.

“Yeah, I could tell that. It’s still…strange. Some of you are way too nice to be the counterpart of the countries that I know,” Sam said. Alfred felt annoyance bubble up within him at that. He took a breath to calm himself. Sam deserved his privacy, but Alfred really wished that he could just be clear about who he meant.

It was probably worse for Arthur and his brothers, who had to listen to vague references about how their counterparts might be shitty people and have to sit and wonder if it was their counterpart that was like that or someone else’s.

“Well, I think that I am the superior between myself and my counterpart,” Francis said. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Of course you do, you self-obsessed frog,” Arthur said. Francis opened his mouth to argue, and Alfred sighed, preparing himself for one of their infamous arguments.

“Okay, I am stopping this fight before it begins. We do not need that right now,” Allistor said before moving to stand in between Francis and Arthur.

“Yeah, speaking of which, how many more countries are you planning on inviting here? It’s not exactly a big house,” Sam asked. Alfred frowned. Sam had a good point. More and more countries were going to find out about him and want to meet him (and interrogate him about their own counterparts as well), and Arthur would not like his home being crashed by dozens of nations wishing to meet Sam.

“What about a world meeting?” Matthew suggested. Without missing a beat or even asking what that was, Sam replied.

“Sounds horrific and stressful, I’m in.” His response got a startled laugh from Allistor, who smiled slightly.

“Are you okay with that?” Alfred asked. Sam nodded.

“It’s the easiest way to meet everyone. Besides, I want to see what other differences there are besides the kid thing. And how many of you are male. France is female, Northern Ireland is genderfluid, and Ireland and Wales are something, but like…here, everyone I’ve met is a guy,” Sam said.

“I’m genderqueer,” Alfred corrected, realizing he might not have made his counterpart aware of that fact.

“Oh, sorry. Well, everyone but Alfred is a guy, and I want to see how well that holds. Plus, if I can get through UN meetings just fine, this will be no problem,” Sam said, smiling slightly.

“You have no idea how crazy they can get them,” Allistor said, shaking his head.

“Well, now this is more motivation for me to want to go. That sounds way better than sitting around and doing nothing,” Sam said.

“Fine. I’m not going to be the one to arrange it, though,” Alfred said. Arthur shot him an annoyed look.

“It’s your counterpart!”

“And we’re at your place!”

#countryhumans #countryhumans america #wrong reflection by weird #hetalia #hetalia america #alfred f jones

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weirdestbooks · 5 days ago

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The Dragon’s (Grand)Son (Wattpad | Ao3)

TW for the littlest bit of body horror

“Wales, none of those flags would look right. You’re already represented by St George’s Cross. You don’t need anything else,” Britain said, rolling his eyes at the argument. Ever since that minister last month suggested she would consider redesigning the Union Jack to include the Wesh dragon. Since then, Wales had been pestering him to try them out.

“You haven’t even tried them. Come on, Britain. You’ve never had an official flag. I know you can change it,” Wales said.

“If I do it just to show you them, will you leave me alone?” Britain asked, annoyed. Wales nodded, and Britain sighed, trying to picture some of the redesigns he had seen. The first was the one where the white backdrop on the Union Jack, where Saint George’s Cross was represented, was then replaced with the yellow from the Flag of St David.

“See, was that so hard?” Wales asked. Britain rolled his eyes, looking at the smaller Union Jacks on his hands.

“This yellow is so bright, Wales,” he commented. Why Wales thought this was a good idea, he would never know. Wales rolled his eyes.

“Well, then use the black from St David’s flag. Then Cornwall can feel represented too,” he said. Britain shook his head.

“They would just clash with the colors. And I’m not experimenting with the green from your flag either!” he snapped before Wales could even suggest that.

“Touchy, touchy,” Wales said, “But fine. What about the one with y Ddraig Goch in the center? Dragons are cool, and it’s a red dragon, meaning it matches your color scheme.”

Britain gave Wales a skeptical look.

“Won’t that just force me into having dragon traits if I do that?” Britain asked. If there was anything he hated most in the world, it was the idea of gaining animal traits. Britain didn’t know how the others put up with having primitive instincts shoved into their minds and making them all act like fools at times. Britain would fight tooth and nail to prevent that from happening to him.

“Would it? You already don’t have an official flag, and I know you can change it to Scotland's and England’s flags because I’ve seen you do it before—don’t try to deny that—so surely if the universe were going to give you dragon traits, it would have done so already?” Wales questioned, sounding genuinely confused.

Wales not knowing something. Britain never thought he would see the day.

Still, he had a point.

“I suppose you’re right. After all, a flag doesn’t have to be present on the face for the traits to stick, as with Scotland, England, and yourself,” Britain said, thinking back to the three’s lion traits. “However, I still think this is stupid.”

“Is that nervousness I hear from the great Britain?” Wales said, smiling at his pun. Britain rolled his eyes, thoroughly tired of Wales’ nonsense.

“I’m not nervous,” he said, rolling his eyes, preparing to change the flag to the one with the dragon. Wales laughed, Britain’s flag changed, and then he stumbled, feeling as if a heavy weight had crashed into his head.

“Deyrnas Unedig?” he heard Wales call, panic in his voice, which seemed to be fading, getting fainter and fainter.

Britain suddenly realized he was pitching sideways, blinking slowly as he fell. Wales caught him, and Britain tried to open his mouth, to say something, to do something, but the heavy weight in his head prevented him from doing anything.

He closed his eyes and slipped away into the blackness.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wales stared at Britain in shock as the man collapsed into his arms. What had just happened? He had just changed flags. That wouldn’t do anything unless…unless…

A pit sank into Wales’ stomach. It wouldn’t—he didn’t—

But Wales was quickly proven wrong as Britain’s shirt began to tear, new bones ripping through it, as the cartilage of his ear seemed to shift, changing from their human appearance. Wales dropped the man in surprise before wincing.

Britain was not going to be happy if he found out about that.

Looking at how the bones of a tail were forcing their way out of his back, Wales knew he wasn’t going to be happy regardless. Oh, he messed up. He really, really messed up.

“HEY GUYS?” Wales called, hoping that there was someone nearby, someone who could help. He was panicking slightly as he watched the rest of Britain transform—how his nails sharpened into claws, how muscle and flesh grew over the bony tail and wings, how scales began forcing their way out of his skin.

Wales shuttered. Was that what it was like for the humans who watched him transform?

“What is it, Wales…” Scotland’s voice said before trailing off. Wales turned around, wings flaring out and hitting the walls.

“I was messing with him about the fact that I am not on his flag, so we were experimenting with some of the proposed ones, and he did the one with the dragon on it and—and we didn’t think it would do this! We thought that it would have given him the traits when it was first created if he actually did that!” he said, words coming out in a panicked rush.

“Holy…Jesus Wales, you’ve gotten us in a lot of trouble,” Scotland said.

“On the bright side, he’ll be fine, but on the not-bright side, he’s going to be so pissed,” Wales commented, looking back at Britain. Aside from the fact that he seemed to be either fast asleep or unconscious, he looked fine.

Well, as fine as one could be after sprouting dragon features. His flag still held y Ddraig Goch in the center, and the sight of it made guilt squirm in Wales’ gut. He really hadn’t meant for this to happen. He had assumed it would be safe, that Britain would be fine. It wasn’t an official flag, after all.

Wales should have known better. He was the oldest. He was supposed to know these things to keep everyone safe. This was his fault.

He needed to do something to fix it.

“Help me carry him. I’m going to take him to my room,” Wales decided, taking charge. He was going to do his best to ensure Britain adjusted and do everything he could to fix this. He would need to call his tailor about getting some clothes made for Britain to account for his new tail and wings and probably cut his old shift off of him, but he could take care of that later.

“Your room? Why?” Scotland asked, but still doing as he was told.

“I’m not going to try and fit him onto his bed, and my nest will be better anyway. You know my room is always warm, and with it being so cold, I’m worried that this idiot might start hibernating,” Wales said. He was the local dragon expert. He was the oldest. He could do this.

Scotland nodded, grabbing Britain’s legs and tail, and Wales grabbed Britain’s arms. There was little either of them could do about the wings for now, but hopefully, they would be fine. Wales’ room wasn’t far.

Once they entered Wales’s room (after some awkward maneuvering through the door—thank God Britain hadn’t woken up), they gently placed him down on Wales’ nest as the nation began to murmur slightly in his sleep.

Ignoring the look that Scotland was certainly shooting him, Wales went over to the sewing kit in the corner of his room, grabbing the scissors, and walking back to Britain.

“What are you doing?” Scotland asked.

“Cutting the shift off. He’s going to be really uncomfortable when he wakes up if it’s caught on his wings—trust me, I would know,” Wales answered as he began cutting Britain’s shirt off, taking care not to nick his skin.

“Oh, good point. I hadn’t even thought about that. Are you going to take care of the pants, too?” Scotland asked. Wales shook his head.

“No. I am going to call my tailor and send him some of Britain’s less-worn clothes so he can get started on modifying things for Britain. Custom can come later, but Britain won’t have anything unless he wants to fit in some of mine,” Wales said.

“Well, you have broader shoulders compared to him. I think it could work,” Scotland said. Wales shrugged as he tugged the now destroyed shirt off of Britain.

“Yeah, but I’m a lot shorter than him, so it probably wouldn’t work,” Wales said, throwing the shirt remains at Scotland as he put the scissors back. Then he walked back to his bed, collecting his softer blankets to put on him. His new senses would probably be disorientating, so something softer might help with that.

It always helped Wales when they became too much.

Wales purred slightly as he began to throw some of the blankets onto Britain, as the man turned in his sleep, growing slightly. Wales smiled at the sight, a warmth growing in his chest.

“Well, at least this isn’t all bad,” Wales said. Scotland laughed, and Wales looked up at his younger-older brother to see him smiling at Wales and Britain.

“You’re excited about this,” he commented lightly. Wales rolled his eyes.

“Of course I am! Another dragon, since England is so deep in denial about who he is.”

There was also the fact that with the new traits, he looked almost painfully like England did back when he was younger, just red and with less feathers. It brought back some buried memories of Wales’ time as Gwynedd.

“Malta’s a dragon.” Scotland pointed out. Wales shrugged, looking away.

“He looks so much like England did when I first taught him how to fly. He looks so much like the person England was that it hurts, Scot.” Wales said. Scotland froze. Wales rarely went into serious memories that he had from Gwynedd, preferring to focus more on using them to torment his family with embarrassing moments they thought they had buried.

“He does look like England,” Scotland said, voice softer.

“If England’s face hadn’t aged with him,” Wales joked, trying to lighten the mood some. Scotland rolled his eyes before turning to leave.

“I’m going to throw away this shirt and inform everyone else. I’ll tell them to stay away so Britain can adjust,” Scotland said. Wales smiled.

“Diolch yn fawr, Fearghas.”

“Not a problem, Llewelyn. Make sure Jackie-boy doesn’t hurt himself when he wakes up,” Scotland said. Wales nodded.

“No problem. I can wait until he wakes to send some of his clothes to Owen. I’m going to give him a call first. The poor man has to make or adjust an entire wardrobe of clothes,” Wales said, pulling out his phone. Scotland laughed.

“I’ll see if Man can get in contact with her tailor about this, too. He knows how to account for wings too, so hopefully that will help your tailor from being overworked,” Scotland suggested.

“Sounds like a great idea,” Wales answered. Scotland nodded and then left to inform the rest of the household. Wales began dialing Owen’s number, keeping a careful eye on Britain’s sleeping body.

Hopefully it would all work out in the end.

Wales didn’t know what to do if it didn’t.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Britain woke up cocooned in warmth.

He didn’t remember how he had fallen asleep, but he was so warm and comfortable that he wanted to stay that way forever. As awareness (unwillingly) began to return to him, he became aware of a peculiar vibrating coming from his chest.

His tired mind tried to come up with an explanation before it dawned on him what it was.

It was purring. He was purring.

Britain shot up in shock before letting out a squawk as the blankets he was tangled in tripped him up, sending him crashing back down into the bed. Face burning in humiliation, Britain began trying to untangle himself as Wales’s familiar laughter rang out from overhead.

So that must have been the source of the purring. There was no way that Britain could do that. He was normal. Wales wasn’t. Calming down from the panic, Britain reached out for their bond, yanking at his as hard as he could, cutting off Wales’ laughter as the bond tightened around his neck.

“Help me out of this, Cymru, and stop laughing!” Britain ordered as he reached for the blanket overtop of his head. Taking it off, he noticed that he was in Wales’ room, in the center of the “nest” that Wales had built for himself because the primitiveness in his mind convinced him that a bed wasn’t good enough for him.

“Sorry, but you looked kind of ridiculous,” Wales said, walking over, “At least you were in the nest and didn’t decide to kiss the floor.”

Britain rolled his eyes with a small huff.

“What am I even doing here?” he snapped before realizing his shirt was gone. Scowling, Britain turned to Wales for an answer.

“It’s cold in this house sometimes, and I didn’t know if the shock of gaining them would force you into hibernation,” Wales commented. Britain’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“What is the devil are you talking about?” Wales raised an eyebrow and gestured at Britain, who finally realized what had happened to him.

His hands began shaking as he examined the new claws on them, turning his head to look at the wings and tail coming from his back. Britain turned back to Wales, trying to bite down the growl growing in his throat.

“You knew this would happen! You did this on purpose to make me like you,” he snarled, trying to force down the new instincts he could feel reeling their ugly head. A part of him wanted to lash out at Wales, to claw at his face. Britain did his best to swallow them down.

That was wrong. He needed to control them.

“I promise you, I didn’t. I thought…I thought it if would happen; it would have happened already. I’m sorry, Britain, I really am. I promise you I can help you adjust to this. I have had years of—” Britain cut off Wales with an inhuman snarl but bit his lip, shame building up in him. He couldn’t do that. He needed to control it.

He needed to control, to control to control to control—

“I don’t need your help, Wales,” Britain said, taking great care to keep his voice even, to keep it normal. Human. Like how it should be. Like how he should be.

“Are you sure? I can help you gain better control using my experiences,” Wales said, slipping in the possibility of control, a tempting word that was oh so enticing. Britain bit his tongue, grateful that his teeth remained normal, before exhaling.

“No,” he stated, resisting the temptation. “I can do this on my own. I will tame the beast you have infected me with, and I don’t need you tempting me into working with it or some such nonsense.”

Now free of the blankets, Britain stood up, lifting his hands to brush off his shirt, scowling as he remembered it was gone. Wales cleared his throat.

“If you need to borrow a shirt—”

“You’re almost half a foot shorter,” Britain snapped.

“I called my tailor and explained the situation. Once you approve clothes to be modified to account for the new,” Wales cleared his throat, “additions, I can send them to him.”

“Well, at least you’re good for something,” Britain muttered, hands twitching as he almost went to adjust his shirt before remembering he didn’t have one on. Clearing his throat, he spoke again. “I’ll go see if there are any I am willing to sacrifice for this project until we find a way to undo this.”

“Britain—”

“Has anyone else been told of this?” Britain asked, not letting Wales get a word in, not wanting to listen to what the man had to say. This was his fault, and Britain would not stand for his excuses, even if Wales weren’t his child.

“Scotland helped me bring you to my room, and he told the rest of the household,” Wales said, deepening Britain’s scowl. He wished that this remained a secret until the process was undone.

“Well, no one else should know until this is fixed,” Britain said. Wales sighed.

“You know that there is no fi—”

“Well, clearly, no one has tried!” Britain snapped, wings flaring out. Britain cleared his throat, pulling the wings back and composing himself, feeling more anxious than ever. He needed to be composed. He was a proper country, a powerful country, and he couldn’t let this…this curse destroy him.

He wished he had a shirt on, as tugging at its hem and ensuring it was clean and presentable was always soothing. He felt exposed, vulnerable, like this, Wales’ slitted pupils piercing through his very body and staring at his soul.

“Believe that if you want, then,” Wales said, his voice even but with a kind of inflection that made Britain feel like a child being chastised, “But short of severe bodily harm and death, nothing is changing what you now are. I’ll be here to help you when you’re ready to accept it.”

“I don’t need your help,” Britain said before correcting himself, “With taking care of these features. Please tell your tailor that I would like a shirt done by this evening.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Wales mocked, bowing slightly as he extended his wings to their full length, an imposing sight, “One last thing. y Ddraig Goch is still on your flag. I don’t know if you want to keep it, but considering your reaction to everything…”

Britain quickly changed his flag back, feeling bitter disappointment as he noticed the dragon traits stay. A small part of him had foolishly hoped that they might disappear when he changed his flag back.

“Thank you, Wales,” Britain said before leaving the room, shivering slightly at the drop in temperature.

He didn’t care what Wales said. There had to be a way to undo this.

And by God, Britain would find it.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wales wondered why Britain had to be so goddamn stubborn. The man was clearly struggling with everything, from tails slammed into doors to him almost breaking his favorite cup to an ever-growing exhaustion Wales knew was either from the cold or from Britain’s bed not being made to accommodate his new wings.

Every time, Wales offered to help, and every time, he was refused.

Britain was going to break at some point, and Wales just hoped he could convince the man to accept help before that happened. But as hours turned into days and the bags under Britain’s eyes grew darker, Wales began to be more forceful in his attempts to get Britain to accept his help.

“He’s going to hurt himself,” England signed to Wales one afternoon as they watched Britain attempt to read a book, struggling to sit down comfortably, shivering fiercely.

“He already is,” Wales answered, “He’s too cold and only getting colder. His body doesn’t retain heat like it used to.”

“Have you told him that?” England asked, his hands moving quickly instead of the slow, deliberate signing that England preferred, a sign that even England was becoming concerned.

And England hated anyone even implying he has dragon traits, and now here he was talking about his own experiences in an attempt to help Britain!

“I’ve tried,” Wales said, “He’s too stubborn, and he’s still upset with me.”

“Should I try? I have ways of dealing with it without being obvious. It might help,” England signed. Wales shrugged.

“You can try, but if he won’t listen to me, the chances of him listening to you are slim,” Wales said. England nodded but walked over to Britain anyway, tapping him on the shoulder. Wales couldn’t see what England was signing, but Britain looked furious at whatever it was, eventually standing up and marching away.

Britain looked like he wanted to yell but was trying to taper any dragonic instincts that were rearing their head as a result of his anger and seemed to have just elected to leave the room. England walked back over.

“He’s letting his anger and fear over this cloud his sound judgment,” England signed. “He’s going to get hurt.”

“You know that well, huh?” Wales asked, unable to resist slipping in a jab at England’s bad habits. England’s face twisted, anger appearing on it.

“That’s necessary. It’s a problem I can fix. Britain isn’t dealing with a problem, so he’s hurting himself instead,” England said. Wales shook his head. England and Britain were so painfully alike, so stupid.

Both of them had to know they were hurting themselves. Wales wondered why they thought it was worth it.

“You can tell yourself what you’d like. I’m going to go and check on Britain,” Wales said, walking out the small door Britain took. He hadn’t gone far, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily as his claws dug into his book.

He looked like shit, exhausted and disheveled, and Wales felt a pang of concern go through him as he walked over.

“Jack. You need to sleep. And because your bed doesn’t seem to be working out, and with how cold you are, I’m going to say you should do it in my room. I promise I will leave the room to give you privacy, but nothing is changing this, and no one wants to watch you fall apart like this,” Wales said, knowing that the last part was probably a lie but just needing to say something to convince Britain.

Anger flashed in his now-slitted eyes, but it faded, replaced with a resigned exhaustion.

“Fine,” Britain muttered. Wales sighed in relief, wrapping a wing around Britain and seeing how the man almost unconsciously leaned into his side, shivering slightly. Unfortunately, Wales wasn’t any better at retaining body heat, but hopefully, being in the warmth of Wales’ room would help.

Wales didn’t want to see him suffer.

He was glad Britain was accepting help.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Britain hated everything about the situation he now found himself in. Leaning against Wales, cold down to his very bones, and having to give into the desires of the primitive mind that now existed within his—he hated every bit of it.

He should have cut off the features when he had the chance. He felt the urge the day he got them, and he sat in his room, a sword that Cornwall had given him for his four-hundredth birthday in hand as he agonized over the decision.

He sat there and started to press the blade into his wings, but he ended up throwing the sword aside. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he do anything right?

Britain felt like he had spent the next few days in a haze. His head hurt so much, and he felt cold and tired all the time. He couldn’t sleep because of his stupid wings, and every little sound seemed far too loud.

He felt miserable. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be, and it made him feel sick.

He hated it.

When he entered Wales’ room, he was caught off guard by how warm it was, shoulders relaxing. It seemed to pierce through the cold within him and start warming his very core.

“Why is your room so warm?” Britain asked.

“Because as a country with dragon traits,” Wales said, turning to look Britain in the eyes, “I cannot regulate my body temperature well. More specifically, I am very, very sensitive to the cold.”

Britain could tell Wales was scolding him. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Who cared if he was more sensitive to the cold? He was supposed to be the normal one. England, Scotland, and Wales all had animal traits, and Northern Ireland was deaf. He was the normal one.

He refused to let these traits change the way he did anything. He needed to be normal, so normal he would be.

“I’m not,” Britain said in a half-hearted attempt to convince Wales to drop it. Wales just hummed and released Britain from where he had trapped him under the spotted wing.

“If you get too cold…well, I don’t know if you’d die of hypothermia or just end up hibernating, but something tells me you don’t want either of those things to happen, so maybe consider prepping for that more. I tend to wear thermal underwear, modified, of course, on colder days just to help my body trap more heat,” Wales explained, his attempt at giving Britain advice. Britain rolled his eyes.

He didn’t need thermal underwear or anything else. He would find a solution that didn’t require him to do weird things to fix his issues.

“I’m sure that won’t be needed for me,” Britain said. Wales gave Britain an incredulous look before rolling his eyes.

“It’s your funeral then,” Wales said before gesturing towards the…the nest. “Make yourself at home.”

“This is my home. You’re a guest in it!” Britain snapped.

“I helped build this place, but sure,” Wales said with a shrug, looking unperturbed by Britain’s threat. “Because you need to get some rest. Promise me you will.”

God, did Wales’ voice sound so soft and concerned, his eyes reflecting care and understanding and—

It was all too much.

“Yes, Dad,” Britain said, injecting as much venom as he could into his voice, “I’ll go to bed now. Are you going to tuck me in or leave me alone?”

Some strange emotion passed across Wales’ face, but he mercifully didn’t say anything, just turned to leave the room. Britain huffed, crossing his arms.

Why did he agree to this again?

Wiping exhaustion from his eyes and suppressing a yawn, Britain walked over to the nest and began trying to make himself comfortable.

It was an awkward and humiliating experience, but at least he was warm, the cold slowly fading from his bones. As it did, Britain felt his eyes begin to flutter close and his body curling up into a small ball.

After several unsuccessful attempts to force his body to lay straight, Britain accepted that it would be curled up and rested his head on a balled-up blanket.

Annoyingly, Wales was right, and the nest and the warmth of the room were more comfortable than Britain’s bed, and he began to drift off to sleep. He was then rudely awoken by the rumbling in his chest—the godforsaken purring—and he sat back up, trying to get it to stop.

It wasn’t dignified; it wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be doing this. Britain would have been fine keeping every other trait if he didn’t get this one.

It was the worst.

It was humiliating to know that his body could just go against his mind and start producing that sound, that sound he hated so.

But it never stopped, not really, and all of Britain’s attempts were for naught.

Britain went to lie back down, relishing in the space he had to stretch his wings out.

Maybe he could find a way to stop when he was a little less tired.

Britain closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“I don’t know how you talked me into this.”

“I didn’t. I’m blackmailing you.” Wales responded.

“Ah yes, that’s how.” Britain deadpanned, looking down where the waves crashed against the cliffs. “You know if I fall, I will probably die.”

“Then don’t fall,” Wales answered, feeling giddy. It had taken almost a week after Britain finally let him help to convince the man that he should learn to fly. It had probably helped that Scotland forced Wales and Britain to make a public announcement about it, and now society expected him to learn how to fly, no matter how much Britain didn’t want to.

“Well, there go my plans for today,” Britain said in a rare moment of snarky humor for him. Wales smiled broadly in response.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you die. I plan to be flying below you, and I plan to catch you and bring you back to the top as many times as I need to,” Wales said, extending his wings and giving them an experimental flap, feeling the familiar thrill that always came before a flight rising up within him.

For the next two hours, Wales led Britain through a series of exercises meant to get him more comfortable with his wings as well as familiar with what he needed to do in the air. Although Britain didn’t say anything, Wales could tell by the tension fading from his shoulders that he appreciated the preparation.

Britain was a man who loved knowledge, and Wales was happy to provide him with as much as he could.

Eventually, Wales nodded and began walking to the edge of the cliff.

“I think you’re ready for a few practice flights. Nothing too strenuous, and you certainly don’t have to master it today, but we should at least get one attempt in,” he said.

“Can’t we…can we wait until tomorrow?” Britain asked, sounding nervous. Britain, honest to God, sounded nervous.

“I mean, we can, but I want you to at least get one attempt in with everything fresh in your mind. Because I know you’re going to keep putting this off and putting this off if I let you get away with not doing it now,” Wales said. Britain sighed and slowly began to walk toward the cliff edge.

Wales then ran forward, leaping off the cliff and letting his wings snap open to catch his fall, gliding out over the ocean before flapping his wings and turning around, moving so he was about twenty feet from the cliff, as to give Britain space but also be close enough to grab him if needed.

Wales then lifted up his hands and began signing towards Britain, making sure to slow and slightly exaggerate his movements so Britain could see them.

“I believed in you. Jump when you are ready,” Wales signed before waiting. After about fifteen minutes of Britain pacing on the cliff, he finally ran and jumped off, failing briefly before getting a few flaps in, although still clearly struggling.

Wales swept forward and grabbed his arms as his wings began to falter, and with two strong flaps of his wings, he brought them back to the edge of the cliff, dropping Britain before landing.

“See, was that so bad?” Wales asked, laughing a little at the annoyed look Britain gave him. It reminded him so much of when he was teaching Celtic League to fly.

“It…could have been worse,” Britain eventually said. Wales grinned, throwing an arm over his son’s shoulder.

“I told you you could do it. Want to try again?” Wales asked. Britain shook his head.

“No…tomorrow maybe, but I’m not ready to do it today,” Britain said.

“That’s fine,” Wales said with a nod. “Let’s go home then.”

And for the first time since Britain’s transformation, there was no hostility between them.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A small part of Britain felt guilty for being comfortable in his body. He felt guilty because he felt as if he had lost some battle and given in to the wishes of his enemies.

Logically, he knew that couldn’t be true, but it didn’t stop it from feeling true.

He didn’t let the guilt stop him…that much.

He slept in Wales’ nest almost every evening. It was the only place he really could fall asleep, with his bed being too small for his wings. They tried to stay on opposite sides, to avoid each other, but sometimes Britain awoke underneath one of Wales’ wings, feeling warm, safe, and content.

Which led to the one major issue that had come about.

Britain was starting to see Wales as a father figure.

He knew he shouldn’t—that ship had sailed long ago, but he couldn’t help it. Every flying lesson, everything they did together as Wales helped Britain adjust and learn about what he was, that idea only seemed to grow stronger in Britain’s mind.

He hated it. He didn’t want to make Wales uncomfortable, to lose the warm and guidance that had been helping him so much, that he had never had access to before (aside from those years with Scotland before Scotland realized Britain wasn’t worth the effort), and he didn’t know what he would do if he lost it.

But then he ruined everything. So simple of a mistake, and yet now Britain stood to lose everything that he had just gained.

Just a slip of the tongue and Britain felt his new normal crumble around him.

“Good night, Dad.”

Britain had flushed red, torn between stammering excuses and pretending it didn’t happen, feeling almost lightheaded from his fear and embarrassment.

“Do you see me as a dad?” Wales asked. He didn’t sound angry, but Britain knew he was just waiting for a confirmation before he took it all away, and Britain was left with nothing.

“Yes,” Britain said, his voice small and weak, the tone shocking himself and Wales, based on the expression that Wales held.

“I’m okay with that, Britain. I figured I would have been grandpa considering—”

“NO!” Britain yelled before throwing his hands over his mouth. He didn’t mean to yell—didn’t want to, but he couldn’t think about that.

He was the original Britain. He was no replacement. He was Britain.

“I’m sorry. I know…it’s easy to forget how hard it is when you are so comfortable with it,” Wales said, his voice kind as he reached out a hand towards Britain. Wales was a replacement. He was…he understood.

That was good. At least Britain didn’t totally ruin anything.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Calling you dad.”

“Why would you need to be sorry for that?” Wales asked. There was no faking the confusion in his voice—Wales sounded as genuine as he could. Britain looked up at him in shock.

“But…but you’re not…I didn’t ask,” Britain said, looking away. Wales laughed, placing a hand on Britain’s shoulder, a small smile on his face.

“I’d be honored to be your dad,” he said, pulling Britain into a hug. Britain hugged him back, squeezing Wales tight before relaxing into his grip, relief, and joy flooding into him.

Wales didn’t hate him.

And he had a dad.

For the worst thing to ever happen to him, the dragon traits had given him a whole lot.

Britain was glad that he had them.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Britain was curled up in his nest, head resting in his tad’s lap. Tad was running his hands along Britain’s back and wings, tracing shapes in a repetitive, soothing motion that was slowly lulling Britain into a blissful state of unconsciousness.

Britain was vaguely aware that he was purring, but the part of his brain normally so concerned with that had been turned off, and Britain continued to relax.

Then his tad lifted his hands, and Britain let out a little whine at the loss of contact, blearily lifting his head from his tad’s lap in an attempt to ask what was going on.

All that came out was a mumbled noise as his tad pushed Britain’s head back onto his lap, rubbing circles on the small of his back.

Satisfied, Britain resumed his purring before a new set of hands joined his tad’s scratching at the base of his ears.

Britain’s purring only got louder as he melted into his tad’s grip, letting the stress bleed out of his body and letting the blissful sensations carry him off to sleep.

When he awoke, his tad was gone, Britain’s head now resting on the blanket they had bought the other day. Britain sat up, wiping sleep from his eyes with his knuckles.

“You’re a really heavy sleeper,” he suddenly heard a female voice say from behind him. Jumping slightly (and then trying his best to hide it), Britain turned around to see the Celtic League curled up on the other side of the nest.

“Thanks? What are you doing here?” Britain asked. Celtic League smiled.

“I’m here to meet my newest brawd. Well, older brawd, just only that only now was readopted,” she said. Britain nodded at the reminder.

“Right, Tad is your father,” he said before getting hit with an unfamiliar wave of self-consciousness, “Do you mind that? I know I am not popular with—”

“I’m happy to have a brother,” Celtic League said, “Especially one as adorable as you.”

Britain flushed, “I’m older than you!”

“Still a cutie-pie,” Celtic League teased, “And even if you’re older, I know things like where Tad hides his blackmail if you ever want to team up against him.”

And, God, Britain wanted to be perfect, to be of his proper standing and not engage in childish shenanigans, but…he also wanted to feel human. The past few days had made him feel more human and more like a person than he ever did before. So he pushed aside his worries and doubts and held out a hand.

“That sounds great to me,” he said as Celtic League took his hand, and they shook on it.

And for once, Britain felt genuinely, truly happy.

#countryhumans #oneshots by weird #countryhumans britain #countryhumans wales

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weirdestbooks · 6 days ago

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Secrecy and Deception Chapter 23

The Space Race (Wattpad | Ao3)

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Event: First Intercontinental Ballistic Missle is Launched

Location: Baikonur, Kazakh Soviet Socialist Republic, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics

Date: August 21, 1957

Kazakh SSR stood by his cousin as they prepared to watch the launch of the R-7 Semyorka, a ballistic missile that they were attempting to launch to Kamchatka in this city constructed just for that purpose.

If successful, it would put them leagues ahead of the United States and the West, as this missile would allow them to laugh nuclear warheads against their opponents. More specifically, it would allow them to attack the USA. It was an important weapon that they needed to create before the USA got his hands on this kind of power.

Like with the creation of their nuclear weapons, Kazakh SSR was entrusted with supervising this project and ensuring its secrecy and success.

“Are you sure it will work this time?” USSR asked, his voice reflecting his annoyance with the failure of the earlier tests. He didn’t like this time being wasted, and he was busy enough with his other roles. There was a reason that Kazakh SSR was in charge of this and not his cousin. Kazakh SSR nodded.

“I am sure that it will succeed. The problems from the failed tests have been rectified and will not happen again,” he said. His cousin’s icy blue eyes seemed to bore into Kazakh SSR before he nodded.

“For both our sakes, let us hope you are right about this,” USSR said. Kazakh SSR nodded as a fog seemed to roll over his bond with his cousin, clouding his mind. USSR always got like this when he was stressed, and Kazakh SSR was sure that all of the subdivisions of their country could feel that stress.

Kazakh SSR wanted to respond, to reassure USSR that it would work, but the fog caused by his emotions made it hard to think. Kazakh SSR frowned, wishing he could do something to help.

But his cousin never liked nice words, preferring action to empty promises. Kazakh SSR kept his mouth shut. His cousin liked him better that way.

As the missile laughed, Kazakh SSR did his best to hide his nervousness, pressing his sweaty hands against his pants. They watched as the missile lifted off, and Kazskh SSR remained tense, just in case something went wrong.

But the missile continued its course, and nothing seemed to be going wrong. Kazakh SSR relaxed and felt some of the fog in his mind lift as USSR relaxed as well.

“Congratulations, Kazakh. This is a wonderful day in our nation’s history. I need to travel to Kamchatka now to see if the missile actually makes it to its target. I expect you to be in my office sometime tomorrow to discuss this. Understood?” USSR asked. Kazakh SSR nodded.

“Of course.”

A small smile curled its way across USSR’s lips—a rare sight—and then his cousin vanished. Kazakh SSR returned his attention to the missile making its way into the sky.

“Please work,” he murmured, “I don’t want this to fail. We need you.”

Kazakh SSR watched the missile until it vanished into the sky before smiling and returning to his hope, a new hope blooming in his chest. This would have to make the USA back down.

He knew it would.

• ───────────────── •

Event: Sputnik I lauched

Location: Austin, State of Texas, United States of America

Date: October 4, 1957

The Russians had launched an artificial satellite into space.

Texas has been convinced that the Russians were nowhere near advanced enough to do anything like that. Everyone he knew was convinced that it would be an achievement that Texas’ family would achieve first.

It was terrible news. Horrible news.

“Pa, have you heard the news?” Texas asked as he arrived at his father’s house. Pa hummed before nodding.

“It’s Mabel, but yes, we’ve heard. Your father was panicking slightly, so he and James left so he could calm down,” Mabel said. Texas frowned.

“If they’ve managed to launch something into space, their weapons must be far more advanced than ours. We’re falling behind, and if we fall behind…” Texas trailed off, and Mabel lifted an arm, an invitation for Texas to sit beside her. Texas did so, relaxing slightly as an arm was wrapped around him.

“I know, but there is time to catch up. Maybe we won’t be the first to have a satellite in space, but there are plenty of other achievements for us to get. The USSR is trying to threaten us, so we should be fighting harder to prove that we are not to be threatened and that no matter how much they create, we can do it better. After all, they only got their nukes from stealing them from us, so clearly, they are somewhat advanced but still need help,” Mabel said, her voice sounding both annoyed and pissed off. Texas frowned.

Mabel might have a point, but she also wasn’t in control of the body very often. She…she was often out of touch, and Texas wasn’t sure if she really knew how significant this was.

“I hope you’re right. I don’t like the idea of them being further ahead than us. I can only imagine how Alaska feels, being as close as he is to Russia,” Texas said. He would have to check in on his brother and ensure he was okay.

Texas mentally began to compile a list of states that would become anxious easily and stood up, looking around the room.

“What are you doing?” Mabel asked.

“I need to find Betty. I’m going to go make sure no one is freaking out too badly, and Pa’s cat may help,” Texas said before spotting the massive cat on the other side of the room. Betty didn’t protest as Texas picked her up, relaxing in his arms.

“I’ll be sure to tell your father where his cat went,” Mabel said as Texas left the room, calling out thanks as he went.

The Russians may have the advantage now, but there was no way Texas or his pa would let them keep it. They would overtake them, and they would keep an advantage in technology and weapons.

They had to. Who knows what would happen if they didn’t?

• ───────────────── •

Event: Sputnik II lauched

Location: Baikonur, Kazakh Soviet Socialist Republic, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics

Date: November 3, 1957

“You’re going to do a great job, Laika,” Kazakh SSR muttered as he petted the dog that they were about to send into space. He knew that the chances of her surviving were very low, as they did not have a way to safely bring down Sputnik II from the Earth’s atmosphere.

The dog that he had come to love dearly was going to die.

Kazakh SSR wasn’t ready for that. He knew why they had to send her into space, the tests they were doing, and the information that she was going to provide, but that didn’t mean Kazakh SSR didn’t want a plan that ensured she lived.

Even without Laika, this satellite was going to be revolutionary. It would be the first satellite capable of making scientific measurements in orbit, allowing them to monitor Laika and the effects that space would have on living beings.

There was even a TV camera allowing them to monitor Laika!

If his cousin were here, he would be more focused on mocking the United States for his lack of space program, the fact that the only person who had managed to create a satellite and send it into space was him.

Kazakh SSR knew that was important, but to him, it felt more like a background argument that he was not a part of. His concern was ensuring the satellites worked, even if some of the science went over his head. His concern was Laika and ensuring she was prepared for her revolutionary journey.

He didn’t care about the actions of the Americans.

“I’m very proud of you,” Kazakh SSR said to Laika before petting her once again and then walking her over to the passenger compartment. “Is it ready?”

The man nodded, taking Laika from Kazakh SSR and doing any final checks needed for her trip. Kazakh SSR took a step back and sighed.

“Good luck.”

• ───────────────── •

Event: Explorer I launched

Location: Cape Canaveral, State of Florida, United States of America

Date: January 31, 1958

Florida was bored. That was the only reason he accepted his dad’s invitation to watch the launch of Explorer I. He had no interest in space and was not as obsessed with the arms race as some of his siblings were.

But his dad had asked to do this. His dad wanted him there. Florida had to show up.

“Hola, Papí,” Florida said as he approached his dad, arms crossed as he battled the nervousness caused by his anxiety.

“Hola, Florida. Thank you for coming. I know that this is probably not something you’re ever going to be interested in, but it is nice to spend time with you,” Dad said. Florida felt a slight trace of panic at those words, something deep within him worrying that something was wrong with his lack of interest.

“No, no, I’m interested in it,” Florida lied, wincing at the skeptical look his father gave him.

“Alright. I hope this is successful. The longer it takes for us to get a satellite into the air, the worse off we’ll be because the USSR will be able to make bigger and bigger strides, leaving us behind,” Dad said, the worry lines that have been present on his face since the Second World War began deepening.

“It’ll work. I believe in you,” Florida said. Dad smiled.

“Thank you. I just hope…” Dad trailed off, blinking rapidly, before shaking his head, “Sorry. They’re excited.”

Florida smiled.

“So am I,” he said, only partially believing it. Dad didn’t question it this time and instead placed a hand on Florida’s shoulder, turning back to stare at the rocket. Florida stayed silent, wishing to shrug his dad’s hand off his shoulder, but at the same time, not wanting to do anything to annoy his dad.

There they stood, side by side, as the rocket began to take off.

Florida heard his father’s breath catch in his throat as he was surely being drowned in his worries. But the rocket flew higher and higher into the air.

“See. I told you it would work,” Florida said. His father’s shoulders slumped as if a huge weight had been taken off them.

“Yeah…it did work. Now we’re catching up,” Dad said before turning to Florida. “Thank you for watching this with me.”

“You’re welcome, Papí.”

• ───────────────── •

Event: The Creation of NASA

Location: Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America

Date: July 29, 1958

While America cared about the space race, he only cared about it in terms of beating the USSR, of having technological superiority. He didn’t care all that much about space or space exploration; it just wasn’t interesting to him.

The National Aeronautics and Space Administration, created as a successor to the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics, was just another agency in the ever-growing list America had at his disposal.

He didn’t think much of it. Hell, he didn’t even attend the signing of the document that would bring the organization into law. It wasn’t an intergovernmental organization, so it wouldn’t be personified. Just another thing that he was vaguely involved in.

At least, that’s what America thought.

He had been sitting in his room, reading The Catcher in the Rye, a book that many of his states—as well as James and Lydia, had recommended to him when suddenly he felt a bond snap into place.

America gasped in surprise, having not expected it, hand flying to cover his heart.

“What was that?” Caleb asked.

“It…I don’t know. It felt like a child bond but also an organization one? Hey, I haven’t forgotten about an organization I’m creating, right?” America asked.

“Not as far as I’m aware,” Lydia said, “The only thing I can think of is the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, but that’s not something that can be personified…right?”

“It…it shouldn't be,” America said before putting his book down and standing up. The bond was tugging him to somewhere in his country. He could tell that much.

Could it really be…

No. There was no way this was NASA. NASA fit next to none of the criteria to be a personified organization. There was no way it could be him.

But when America brought himself to Florida, where the bond was telling him to go, there he found Florida with a teenager—a teenage personification with wings.

“Florida?” America asked. The unfamiliar personification, the one his bond was connecting him to, turned around, revealing America's seal on his face.

“That’s…Meri, that has to be NASA, right?” Caleb asked.

“Papí, meet…uh, meet NASA,” Florida introduced, looking sheepish. America had so many questions on the tip of his tongue. How was NASA personified? Why was NASA in Florida? Why did NASA have his seal?

“Probably because it’s an organization and not a state, so it wouldn’t have your flag?” Lydia suggested.

“How?” America ended up asking, more out of shock than anything else, before shutting his mouth with a sigh. He didn’t mean to ask any of those questions out loud, not wanting to interrogate the child about his very existence. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting a personification.”

“That’s alright. I don’t think anyone was. Florida was just talking to me about the Explorer I satellite. I wish I could have seen it. But it’s nice to meet you, Father. I am the National Aeronautics and Space Administration,” NASA spoke quickly, his voice lacking any sort of childish traits, just a clipped professionalism.

America didn’t question it. Countries and states aged weirdly, but organizations were weirder than even them.

“It’s nice to meet you too, NASA. I look forward to what we can do together,” America said.

A small part of him that he didn’t want to acknowledge was so smug about NASA being personified. America had a personification, and the USSR had nothing. Surely, that meant America was destined to win.

America tried to ignore it. Now wasn’t the time to be a country, but be a father.

#countryhumans #statehumans #countryhumans america #historical countryhumans #secrecy and deception by weird #countryhumans kazakhstan #countryhumans nasa #statehumans texas #statehumans florida

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weirdestbooks · 8 days ago

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The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 28

The Fight Continues (Wattpad | Ao3)

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August 6, 1777

Kanien'kehà:ka sometimes wondered how he got into these situations. He knew why he was fighting and knew what Britain had promised him and his people, but he found himself growing tired of war. Especially this war, which had done so much damage to his family and friends, with Rotinonshón:ni dealing with his people choosing opposite sides in this war.

Kanien'kehà:ka wished Skarù:ręˀ and Onyota'a:ka had chosen to fight with him. He hoped that this war did not risk Rotinonshón:ni’s life. At least his son had enough sense to maintain neutrality and refuse to fight, not wanting to divide them any further.

Still, Kanien'kehà:ka had decided to fight in this war, so he couldn’t be one to complain. At least he was being led by Thayendanegea and not some British general. Kanien'kehà:ka had long grown familiar with how they saw him, and he wasn’t a fan of it.

He knew they saw him as lesser, as incompetent, and stupid, and he hated it.

True, there was some British leader whose name he didn’t remember with them, but for the most part, Kanien'kehà:ka was surrounded by his people.

They had been preparing an ambush for the rebels in a small ravine where the trail they knew the rebels were traveling on crossed a stream. The thick undergrowth hid Kanien'kehà:ka and his people as the British blocked the path, ensuring that the rebels would stop and get caught in the trap.

If they stopped the rebels here, it would allow for the British general currently besieging the rebel fort a few miles away to capture it, thus allowing them to gain another victory over the rebels. Despite not being as emotionally invested in this war as the British, Kanien'kehà:ka hoped to win it, knowing that the sooner the war ended, the sooner Rotinonshón:ni could be at peace and they could work to repair broken relationships.

So when Kanien'kehà:ka saw the rebels arriving, he let out a low breath, tensing as he prepared for the ambush. Once the rebels ran into the British, he and his people would swoop in and decimate them, preventing any reinforcements from arriving at Fort Stanwix.

However, before the rebels had reached the British, some of Kanien'kehà:ka’s men fired, alerting the rebels to the ambush. Angry, but knowing there was nothing that could be done about that now, Kanien'kehà:ka raised his gun to fire at the rebels, taking note of the people that were alongside them.

He knew they must be Skarù:ręˀ or Onyota'a:ka’s people. The thought made him angry. He didn’t want to fight them, but at the same time, he felt that they had betrayed him by joining the rebels. What had happened to Onyota'a:ka’s neutrality?

As much as he wanted to target them, some half-hearted, petty revenge, Kanien'kehà:ka looked away from them. There was no use making things any worse. They had picked their sides. Now, they must learn to deal with them.

The battle went on until a thunderstorm began, and everything seemed to ground to a halt. Kanien'kehà:ka sighed, knowing that the battle would be over soon if the rain continued. No one could fight in this weather, and it was better for them all to head home if it didn’t change soon—no use sitting around and waiting for good weather.

While the rain eventually began to subside and fighting half-heartedly resumed, Kanien'kehà:ka’s people eventually began to withdraw. Kanien'kehà:ka didn’t blame them.

He was tired of fighting, too.

• ───────────────── •

August 16, 1777

Vermont had never felt more nervous than when he had been given his gun. He knew he had decided to fight against the British, but being given that weapon made it all the more real. He had to fight in this battle against the British, as they were planning to attack Bennington, a town in Vermont’s country.

This was his chance. He wanted to prove not only himself as a nation but also as a son who would be loyal to his father, the United States of America.

He had answered General John Stark’s call for additional forces alongside many people from his country, like Colonel Seth Warner, and had certainly surprised the man, who did not expect a nation-child to arrive. But General Stark, a hero and veteran soldier who had met Vermont’s father, quickly adapted to the situation and welcomed Vermont into his army.

It had been raining non-stop all day, but as soon as the weather cleared on the afternoon of the sixteenth, Vermont and his father’s army made their move to attack the British at their encampment.

General Stark began to rally the troops, talking about how they were fighting for their natural-born rights as Englishmen. Vermont may not have been American, but the words rallied him, too.

"There are your enemies, the Red Coats, and the Tories. They are ours, or this night, Molly Stark sleeps a widow," General Stark then proclaimed. Vermont tightened his grip on his weapon, both wishing he had more experience and yet still eager to fight.

He was confident they would win this battle, however, as Vermont knew that General Stark had sent Americans disguised as loyalists into the British camp to gather intelligence.

When the attack finally began, Vermont was surprised by how personal it seemed to some of the people he fought alongside.

Then, he remembered how many loyalists had been called in to fight for the British. How many of his people were fighting against family and friends? If he was not only a few months old, a person who had barely left Westminster, would he be fighting friends, killing people he once knew?

Vermont tried to force the thought out of his mind as he continued to fight his way through the British defenses. The battle was loud and chaotic, and there were a few times when Vermont wanted to throw down his weapon and flee, feeling far too young to fight a war.

But he stayed. If he fled, not only would it damage his personal standing with his father and his army, but it would hurt the reputation of his own country, as they would have a countryhuman that was such a coward. This wasn’t just fighting for his father’s army. Vermont was fighting to protect his own people.

He had to stay and fight for them, the people that brought him into existence.

But as the sun began to set, Vermont and the Americans managed to surround the British forces, which surrendered. Vermont had won his first battle, and he couldn’t help the elated grin that spread across his face at that.

He had won.

Bennington was safe.

#countryhumans #statehumans #historical countryhumans #the shot heard around the world by weird #statehumans vermont #countryhumans mohawk

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weirdestbooks · 9 days ago

Note

Hi!

Can I request a oneshot where Present-day Ame goes to the past and meets the British empire?

Love your books so much!

Can't wait for the next part the shot heard around the world!

When the Father Had Power (Wattpad | Ao3)

This was written as a request and is not canon to my other stories. It's just a fun request I wanted to write.

And thank you so much! I'm glad you like my books!

When America had woken up in his childhood bedroom at his father’s house, his initial response had been confusion. Most of the people within their system weren’t on good terms with Britain and wouldn’t willingly spend the night at his house.

America himself was annoyed, knowing now that he might be roped into talking to his father, something that he hated with a passion.

“Okay,” he said, sitting up, “Who decided to spend the night at Dad’s place?”

“Not me or Becca,” James said as if his hatred for Britain were not obvious in every interaction they had, every word James directed towards that man.

“Not I. I have no reason to approach Britain,” Mabel said, her tone curt, “But I…I don’t think it was any of us. None of us have reason…unless there really is personification for that West Florida micronation.”

“I hope there isn’t,” America muttered before looking around, eyes narrowing as he looked around the room. This looked like his old childhood room, which he knew had been rarely used since his independence, but something looked…off about it.

The room wasn’t covered in dust as one would expect, and it looked…it looked lived in, with the same furniture that was there back in the 1600s, furniture America could have sworn was moved out of the room even before his independence.

“James, are you getting a weird feeling of déjà vu?” America asked.

“I am, yes. I think we should leave. Now…this…this isn’t right,” James said, sounding unusually panicked about their whole situation. America couldn’t blame him. He felt it as well, something pricking at the back of his neck, alarms warning that there was something so unspeakably off about what was happening.

“Agreed,” America said before getting out of the bed and leaving the room. The hallways held the same feeling that something wasn’t quite right and seemed just as outdated as America’s former room.

“You don’t think?” Mabel asked. America shook his head.

“That’s impossible,” he said, cutting off the idea before she even vocalized it. Time travel wasn’t a thing. Britain was probably just trying to delude himself into thinking he was still important and that his kids were still afraid of him.

However, the nervousness grew, and America began walking quicker, hoping to leave Britain’s house before he ran into any of his siblings—or worse, his father. England had become tamer in recent years, but Britain remained as, well, Britain-like as ever.

America should have known his luck wouldn’t hold.

“What are you doing?” Britain’s voice snapped from behind him, somehow not in the soothing, manipulative tone that America was so used to, but one that was clipped and annoyed.

It was how Britain talked to people like France. Even after America’s war of independence, Britain had never dropped the attempts at manipulation in his voice and words.

Why now?

“Just ignore him,” James said, “He can yell at us later for being rude, but we need to regroup and figure out who was fronting when we entered his home.”

America took James’ advice and tried to do just that, but was stopped by Britain grabbing his arm, causing America to turn around, rolling his eyes at his father’s behavior.

“I don’t know how I’m here. I’m about…to…” America trailed off as he finally got a good look at his father.

His flag was…his flag was wrong. It was his father’s voice, but his face bore not the Union Jack (any version of it) but England’s flag. America’s first thought was to open his mouth, comment on how his father had changed his face to match England, something that his father swore he would never do, when the rest of Britain’s appearance caught up with him.

“Shit. Mabel was right. Time travel,” James said, shock and disbelief in his voice.

Britain looked as human as a countryperson could without being in human form. For most of America’s life, that had been the norm until an ill-advised conversation with Wales led to Britain accidentally triggering the process that gave a countryhuman animal traits, resulting in him gaining dragon features eerily similar to Wales.

Britain didn’t have that.

“Oh my god,” America mumbled as James got close, ready to start fronting as soon as America expressed any sort of discomfort.

“Who are you?” Britain asked again as he looked America up and down. America’s mouth gaped open as he tried to figure out what to say to this past version of his father—a version…a version of his father that was shorter than him.

Huh. Britain had always felt so powerful and intimidating when he was an empire, when America was a colony, but looking at him now, he seemed…so small.

“I’m…your son. From the future,” America said, feeling himself start to unwillingly slide back into the mold that Britain had so lovingly crafted for him. Figures. Over two hundred years, and he still fits in that mold perfectly.

“Finn, I love you, but now is not the time. I can take care of this until we find a way back,” James proposed. America shook his head. He didn’t know why he wanted to stay. Maybe, just maybe, a small part of him hoped that there was something there within Britain that he could find. Maybe he was just sliding back into his mold and wanted Britain to punish him. He didn’t know, but he didn’t want James to front.

This was important. It was something that America needed to do.

“America, don’t be a stubborn dick about this!” Mabel snapped, but James shushed her.

“He’s not a child anymore. He’s learned to handle Britain, and I can still step in if needed,” he said.

“My what?” Britain snapped, disbelief in his eyes. America instinctively shrunk in on himself, and although he was taller than his father, a small part of him was whispering that they needed to make themselves smaller, smaller than Britain. He was supposed to be taller, after all.

“It’s me. Jamestown, Virginia, Colonies, whatever name I am going by right now. That’s…that’s me,” America said, voice growing quieter. This was so stupid! Why could he talk to his version of his father but not this one?

“Colonies?” Britain asked, his voice still disbelieving but still surprised, as it slipped back into that sweet, manipulating tone, like poisoned honey, seemingly sweet but with hidden malice.

“Yes. I don’t know how this has happened, Father,” America said, waiting, hoping that Britain would show an ounce of concern, of excitement over a son from the future. Instead, Britain huffed, crossing his arms.

“Your posture is poor. No son of mine should slouch like that. And take off those glasses; they make you look undignified. And get a haircut. Honestly, what has happened to me in the future if I let you get away with these behaviors,” Britain said, crossing his arms, analytical eyes picking apart America and exposing his flaws to the world, leaving him bare and exposed. “And that rudeness. Clearly, you have forgotten your manners.”

“America, don’t listen to him. He’s a heartless bastard who would see the world burn to feed his own ego,” Mabel said, anger in her voice.

“And none of that is true. You’re just fine the way you are. You’re more powerful than him in our proper time, so clearly, his advice, like always, is useless,” James added.

“If this is the way you behave, then I should at least do my future self a favor and fix things,” Britain said before turning around, waving for America to follow him, “A harsh punishment will do you some good.”

America shook his head, tears building in his eyes. His father was no better in his time. Why did he expect anything different now? He hoped, and he hoped, but it never went anywhere. Why was he always such an idiot about this?

“You want your father to love you. That’s no crime,” Mabel said.

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Britain said, turning around, a lip curling, anger blazing in his eyes.

“I said no. Fuck you. Fuck you!” America yelled, tears falling, “All I ever wanted was a fucking father, but that never mattered to you. You just wanted something to control! You’re pathetic! Pathetic, you hear me? You can’t stand to hear anything you dislike or stand to give up an ounce of control, and it’s fucking pathetic.”

There was a brief silence as Britan stared at America, face going through several phases of shock.

Then,

“Holy shit Finn,” James said, having clearly been caught off guard by America’s outburst.

“I’m ready to go, James,” America said, shaking slightly and feeling drained.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

#countryhumans #oneshots by weird #countryhumans america #countryhumans britain

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weirdestbooks · 11 days ago

Note

Got a new oneshot rq for you!

you mentioned before that there's probably an introduction to the states for any new alter territories.

so something about that? Please?

Meeting Mississippi (Wattpad | Ao3)

Delaware was excited to meet the new territory that had joined their family. It would be the first time one of Delaware’s siblings had been born without him being there to see them, the first time a new territory had been created. While Tennessee and Ohio had been territories before, both of them had been created when Delaware and the other original states were still within their dad’s head when they were still under the Articles of Confederation.

He was excited.

Mississippi had been born two days ago, but Delaware still had yet to meet her, with how busy his dad had been since her territory’s creation.

But now, his father sat him and his siblings down, ready to introduce them all to Mississippi.

“She’s been very excited to meet you all. Ohio thinks she’s the sweetest thing in the world and wants me to tell you that he is the favorite sibling,” Da said.

“Ohio’s the only one that’s met her,” Kentucky said, arms crossed from his seat in Virginia’s lap.

“We should give this one to him. He doesn’t have much else going for him,” Pennsylvania joked, laughing slightly until a look from their father made her back down. “Es tut mir leid.”

“Now, she’s a bit shy, so please try not to overwhelm her. I just want to do introductions and let her get used to being in command of the body and the house,” Da said. Massachusetts nodded.

“Don’t worry, Father. I’ll make sure everyone behaves,” he said. Da gave Massachusetts a grateful look before his eyes began to grow distant. As they waited for Mississippi to take control, New York elbowed Delaware in the ribs.

“What to swap names?” he asked. Delaware rolled his eyes.

“One, she’s a baby; two, our names are written on our faces,” he said, quickly shutting down that idea. New York pouted right as Mississippi spoke.

She was hunched in on herself as if she was trying to make herself smaller. Her voice was gentle and quiet, only adding to the effect that she wanted to hide.

“Hello, Mississippi,” Virginia said, standing up and lowering her voice to a gentle tone. “My name is Virginia. I’m your big sister.”

“Nice to meet you, Virginia,” Mississippi said, uncurling slightly. Virginia smiled.

“Would you like them to introduce themselves, or would you like me to introduce them to you?” Virginia asked. Mississippi whispered something, and Delaware was sure his heightened hearing was the only reason he could pick up on the whispered “to me.”

It was strange hearing Mississippi speak. It was Da’s voice, just softer, quieter. At least when Ohio or Uncle James spoke, Delaware could imagine them speaking in their real voices since he still remembered what they sounded like.

He had no idea what Mississippi sounded like, which made her speaking all the more offputting.

Delaware tried to put it from his mind.

“Okay, well here we have Georgia, Kentucky, North and South Carolina, Rhode Islands and Providence Plantations—”

“But you can call me Rhode Island. I know my name is long.” Rhode Island interrupted, getting a little giggle from Mississippi.

“Yes, you can call him that. Then we have the triplets, New Jersey, New York, and Delaware,” Virginia said as Delaware waved at Mississippi, “Then Pennsylvania, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Maryland, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Tennessee.”

“Don’t be afraid to get our names wrong. We’re always happy to reintroduce ourselves when needed. We know there are a lot of us,” Massachusetts said, his voice taking on a parental tone. Mississippi nodded.

“It’s…it’s nice to meet you,” she said, still looking so shy. Delaware smiled.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mississippi.”

#countryhumans #statehumans #oneshots by weird #statehumans mississippi #statehumans delaware #statehumans virginia

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weirdestbooks · 12 days ago

Text

False Love of a False Father (Wattpad | Ao3)

Bonus Scene from Secrecy and Deception

Hungary had never been more grateful for his friends. Loyal and brave, they were some of Hungary’s greatest allies in the fight for his mind.

While they had met when Hungary was pretending to be human, he had grown to trust them enough to reveal his identity to them. They helped Hungary control the parasite in his mind and promised to free him from it.

Their promises had been enough to make Hungary cry.

It made it easier for Hungary to think when around them. His friend Attila theorized that it was because they believed in a Hungary that was not controlled by the USSR, and that belief helped to clear Hungary’s head. Whatever it was, it was amazing.

“Are you sure you can participate?” Soma asked as they prepared for the protest tomorrow. Hungary nodded.

“I’m sure. And I know I have to. This is…I need to prove to my people that I am trying my hardest to be there for them, and I won’t let the USSR take that away from me,” he said. If the USSR tried—well, it would be pretty obvious that Hungary wasn’t helping him of his own free will if he started throwing a fit in public before declaring his love for the USSR.

He knew he could do it, and nothing would stop him.

“Come on, Soma, we knew that nothing was going to stop Hungary from participating in this. I think he’s more excited about it than any of us,” Attila said with a laugh. Hungary smiled, a rare expression crossing his face.

“Of course I am. If all goes well, then the parasite will be removed from my head, and I won’t have to worry about the USSR stripping me of my free will and making me do things I don’t want to do,” Hungary said. Soma frowned.

“If…and if things go wrong?” he asked.

“Then the USSR will probably ensure the parasite is in control of me for months to ensure that he still has control…and maybe make me…take care of anyone he sees as traitors. Maybe. With Poland and East Germany, he just forced them to the side and made them thank him for ‘helping’ them,” Hungary said, lip curling in disgust at the memory of that.

“But that won’t happen! We need to be positive about this. Thinking about the way things can go wrong is just going to make us feel worse about this,” Attila, ever the optimist, said.

“I know. Still, I am going to write a letter to the UN about my real feelings and choices here, just in case we do lose, that way no matter what the USSR says or makes me do, people will know that it is all a bunch of lies and bullshit,” Hungary said. Attila grinned.

“Smart. But how do you expect to get it out of Budapest?” he asked.

“I have a friend who is leaving for Austria tomorrow. She’s taking it out of the country and hopefully can get it to someone else from there.” Hungary said.

He hoped that some other personification did see it. Even if this went well…well it was good to have a record of how controlling the USSR was, how Hungary feared for his health, safety, and free will, and how conditional the USSR made his basic rights.

Someone else needed to know about it.

“That’s good. Do you think…” Soma trailed off, and Hungary gave his best attempt at a comforting smile.

“I am hoping and praying that it will not be needed. But…it’s always better to have a plan. Just in case,” Hungary said. Soma nodded.

“Just in case.”

With those words, Hungary did his best to relax. He was anxious about what was to come but hopeful that things would be better.

Things would get better.

Hungary would ensure that or die trying.

───── ☆ ─────

Hungary had been in what felt like hell since he had been taken captive since he was deceived and tricked by the Russian SFSR into believing that he was about to be free of the USSR’s influence.

He didn’t know where he had been taken after being held captive, but it was tortuous. It was a small room, nothing in it but the chair that Hungary was handcuffed to, and a bright light pointed at his face, right in his eyes, preventing him from being able to see much more than it.

The light seemed to bore into his mind. Even when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the light.

His head ached from it and it made it hard to sleep. He was exhausted. It was torture.

Even when he could turn away, the spots lingered in his vision, which felt blurrier by the day. All of that, combined with the lack of food, lack of water, and the USSR’s influence slamming into his mind almost non-stop, allowed Hungary to slowly feel himself slipping away, losing the fight to keep his mind.

It was agonizing, but at least he could be comforted by the fact that his letter had escaped his lands and would soon be made public. He hoped it would be soon, in any case. Once it did, Hungary knew the other nations would demand to see him and demand for Hungary to talk to them. If he could hold out until then, he could reveal the torture.

He just had to hold out.

He had talked to UN after he declared his neutrality, and if the USSR was willing to attack him, then he was sure those rumors of the USSR preparing to invade his country had not been rumors.

Hungary wondered if that was what the USSR was doing. He knew the man had to be nearby. The parasite in his mind was not the docile sedative; it usually was when the USSR was far away, but an active threat attempting to destroy Hungary’s free will was a sign that the man was trying to force Hungary under his control.

He refused to let it control him. Most of his energy was going to fighting off the parasite’s control. The advantage of being locked in a cell was that there was nothing to divert his energy from fighting it off.

Hungary did wish that someone would enter the room. He felt that he had been locked here for days, his throat dry and hunger seeping into his bones. If nothing happened soon, he would slowly waste away into nothingness. Perhaps that was what USSR wanted.

The weaker Hungary was, the better it would be for him, after all. And weak Hungary was. Maybe it was a mix of the dehydration, the hunger, and the inability to sleep with a light as bright as the fucking directly in front of his face, but Hungary was tired.

After seconds that felt like hours, Hungary heard the door to the room open. He lifted his head, not realizing how much it had fallen, squinting as he tried to make out the figure in the doorway. Based on the height, he guessed it was USSR or Russian SFSR.

“Hello, Hungary.”

So, it was the USSR.

“Hello, parasite,” Hungary responded, refusing to give the USSR any respect by switching to Russian to speak with him. The light then turned off, causing Hungary to blink rapidly, fuzzy spots in his vision.

It only served to make his head ache more than it already did.

“I am sorry it had to come to this,” USSR said, his face and voice blank of any emotion as he stood before Hungary. The imprisoned nation snorted in a mixture of amusement and disgust.

“I thought we dropped the pretenses after you had your men arrest me,” Hungary snapped. USSR sighed.

“Sometimes, we all must do things we don’t want to do. I didn’t realize how bad your madness had gotten until Father told me about what you did to him in an attempt to fight off the people trying to help you,” USSR said. Hungary grinned widely, remembering the adrenaline and satisfaction that came from chopping off one of Russian SFSR’s fingers.

“I wouldn’t call it madness, more a justified action in response to an attempt to illegally imprison me and take over my country. I am not a mindless little doll that wants to dance on your strings. If I have to maim everyone in your country to prove that point, I will,” Hungary spat out, hatred in his voice. The country then swallowed down a harsh cough. His works did not help his dry throat, but Hungary couldn’t bring himself to care.

USSR tutted his tongue as if he were scolding a misbehaving child before placing a hand on Hungary’s cheek. Reeling in disgust, Hungary pulled away from the USSR’s hand, fighting against his exhaustion as he turned his head to sink his teeth into the USSR’s hand.

“Son of a—” the USSR began before slapping Hungary across the face, forcing his head to the side. Hungary laughed from fear, from delirium, from anger—he didn’t know.

“You want me to be your mindless little puppet? You’ll have to fight me for it because I’m not giving you a single inch, parasite,” Hungary said, spitting in the USSR’s face. USSR was quick to slap him again, but Hungary just smiled. “Try all you want. I know you can’t kill me, not with all the eyes on us.”

“I can’t kill you, but I will ensure you know your place. This corruption is unbecoming of you,” USSR said. Hungary laughed, which turned into a cough due to his dry throat.

“Save your lies for someone who will believe them,” he said, tired of USSR’s nonsense. He may have been played for a fool before, but he refused to be ever again. USSR scowled, turning back on the light, causing Hungary to close his eyes with a small hiss of pain.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but you leave me no choice. Maybe a few days to think about your actions will do you some good,” USSR said, his tone reminiscent of someone lecturing a misbehaving child, “Just know I do not want to do this—”

“Sure you don’t. You just need me under your control quickly—no need to hide it. I can feel you in my mind, trying to take control,” Hungary said.

“You are better off this way, free from the people who are actually trying to control you, the people who have driven you to this madness. I am trying to help you. You just need to let me,” USSR said. Hungary turned his head to the side and spat on the floor.

“Go to Hell, parasite.” Another blow landed on his face.

“Why do you make me do this to you?” USSR asked, his tone still devoid of any emotion.

“You choose to fight me. Now you get to fight me.”

USSR neglected to say anything else, simply leaving and letting the door slam behind him as he did so. As he did, the parasite’s attacks on his brain seemed to resume with more force.

Hungary gritted his teeth and did his best to persevere.

───── ☆ ─────

“You made this choice, Hungary. You decided to be unreasonable. You cannot blame anyone but yourself for your condition,” USSR said, one of his daily—at least Hungary presumed they were daily; he had no way of knowing how much time had actually passed—visits to Hungary’s cell.

They gave Hungary enough food and water to survive, but it was so little that it left him desperate for more, something that USSR knew full well and took advantage of.

“I’m not making you keep me here,” Hungary responded, voice steady, before he groaned as the USSR’s power increased, making him clench his hands around the armrests of the chair, wrists straining against the handcuffs that kept him there.

“If you would only stop resisting your place in the world and feeding into the madness, I would be able to let you out. Do you realize how badly it would reflect on your people if their nation were mad?” USSR asked. Hungary would have rolled his eyes if they weren’t clamped tight to lessen the pain of the light in his eyes.

“You mean how badly it would reflect on you if the nation you invaded were firmly against the invasion and was being tortured in an attempt to make him give into the idea that the invasion—” Hungary was cut off by a slap from USSR, but he didn’t let that bother him. The man was petty and vindictive and wanted Hungary under his control yesterday, but they both knew that USSR couldn’t hurt him too badly.

All his threats were empty, and that gave Hungary more power than he would have had otherwise.

“I am helping you,” USSR stated firmly, as if it were a fact. Maybe he believed it. It wouldn’t surprise Hungary if he did. “Come on, Hungary. Please, let me help you. You can eat and drink and rejoin society if you just stop giving into the madness.”

“Fuck off, parasite,” Hungary said, bracing himself for the USSR’s power to slam into his mind once again. Maybe it was the weakness from hunger and thirst, or perhaps it was the fact that he had to be constantly fighting for his mind with no sleep or rest, but each time, the parasite seemed to come back stronger, wiggling through another layer of Hungary’s defenses.

It was becoming less of an annoyance and more of a constant pain. Coupled with the pain from his headache caused by a lack of sleep and the light in his eyes, Hungary’s head was feeling more and more fuzzy—distant from his body. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Let me help you!” USSR said, sounding more annoyed as the attack seemed to increase in force. Everything around Hungary seemed to turn fuzzy and muffled as he threw his entire being into fighting off the parasite.

He didn’t know what happened next, but when he blinked open his eyes, hissing at the light, the USSR was gone.

The parasite wasn’t.

Hungary shut his eyes again and prepared to keep up the fight.

───── ☆ ─────

Hungary didn’t know what to think when the USSR came into his prison one day, turned off the light, and then dragged Hungary’s chair to the back of the room as the smaller nation tried in vain to snap at his fingers.

“Cut it out! You have visitors,” USSR said. The sheer surprise of it all caused Hungary to stop. Visitors? Who the Hell was visiting him?

Then, in walked Albania, Poland, Bulgaria, Romania, Czechoslovakia, East Germany, and Mongolia, as they all crammed into the same room. Hungary laughed slightly, lips twitching into a disbelieving grin.

The audacity of the USSR would never cease to surprise him.

“Is this supposed to convince me that you are so nice and kind and that I should give in?” Hungary asked, a mocking tone in his voice.

“I am not trying anything. Your siblings simply wanted to talk to you about your behaviors. They’ve been very mad about what you did, especially what you did to my Father,” USSR said. He really was dedicated to keeping up his farce. It would be impressive if it weren’t so annoying.

“The revolt was childlike and improper, but we are trying to be sympathetic with the madness that has affected you,” Romania said. Hungary rolled his eyes as Czechoslovakia chimed in.

“You have hurt our family and gone against the wishes of your people and your government, and in turn, you have hurt us all,” she said. Hungary tried to get a better look at her expression to see if he could tell whether or not she was under USSR’s control, but black, fuzzy spots persisted in his vision, and he had to give up.

At this rate, that light was going to cause him to go blind.

“I know I am not as close to you as the rest of them, but this family is very important to me, and seeing you rip it apart like this hurts,” Mongolia said.

“USSR is the one hurt—” Hungary began before the USSR cut him off by putting a hand over his mouth.

“Behave, Hungary.”

“Yes, Hungary, behave. We’ve all always been perfectly okay and safe under Mo—Father’s control,” Albania said with his usual hint of sarcasm. USSR’s eyes narrowed at his works, and Hungary watched as Albania stiffed and then straightened. “You’re hurting us by inspiring people to try and kill us.”

Those words were clearly not Albania, and Hungary really had to wonder if the USSR thought he would fall for the illusion.

“Hungary, I don’t think that you understand how much this has hurt not only you but our Father,” East Germany said, something…off about her voice. It seemed…not sad, but there was some strange emotion in it that Hungary couldn’t place.

“We want our brother back from whatever disease or corruption has overtaken him,” Bulgaria said. With his works, the USSR lifted his hand from Hungary’s mouth.

Hungary turned to Poland, who had been strangely quiet. Despite the fuzziness that still persisted in his vision, Hungary watched Poland’s lips twitch as if he was suppressing a smile.

Poland was resisting. He refused to denounce Hungary’s actions, and he was resisting. Hungary couldn’t help the wide grin that stretched across his face at that.

It looks like he wasn’t the only one the USSR had lost control over.

“What are you grinning about?” USSR snapped.

“Do you really think this will change my mind? How many of them are here of their own free will? How many did you need to take control of to force them here?” Hungary asked.

“You are the only ward of mine that is unruly and needs to be controlled. The rest know, understand, and love their place. Isn’t that right?” USSR asked, to small nods from the gathered nations.

“I recommend you all shake off his cont—” Hungary was cut off by another slap to his face, feeling the parasite begin to wiggle deeper into his mind. Poland’s foot moved slightly as if he wanted to interfere and barely stopped himself in time.

It made a happy feeling grow in Hungary’s chest, and he resolved to do his best to fight, not just for himself but for Poland and the other satellites who couldn’t fight for themselves.

“Are you sure you want puppets near a madman?” Hungary asked, a smirk growing on his lips. Barely concealed rage flashed over USSR’s face, and Poland bravely took a step forward.

“Father, it might be best to leave him to the madness for no. I do not think we can change his mind, no matter how much we try,” he said. It was a risky move with the USSR’s anger filling the air, surely sending their parasites to work as it was encouraging Hungary’s parasite to increase its pace in consuming his mind.

“He will be free eventually. The madness cannot take hold of him forever,” USSR said, looking Hungary in the eyes. Hungary stared back, ready to show the man that he was not beaten yet.

USSR scoffed and gestured for his puppets to follow him out of the room, leaving Hungary alone with his parasite.

At least the light was no longer boring into his eyes. Small mercies.

───── ☆ ─────

Hungary had never felt so weak. His head ached, and he barely had the strength to hold it up anymore, exhausted from a lack of sleep and the constant assault on his mind. The parasite drifted around the edges of Hungary’s mind, whispering to him how the pain would stop if he just gave in.

It felt so nice…

No!

Hungary couldn’t give in now. Not after so…how long had it been? How long had he been drifting, half-conscious in this hell?

Ever since USSR’s other puppets had left, Hungary’s sense of time had started decaying even further. He had managed to fall asleep a little after they left, with the light gone, but someone had come back into his cell and dragged him back in front of it, ensuring that Hungary was awake again before leaving.

Being alone was worse than being mocked. It felt as if all his resistance had been for nothing and that USSR had decided—had come to the conclusion that Hungary was going to fall under his control, and there was no use wasting energy on Hungary until he had.

His head hurt.

His lips were dry.

His vision blurred from the light.

If you stop fighting, you would be allowed to leave, and all the pain would disappear.

Hungary clenched his fists as he attempted to shove the parasitic thought from his mind.

“Being under your control will just cause me more pain. I refuse,” Hungary snapped. He knew he was alone in the room, but some part of him was sure that USSR could hear him through the parasite.

He refused, he refused, he refused.

No matter how much pain he was in, he refused to give in. He refused. He would fight the parasite with everything he had until nothing was left. The parasite would not tempt him into giving himself up. It would have to burrow into his mind until all that made up Hungary was gone.

He knew the parasite was getting close to doing just that.

Where were the other countries? Where was the response to his letter? Hungary had been trapped here for what felt like days—was no one suspicious? Where were the people to come and help him, to condemn the USSR for what he had done?

Where was his help? Had the rest of the world abandoned him at the USSR’s mercy?

Surely all Hungary had to do was hold out until then.

But when was it coming?

Hell, was it even coming? Or had he really been abandoned?

Hungary didn’t know. He hoped he hadn’t.

His free will wouldn’t survive being trapped here forever.

───── ☆ ─────

Ве́нгрия was waiting silently in the chair, waiting for someone to come and collect him. The strange madness that plagued his mind seemed to give into his Father’s power a few minutes before, leaving Ве́нгрия lethargic and weakened.

He simply sat there, waiting for his Father’s people to come and collect him.

Time passed by in a foggy blur until someone entered the room and switched off the light. Ве́нгрия obediently held still, attempting to blink the blurriness from his vision. However, it didn’t seem to do much, and he squinted at the person in front of him.

“Father?” he asked.

“Hungary. It is good to have you back,” his father responded, grabbing Ве́нгрия’s arm and pulling him to his feet. Ве́нгрия nodded in acknowledgment.

“Thank you for saving me from the influence of those traitors and returning me to my own mind. I am sorry for letting myself get caught under their thrall.” Ве́нгрия said, his voice sounding distant.

Ве́нгрия felt distant as if he was watching his body from afar.

“We need to prove a point to those traitors, show whose side you’re really on. We have some traitors that can be executed publicly. If you are the one to do it, they will never doubt your allegiance again,” Father said. Ве́нгрия nodded, still feeling so far away.

“Of course, Father,” he couldn’t bring himself to say more than that. His mouth felt foreign on his face, and it was hard to form words, easier to just agree.

Ве́нгрия followed his father out of the room, legs shaking slightly. He didn’t voice any concerns; he just followed his father as they walked and walked and walked.

Ве́нгрия couldn’t be sure what was happening around them. Sounds and images blurred into nothing. Father was the only thing his brain could grasp onto and focus on, so he did just that.

Eventually, they stopped, and Ве́нгрия felt a weapon be pressed into his hands by his father.

He blinked, and then his father was gone, and in front of Ве́нгрия was a man. Ве́нгрия knew what he had to do. He raised his gun to fire, and—Hungary knew him—he couldn’t—Attila—his grip on his weapon loosened for a moment before Ве́нгрия adjusted his grip.

Ве́нгрия didn’t know why the man looked so…whatever that emotion was at his execution. He looked as if he felt bad for Ве́нгрия as if Ве́нгрия was the one about to be executed.

“Don’t blame—” the man began before Ве́нгрия kicked him in the side.

“Shut up!” Ве́нгрия barked. The man just smiled sadly at him.

Ве́нгрия fired.

#countryhumans #oneshots by weird #historical countryhumans #secrecy and deception by weird #countryhumans ussr #countryhumans hungary

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weirdestbooks · 13 days ago

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York and Jay (Wattpad | Ao3)

Requested by @theagenderyeehaw

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” New Jersey asked, stomping into the room he shared with Delaware and New York. New York looked up from his laptop and raised an eyebrow.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, but the smirk on his face gave him away. Delaware, sensing the fight this would turn into, sighed and shut his book, standing up.

“Call me when you’re done,” he said before elbowing his way past New Jersey.

“You know exactly what you did! I can’t believe you!” New Jersey exclaimed before beginning to rant, his frustrations overwhelming him. New York sighed and put his laptop to the side.

“Okay, but it was funny, and no one was hurt. Also, it was Delly’s idea. He’s still upset about your reclaimed land thing and wanted me to remind you of ours,” New York said. New Jersey scowled.

“I should have never let him escape,” he groaned. New York laughed.

“You good with an arm over your shoulders?” he asked. When New Jersey nodded, New York threw an arm over his shoulder. “Listen, you’re my big brother, and that means I have to be annoying to you.”

“I’m less than a day older than you,” New Jersey deadpanned.

“Yeah, so as your baby brother, I’m allowed to do these things,” New York steamrolled on without flinching, “Besides, we didn’t actually do it to the Ellis Island buildings. It was just a bunch of old sheets.”

“Still, I fought for that land for a long time,” New Jersey said, shoving New York’s arm off him. He felt frustrated and angry but tried to keep a handle on his temper.

“And then you did the same thing to Del I did to you,” New York said, raising an eyebrow. New Jersey felt like he was being punished for something, but he didn’t know what. Why couldn’t anyone just say what they mean? Why did people have to be so vague?

“I…are you mad mad at me?” New Jersey asked, shrinking in on himself as the anger was replaced by a deep shame. He hated when he got like this when his emotions changed on a whim and never made any sense. New York’s face softened, and his large wings encircled them. They weren’t touching New Jersey but shielding him from the rest of the world.

“No. No, I’m not,” New York said, “This was just a joke meant to make fun of the fact that history is repeating itself and that even over two hundred years since our independence, we’re still fighting over our borders.”

The guilt squirming in New Jersey’s gut subsided a little.

“It was just a joke?” he asked, wanting to hear confirmation, proof that it was okay, that he was fine, a good brother.

“Yep! Just me and Delly meaning little shits. You’re okay, Jay-jay. You always have been,” New York said. New Jersey nodded, then relaxed into his brother's arms, feeling New York’s wings begin to hug him.

New Jersey smiled.

He was glad that his family still loved him.

#statehumans #oneshots by weird #statehumans new jersey #statehumans new york

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weirdestbooks · 13 days ago

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Secrecy and Deception Chapter 22

Rebellions and Crises (Wattpad | Ao3)

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Event: Arms Agreement Between the USSR and Afghanistan

Location: Kabul, Kingdom of Afghanistan

Date: September 1, 1956

Afghanistan was excited about the new arms agreement. He knew that it would be important, with the ongoing issue of Pashtunistan. The United States was allied with Pakistan, and Afghanistan’s army had not been upgraded since the Second World War.

Having this arms agreement and, in turn, good relations with the USSR was very important to him. Afghanistan did not want to be overrun by Pakistan and the United States, and these days, it felt as if the USSR was the only person who could stand up to the USSR and not face the risk of the United States messing with things.

This alliance would be important.

Afghanistan wished he could thank USSR in person, but the larger country was busy, and his Russian wasn’t the best.

But now he had an ally against the United States and a chance to modernize his army.

Afghanistan felt as if a huge weight had been taken off his back.

In a way, there was.

• ───────────────── •

Event: Hungarian Revolution

Location: Tököl, near Budapest, Hungarian People's Republic

Date: 10 pm, November 3, 1956

Hungary had never been more excited in his life. Things were finally turning around. He had declared himself neutral and withdrawn from the Warsaw Pact Organization that the USSR had forced him into. He had contacted the UN and asked for help in protecting his new neutrality, and now the Soviet troops would be leaving his country.

Even with the rumors of a Soviet invasion and the fears that he might not shake off the hand of the man whose thumb he had been under for years now, Hungary couldn’t help but be strangely giddy with excitement.

He was going to have his mind fully restored to him, no longer feeling the weight of the USSR press down on it, the exhaustion and fear that came from it.

It was what he and his friends had fought for in the past week, what Hungary had yearned for so long.

He couldn’t believe it was so close. He had never felt more alive than he did now. When he heard about the Hungarian delegation that was invited to the Soviet Military Command in Tököl, he begged to be a part of the delegation, to be there and negotiate the removal of the Soviet parasite from his country.

His friends had been excited to hear the news, especially Attila, who was so passionate about fighting the USSR and making Hungary a better place for his people. Hungary knew he would never be able to thank them enough for what they had done for him.

So Hungary, for the first time in a long time, dressed himself as he wanted and slipped his knife into his sheath on his leg.

Paranoia had kept him alive, and he knew he couldn’t be too careful. He didn’t think he would need it, but Hungary had been betrayed too many times not to carry a weapon with him.

He could taste freedom on his tongue. He didn’t want to lose it, not when it was so close, not when it was just in his grasp.

Just in case. It was just in case.

When Hungary arrived at the Soviet Military Command, he was greeted by the site of the Russian SFSR.

“Russia,” Hungary said, surprised, “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“My son wanted someone here for this. Unfortunately, he decided that someone had to be me, and not any of the dozens of oblasts that could have easily been sent in my place,” Russian SFSR said, sounding very annoyed with the USSR. Hungary could relate to that feeling of annoyance.

“Well, it looks like an agreement will be reached soon, and then we can both go home and be done with this all,” Hungary said. Russian SFSR huffed out a small laugh.

“Very true. Now come. We have prepared a banquet in honor of you and your delegates as a way to show that no ill will shall be harbored between our countries and that we will respect your neutrality,” Russian SFSR said, turning into the room. Hungary blinked at first, surprised.

A banquet? For him and his delegation? Something about it felt off because Hungary didn’t think that USSR or Russian SFSR would ever do anything like that for him. Both of them liked their power and clinging to it.

Then again, this was probably something that had been planned more by the Soviet officer and not Russian SFSR or USSR themselves.

Still, the nervousness didn’t leave until the first hour and a half had passed. As the night slowly crept to midnight and nothing happened, Hungary felt the tension leave him. This was just a banquet to celebrate that an agreement was near, that they were almost done.

It was fine.

Slowly, a small smile crept onto his face as everything suddenly felt more real.

It was so close.

So, with his anxiety gone, Hungary began to enjoy himself, taking great pleasure in how annoyed Russian SFSR looked, only confirming Hungary’s thoughts that the man was not involved in this.

Hungary was happy. It was a feeling that had been quite foreign to him, and it was something he had experienced little in his life. It was nice to relax and feel happy. The emotions were overwhelming, but they were good.

Then, at midnight, the party was interrupted when a man entered the room, flanked by men wearing a uniform Hungary recognized as belonging to the NKVD. Hungary’s blood ran cold, and a pit dropped in his stomach.

The feeling and the anxiety that followed came on so quickly that Hungary felt as if he might be sick. His hand slid down to his side, where the knife was hidden. Hungary swallowed down his nerves and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the man who had entered the room.

“Arrest them,” he said. The NKVD officers went to do just that, and Hungary was quick to pull the knife from his sheath and lash out at Russian SFSR, who had approached him from the side.

The knife cut a gash across his nose, and as Russian SFSR raised a hand to the cut, Hungary lashed out again, hitting his hand and throwing his full weight behind the blow as the knife cut through flesh and bone, severing Russian SFSR’s first finger and nearly cutting through the second.

Satisfaction welling up through him, Hungary began to yell.

“I AM HUNGARY! I AM HUNGARY, AND I AM MY OWN PERSON AND COUNTRY, AND YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT FROM ME!”

Tears were welling up in his eyes, and he swung at Russian SFSR again before being restrained. Still, Hungary fought with everything he had.

This wasn’t fair! He was so close! He was neutral! He had left the Warsaw Pact! He was going to be free! He was going to be like Yugoslavia! Why couldn’t he have that?

It wasn’t fair!

Something heavy slammed into the back of Hungary’s head, and he groaned, slumping slightly but refusing to give up his fight. Then, another blow landed on the back of his head, and everyone went dark.

• ───────────────── •

Event: Suez Crisis

Location: Cairo, Arab Republic of Egypt

Date: October 29, 1956

“We should have known that Israel would get involved in this. She’s too aggressive not to,” Palestine stated as she and Egypt heard the news of Israel’s invasion of the Sinai Peninsula earlier that day. Egypt sighed.

“I suppose she is hoping that this will force me to reopen the Straits of Tiran and Gulf of Aqaba and allow her access to the canal,” Egypt commented, worry rolling in her stomach.

“And assumes that Britain, France, and the United States will help her,” Palestine said, “I don’t like how close she’s gotten to the canal.”

“You choose a perfect time to visit,” Egypt tried to joke. Palestine looked unamused, and the younger country smiled sheepishly. “Better to think positive than about how things can go wrong. If all three of them really do side with Israel, then I imagine that the USSR will side with us.”

“I hope so. After what happened to Iran when he tried to nationalize his oil fields…I hope that you don’t get put under their control. You and your president are my biggest hope to having control over my land and life again and putting an end to what Israel is doing to my people,” Palestine said, the ever-present worry in her eyes deepening.

“I won’t let them put me back under my control. I am an independent country, and whether they like it or not, I will act like one. The Suez Canal is in my country, and therefore, it is my duty to control it, not two empires who have sworn that they don’t want to be empires anymore,” Egypt snapped, words flying out of her in a rush.

“I hope you’re right. It’s hard not to be worried when there is almost a guarantee that someone will try to hurt you for not behaving like they want you to,” Palestine said. Egypt frowned. She indeed was worried about this and the risk of war that it was creating, but at the same time…she didn’t want to think that a war would come.

It wasn’t just that people were more dedicated to peace with the creation of the United Nations, but that it would be a war fought over the Suez Canal. A war could disrupt shipping or destroy the canal.

“At the end of the day, no one is going to risk being the one to destroy the Suez Canal,” Egypt said, her voice more confident than she felt. “There will be a diplomatic end to this.”

There had to be.

Are you interested in learning more about what happened to Hungary after being captured? Well on Sunday, two days from now, I will be posting a oneshot on exactly that. The chapter was going to run too long if I added it, and I really wanted to tell the story I had for Hungary.

#countryhumans #historical countryhumans #secrecy and deception by weird #countryhumans hungary #countryhumans ussr #countryhumans egypt #countryhumans afghanistan

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weirdestbooks · 16 days ago

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The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 27

Stars and Stripes (Wattpad | Ao3)

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June 2, 1777

New Connecticut had his official name now.

State of Vermont. The name filled him with a giddy excitement, even if he was still having trouble remembering to respond to it. However, considering some people called him Green Mountains, Vermont wasn’t too hard to remember.

“How does it feel to officially be the State of Vermont?” Liam asked. Vermont laughed.

“Strange. I’m sure I’ll get used to it in time, just right now…I’m more used to New Connecticut than Vermont,” he answered.

“I like Vermont better. Easier to say, and it won’t get you confused with the American state,” Liam pointed out. Vermont shrugged, nodding in agreement before frowning.

“Vermont? Mont? Are you okay?” Liam asked, immediately picking up on Vermont’s expression. Vermont nodded.

“Oui, I am. Just…thinking. About my Papa,” he said.

“Have you still not heard back from him?” Liam asked. Vermont winced.

“I…didn’t send the letter,” he said.

“What? Why not?” Liam asked, looking shocked, “He’s your father. Don’t you want to know him?”

“Of course I do! But I’m nervous he won’t like me…and I want our first communication to be in person. And I want…I want to prove that I am committed to the idea of my independence—and his independence—just as much as he is. I don’t want to come off as some little nation that broke away from him and decided I was too good to actually help fight,” Vermont explained, nervous.

He had heard many stories about the one parent whose identity he knew for sure. Until he figured out who his other father was—Britain or Quebec, United States was all he had.

He wanted—needed to make a good first impression. He wanted his Papa to want him, to hold him and be his father.

Vermont was very lonely. He didn’t want to drive anyone further away.

“What do you mean fight? Are you thinking of joining in America’s war on Britain?” Liam exclaimed, looking shocked and maybe just the slightest bit scared, too. Vermont nodded.

“I have a better chance of keeping my independence if Papa has his. This will allow me to meet him and form a good relationship with him. It’s a good plan, I know it. I don’t think the British will keep me alive if Papa loses,” Vermont explained. Liam let out a low breath.

“Has the government allowed this?” he asked. Not wanting to answer, Vermont looked away. “They haven’t, have they?”

“No. But I am going to do it anyway. This…I want to meet my papa. And I want to be a country. This is the best way to make this happen,” Vermont said, voice more confident than he felt.

“Alright then. But be safe.” Liam said. Vermont smiled.

“Don’t worry. I promise I will be.”

• ───────────────── •

June 14, 1777

United States was a mix of exhilarated and terrified. He was getting a new flag, a proper new flag this time, one to mark that he was a real country, no longer a colony that needed to cling to the Union Jack. No longer a nation that needed his father.

He was excited. It would hold the same stripes of his last flag, but this time, the canton in the corner of his face would not hold his father’s flag but a blue field with thirteen stars.

“It’s going to be amazing!” Delaware said, the excitement in his voice bringing a smile to United States’ face.

“And you won’t have the Union Jack anymore, meaning no one can ever call you a British colony ever again!” James said. United States had never heard the man this excited before.

“Only if we win,” United States murmured.

“We will. Have some faith, would you?” James asked, a joking tone in his voice. United States’ mouth quirked into a small smile before fading back to the worried expression that seemed stuck on his face.

United States was staring at his hands, the delicate lines of his Father’s flag creating the pattern of the Union Jack on his palms. They had looked this way for what must be seventy-odd years now. United States never expected them to change.

They used to make him proud, back before everything fell apart. He could look at them and smile, knowing that his father would be there to protect him, that he could be proud to be a part of his father’s empire.

“I am worried, James. I want to be independent…but I still love my Father. How can…I have never been without his flag before. I don’t…” United States trailed off, unsure of how to turn the storm of emotions raging within him into proper words.

“If you are destined to still be family, then he will love you without your flag on him. You don’t have to wear his mark to be his family. You’re still related. But you’re your own country now. You can’t have his flag if you really want him to take you seriously,” James said.

United States nodded, hands still held half curled in front of him.

Then, the colors seemed to twist. United States’ hands began trembling slightly as the red was consumed by the blue, leaving his hands primarily blue with white lines on them, so similar to his Uncle Scotland’s flag.

The white and blue seemed to dance as the white retreated to the center of his palms. On his left hand, out of that circle of white, five points erupted, forming a giant star. On his right hand, the circle of white broken apart into smaller circles—thirteen if United States had to take a guess—which repeated the process of having five points erupt from each circle.

The thirteen stars on his right hand danced around, going back and forth from the palm of his hand to the back of it—revealing that thirteen more stars rested on the back of his hand before all of them settled down, creating a circle of thirteen stars on the front and back of his hand.

United States smiled.

“Wow…I don’t remember it doing that the last time it changed,” James commented, sounding awed.

“I’ve never seen it do that,” United States said before turning his hands over, laughing slightly.

“Hey, Da, since I was the first state to declare independence, and I helped make sure our vote for independence was unanimous, can I be the big star?” Delaware asked, excitement and mischief in his voice. United States laughed.

“Now Delaware, that’s not fair,” he said, “Besides, the big star already represents someone.”

“It does? Who? The Vermont kid that is almost definitely your kid?” James asked.

“No. It’s you, James,” United States said.

“ME? But I’m just a human. I have no reason to be on your…I…” James trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.

“I want it to be you. Because you’re here with us, and countryhuman or not, you’re a part of this family. You deserve a spot on the flag. And here it has gone and presented us with a perfect opportunity to have you represented with part of it,” United States said, finding himself meaning every word.

“Thank you,” James said, sounding touched. “Thank you so much.”

“I’m going to go tell everyone else that Uncle James is on our flag!” Delaware said, and United States chuckled.

He was still anxious but happier.

“You’re going to keep that flag. Just like you’ll keep your independence,” James said reassuringly.

“I hope you’re right,” United States said before curling his hands into fists. “I really hope you are.”

• ───────────────── •

July 6, 1777

Nova Scotia was sitting in Fort Ticonderoga, the fort recently captured by the rebels. While some of General Burgonye’s troops were chasing down the fleeing rebels, Nova Scotia had been ordered to stay behind in the fort, as they thought those activities were not fit for a woman. Nova Scotia had scoffed but done what she was told.

Nova Scotia was glad that the rebels had abandoned the fort. She knew why her cousin’s rebellion had to be put down, but she loved Thirteen Colonies dearly and did not want to risk ruining their relationship.

But she didn’t get a choice not to go to war. Her king had ordered all British colonies in America to do their best to recapture their wayward family member, so off to war she went.

At the very least, her son got to be with her. He was only eight years old, even if he was physically fourteen, and Nova Scotia didn’t want to be parted from him.

“Màthair?” Saint John’s Island called.

“Yes, Eòin? What is it?” Nova Scotia asked.

“Do you think that we’ll have to fight Uncle Thirteen? I mean, I knew we were going to war with him, but it didn’t seem real until we took his fort, I know…I know what he’s doing is wrong, but I don’t want to hurt him,” her son said, looking scared, as if his fears were teason.

“I don’t want to hurt him either. I hope…I hope that we can take care of the rebels here without running into Edward, but I am…cautious to think that,” Nova Scotia said, sticking her hand onto her pocket where Thirteen Colonies’ letter sat. Nova Scotia had done as he asked, in case he really managed to do the impossible and win.

She didn’t think he would, but Britain was petty and vindictive and had already taken away Thirteen Colonies’ things for his earlier actions before her cousin had decided on full-blown treason. Nova Scotia just took them away before he destroyed them.

“Do you think that Britain will…will kill him?” Saint John’s Island asked, voice dropping to a whisper as he sat down beside Nova Scotia. Nova Scotia sighed, running her hand through her son’s hair.

“I hope not. He is a man full of anger, but…he still loves Edward in his own strange way,” Nova Scotia said, wondering if she was saying that just to convince herself. A part of her wondered if Thirteen Colonies only went along with this independence plan because he was afraid he would be killed if he came back.

While it was a forbidden topic in their household and a story that Saint John’s Island had certainly never heard before, Nova Scotia was reminded of New England Confederation and her bloody fate.

Thirteen Colonies had never been the same after she died. Jersey and Nova Scotis had comforted him through that time, and he always seemed empty, horrified, or furious.

Nova Scotia wondered if part of this was anger that had been building since New England Confederation’s death. It would make sense if it were.

But she couldn’t begin to understand what was going through Thirteen Colonies' mind right now.

“So Uncle Thirteen will live?” Saint John’s Island asked. Nova Scotia pulled him into a gentle hug and kissed his forehead.

“Yes, he will, Eòin. Don’t worry about that. This is to reunite our family, not destroy it,” Nova Scotia said.

She hoped Thirteen Colonies would be okay when everything settled.

#countryhumans #statehumans #countryhumans america #historical countryhumans #the shot heard around the world by weird #statehumans nova scotia #statehumans vermont

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weirdestbooks · 17 days ago

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Wrong Reflection Chapter 9

Opening Up Over Pets (Wattpad | Ao3)

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Now updating biweekly, Mondays at 5 pm EST

Matthew was excited to meet the alternate version of his brother despite the… disturbing facts that he had learned about his brother’s counterpart. It was still exciting. While he had never been one to believe in alternate dimensions, the fact that they did now exist was exciting. What was the other him like? What was the other Arthur like?

There were so many possibilities, and Matthew was eager to figure out what their differences were and how they had come into being.

His first interaction with Sam was strange. The man looked so different from his twin; their only similarity was the fact that they both had glasses, and a part of Matthew’s brain began to wonder what his counterpart looked like.

“You’re different than mine,” Sam said after they had introduced themselves.

“What does that mean?” Matthew asked. Sam didn’t seem to be rude, just curious.

“Well, I can tell why you and Alfred are twins. We aren’t; my world’s Canada and I, and I wouldn’t say we are particularly close. But you’re in better health than my Canada. He has…biological issues that make it hard for him to do things. Like walk. And breathe,” Sam said, looking Matthew up and down, something analytical and cold in his eyes. “Lydia says nice polar bear, by the way. She thinks it’s cute.”

Setting aside the information about ‘Lydia’ (presumably an alter; Alfred had texted him and Francis about Sam’s DID, so they were both aware), Matthew instead chose to focus on the information about his counterpart.

“What happened?” Matthew asked. Sam snorted.

“Some dumbass decided a fish would look great on your flag, and now he’s suffering the consequences,” Sam said, something that only served to make Matthew more confused. What did putting a fish on his flag have to do with his counterpart’s health issues? Sam must have noticed the confusion because he smiled apologetically.

“I can explain it once your France gets here. It’s…we’d rather explain it all at once to field any questions,” Sam said, his smile fading. Matthew nodded in understanding. It must be hard being in a world different from your own, and all people want to do is interrogate you about it.

“I understand,” Matthew said, as Sam’s head tilted to the side like he was listening to someone.

“Sorry, Lydia’s still going on about the polar bear. She finds it really interesting that you have one. What’s its name?” Sam asked.

“Kumajirou,” Alfred answered, causing Matthew to flip him off, “What? You never remember his name!”

Sam laughed at the exchange, a small smile cracking through the distant demeanor he seemed to adopt.

“You can’t remember your pet’s name?” he asked.

“I can!” Matthew protested, “Alfred is just being a dick.”

“HEY!” Alfred exclaimed before Matthew and him began arguing, not in any serious manner, but in the joking manner that was typical of siblings. Out of the corner of his eye, Matthew could see Sam looking at them with something like fondness or…or homesickness in his eyes, something that was both full of love and pain.

Clearly, they were reminding him of something.

Matthew wished he knew what.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Sam was avoiding Matthew. Despite their pleasant introduction (at least from Matthew’s perspective), it was easy to notice that Sam didn’t seem to want to talk to him. Sam was elusive, although he appeared to avoid people often, so Matthew tried not to take it personally.

It was still hard.

Matthew knew that Sam was under stress; he could see that in his eyes and the bags beneath them, in the endless barrage of questions he had for Arthur about their search efforts.

So Matthew decided to offer a distraction—well, less of a distraction and more of putting Kumajirou in Sam’s lap and making him Sam’s problem.

“Why have you given me your polar bear?” Sam asked. Matthew shrugged.

“He wanted to hang out with you,” he answered. Sam raised an eyebrow but didn’t call Matthew out on his lie, just staring down at the polar bear in his lap.

“What…what do I do? This is nothing like my cat,” Sam said.

“You have a cat?” Matthew asked. Sam nodded.

“Her name is Coffee. I’ve been raising her family for, oh, since independence, I think,” Sam said, a fond smile on his face. “I love cats.”

“They do keep you from getting lonely,” Matthew said. Sam snorted, amusement in his eyes, a kind of emotion that Matthew hadn’t seen from him before.

“Please, with my states, I’m never alone. They will steal Coffee whenever they think I’m not hanging out with them enough, and then I have to chase them down to get my cat back,” Sam said, laughter in his voice as he lit up talking about his states.

“They mean a lot to you, then,” Matthew said, curious at this new information. Alfred never had states to know. How did this change Sam?

“Yeah, my cats have always meant a lot to me,” Sam said. Matthew rolled his eyes.

“I meant your states,” Sam smirked.

“I know. And they do. They’re…they’re my children, and they make me whole. I’ve never been without them before,” he said, arms curling around Kumajirou.

“Are you worried they can’t take care of themselves?” Matthew asked. Sam laughed.

“Oh, I know they can. I’m just…I’m just worried about how they’re handling this. And I’m worried that they may start a war while I’m gone.”

“Would they?” Matthew asked, concerned.

“I think they would try to on purpose. It would fail, but they would still end up causing a war on accident,” Sam answered. Matthew laughed.

“Are you sure?”

“Confidently,” Sam said before standing up and passing Kumajirou back over to Matthew. “Thanks for letting us hold your bear.”

“No problem. Are you going to be okay? I know this must be stressful for you,” Matthew asked. Sam blinked before nodding.

“We’ll be fine. We’ve lived through worse.”

“That’s not comforting,” Matthew commented lightly. Sam shrugged.

“It’s true. I have no reason not to think this will be resolved, in one way or another, there…I’ll be back in my world someday,” he said. Something about his voice hinted that there was more that he wasn’t letting on, but Matthew decided to let the matter drop.

“Fine. Just know…I can’t help with the magic stuff, but I can help you with anything else you need,” Matthew said. Sam smiled a smile that seemed slightly too sharp and twisted, and Matthew took a step back, blinking as the smile seemed to become human again.

“Thanks, Canada. I’ll keep that in mind.”

And with those words, Sam walked away.

#countryhumans #countryhumans america #wrong reflection by weird #hetalia #hetalia canada #aph canada #matthew williams

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weirdestbooks · 20 days ago

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Secrecy and Deception Chapter 21

Warsaw Pact (Wattpad | Ao3)

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Bold is Russian or Polish, depending on the context.

Event: The Creation of the Warsaw Pact

Location: Warsaw, Polish People's Republic

Date: May 14, 1955

Kazimiera was nervous about the idea of the Treaty of Friendship, Cooperation and Mutual Assistance. She knew all the reasons that had been given for it, of course, the integration of West Germany into NATO, the USSR’s failure to join NATO himself, and the fear that the power of the West might be turned against him.

He wasn’t the only one, as Czecksolvakia’s leaders had already made a security pact with Poland and East Germany. But this was different. This was the USSR doing this, the USSR, who already had an armed presence in her country and political control and domination.

She had been trying her best to protect Poland from as much of it as she could, but some days, it seemed like an impossible task, with the USSR’s noose tightening around them.

“Poland thinks that he’ll be pulled into control when the Warsaw Treaty Organization is born,” Lechosław added, having moved closer to Kazimiera from where he had been in their mind’s world talking to Poland.

“Wioletta and Kazimiera can keep him away. They’ve done it before when the USSR tries to control him,” Kazmiera’s best friend, Piotr, said, sounding more confident than Kazmiera felt. She often tried to keep Poland away from control of their body when the USSR was around, as that man always seemed to do his best to destroy any sense of self Poland had. They learned long ago that it was better to pretend they loved their so-called Father and let the resentment grow.

“I’m just worried for him. We all know this is going to be used as another way to control us, and…Poland is worried,” Lechosław said. Kazmiera could practically hear him shaking his head.

“He has every right to be, but now is not the time,” she murmured, an expert in keeping her voice low and quiet as the USSR’s puppets began to enter the room. Beside Kazmiera, with a seat between them, East Germany sat down, dark bags drooping under her eyes. As East Germany and Poland were the only ones who were USSR’s biological kids, he always made them side beside him.

Kazmiera supposed it was because USSR thought they were the ones that were easiest to control, less likely to snap free and hurt him. Even with East Germany’s uprising, Kazmiera knew how the countryhuman herself had quickly been neutralized by marital law.

Alongside them, Albania, Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Romania were also in attendance to sign the treaty. USSR was late.

That didn’t surprise Kazmiera.

Despite that, the room was silent. No one was making any small talk, and a tense fear filled the room. East Germany just stared ahead tiredly, looking as if she might fall asleep at any moment. Albania’s arms were crossed, and he looked particularly pissed off. He was probably the most stubborn country here, which is why he was on the opposite side of the table from the USSR.

Beside him was Hungary, who was just staring at the table, not looking up at anyone. Romania was beside him, squeezing her hands as she stared at the door. Bulgaria stared ahead. There was nothing on his face. Czechoslovakia just seemed tired and defeated.

“Most of them were someone before this,” Wioletta said, something sad in her voice.

Most of them were not here of their own free will. But the idea of free will had been a fleeting notion for a while. Maybe most of them wouldn’t have minded being communist if being communist didn’t come with the price of being under the USSR’s control.

Poland hated being a country in general, though, believing himself to be an imposter created by the USSR and not a real countryhuman due to the survival of his only father, in Kazmiera’s opinion. As long as the Polish government in exile lived, Poland would probably never see himself as more than a puppet.

“It doesn’t help that that is what he was born as. I blame the USSR for this. He has gotten better about it, however,” Lechosław added. Kazmiera then startled as a hand was placed on her head, looking up to see that the USSR had entered.

“Good morning, Father,” she said, careful to keep her voice pleasant, “Welcome to Warsaw.”

“Thank you, my son. I am sorry to have kept you all waiting. I have been busy. Now, I suppose you all have things to get back to. The West’s actions have been worrying us all,” USSR said, taking his seat and signing the treaty. The tension in the room shifted, less fear and nervousness and more of a growing sense of… something.

“Probably a country thing,” Piotr muttered, sounding nervous as USSR passed the treaty to Kazmiera. She sighed slowly, doing her best to mimic Poland’s handwriting, nervousness running through her. As soon as she signed the last ‘a,’ she felt Poland brush against her but not take control.

The power in the air grew stronger.

“I told you he would pull me up,” Poland muttered, sounding defeated.

“It’s okay. Kazmiera is still in control, and you are safe,” Lechosław said as Kazmiera passed the treaty to Bulgaria.

“I might be pulled into control when they’re born,” Poland said, something sad in his voice.

“Isn’t this wonderful? We can affair our desire for the establishment of a system of European security that is based on European participation and not on political systems,” USSR said.

“But we all have the same political system?” Albania asked as he sighed, a faux confusion in his voice. USSR scowled, and Albania’s hand spasmed as he quickly lifted it from the paper. “Apologies, Father. I just wanted to ask.”

“He is going to get hurt,” Wioletta commented. Piotr snorted.

“I don’t think he cares.”

“More will join us someday. They are just trapped in the American-controlled NATO system right now,” USSR insisted. Albania wisely kept his mouth shut.

“Kazmiera, I know you are protecting me, but I think now I need to take control. East Germany is about to sign,” Poland said. Kazmiera didn’t want to, but she relented, sliding away and letting her country take control.

Then, she watched as East Germany sighed, and the Warsaw Pact was born.

“So, the USSR is definitely not going to let Poland have any sort of custody over his kid, right?” Piotr asked.

“He’ll give him enough to keep up any facades,” Lechosław said, fiddling with his hands as they watched the meeting end. Poland barely got time to speak to his daughter before the USSR dragged her away to “meet the politicians running her.”

Kazmiera felt sick. But there was very little she could do.

• ───────────────── •

Event: Poznań June

Location: Warsaw, Polish People's Republic

Date: June 29, 1956

Poland was worried. He was worried about the protests in Poznań, about what his Father’s reaction to them would be, and what would happen to him if he did not get them under control. He had wanted to go to Poznań when he first heard about them, to see if he could resolve things quickly, but his government had quickly shut that idea down, banning Poland from leaving the city.

“They don’t want to lose control of you. Whatever is happening there, maybe they think you’ll support it?” Ryszard asked, his voice gentle. Poland didn’t know. He knew Soviet officers were going to Poznań to help with the situation, but all he was left to do was worry and pace.

“Will this end up like with what happened to East Germany?” Kazimiera asked. Piotr sighed.

“I hope not. We have enough going out without having to worry about martial law,” he said. Poland shuttered slightly at those words, remembering the times that he—

“Let’s not worry about that, Poland,” Ryszard said, cutting off Poland’s line of thought. Poland nodded before he began pacing around his room, feeling so much like a caged animal. Suddenly, he heard the sound of his door opening, and Poland turned to it, questions on his tongue.

Questions that quickly died when he saw who was standing there.

“Fa—Father.” He stammered out in nervous Russian, “Are you here because of the protests in Poznań?”

“Of course he would come,” Piotr said, anger in his voice.

“We knew it might happen, with what happened in East Germany and how he was there for that,” Ryszard pointed out.

“Of course I am. I wanted to make sure you were safe, and I was so happy to learn that your government has kept you in Warsaw,” Father said, his voice…his voice full of a strange emotion that made Poland panic and shrink in on himself.

“And I’m sure that’s the only reason. Not that you are afraid of losing control of us or anything!” Kazimiera exclaimed.

“They haven’t told me what has been happening in Poznań. Do you know anything?” Poland asked.

“He’s just going to lie,” Ryszard said. Poland knew that, but his father always based his lies on a glimmer of truth to make them more effective. Poland could probably figure out the truth from his lies.

“These protestors are being led by German provocateurs who are attempting to tarnish your reputation during the Poznań International Fair. But there is no need to worry. My people have everything under control. We will not let you end up like Germany, and we will not let America or anyone else from the West take advantage of you,” Father said.

“I knew he was going to bring up East Germany,” Kazimiera hissed, and Poland shrank in on himself further at her anger. “I’m not mad at you, Poland.”

“What are the things they are claiming to be protesting about? If these ‘provocateurs’ are trying to pretend to be Polish, then they must have a reason,” Poland asked. It was a risky question, but it was the only thing he could think of to learn a little more, a little bit of the truth.

But Poland didn’t get an answer. His father just sighed, and По́льша felt his father’s power crash into him.

“That’s not important. It’s nothing that you need to worry about because it’s not important to know what is happening,” Father said. По́льша nodded dimly. His father was right. He didn’t need to worry about that.

“Poland! Snap out of it!” a distant voice echoed from inside his head, causing a great pounding in his skull. По́льша groaned, and his father frowned.

“What is wrong?”

“My head hurts,” По́льша said simply. Father sighed.

“It will go away once we take care of these people. Do you trust me to do that?” Father asked, По́льша nodded.

“Of course I do,” he said. Father smiled.

“Good.”

• ───────────────── •

Event: Egypt takes control of Suez Canal

Location: Cairo, Arab Republic of Egypt

Date: July 26, 1956

Egypt was taking a day to herself. She knew as soon as President Nasser declared that the British and French company that has controlled the Suez Canal since its construction said countries involved in the company would be doing everything they could to get in contact with her and subsequently yell at her about it.

It’s not like it was her decision.

Even if Egypt did support it.

This was supposed to be a period of decolonization, and yet Egypt was not allowed to control the Suez Canal, the canal that ran through her country? Of course, she was going to nationalize it. This would be huge for her country’s economy.

Britain and France have controlled the Suez Canal since they built it. They were wealthy nations, and they didn’t need the canal. Besides, President Nasser promised to compensate them for the company's loss to ensure that there was no lingering animosity.

Knowing them, Egypt wasn’t sure how much that would help.

Egypt knew that wouldn’t stop them from pretending like they needed the canal to survive, from pretending that this was some great affront to them. She knew they would not be afraid to overthrow her government if they deemed it necessary to keep control.

She hoped they wouldn’t go that far, that things could be resolved peacefully with all three of them speaking for themselves and no one being left out of the solution-making process.

But there was nothing to be done about it now. For now, all Egypt could do was soothe her anxiety and wait for the inevitable storm.

#countryhumans #historical countryhumans #secrecy and deception by weird #countryhumans poland #countryhumans ussr #countryhumans egypt

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weirdestbooks · 22 days ago

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The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 26

An Attack in the Winter (Wattpad | Ao3)

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So sorry this chapter is a few hours late folks. Been sick all week and didn't have time to finish it up before the publishing date.

December 26, 1776

It was cold. There was rain, sleet, hail, and snow, absolutely miserable weather.

“The reason why winter attacks aren’t common,” James joked. United States suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. James had been making that joke ever since General Washington revealed his plans to attack the city of Trenton, where intelligence showed that Hessian mercenaries were staying, guards presumably down after Christmas.

The element of surprise was smart, as it seemed to be the best way for them to win battles, as they were so undertrained and underequipped. Even United States, with the biyearly military training his Father forced them all to do, was not enough to train their militiamen. Most would be leaving come January, and United States had no idea how to pass his skills on to others.

“We were trained to be followers. Not to teach. Just to obey,” New Jersey grumbled. The state had been begging to be in control of the body for this battle, but United States refused. He would not make his son fight in his battles.

Besides, this battle was against Hessians, guaranteeing that his Father would not be there. It might be United States’ only time to fight without James taking his place.

He had to fight.

“You don’t have to prove anything to your people, Da. We know you want to fight, and they think you are, even when it is us,” Delaware said.

“He’s not proving it to them. It’s to himself,” James said, far too perceptive of United States’ feelings. United States did his best to ignore them. Daybreak was upon him and his army, and they were reaching Trenton.

Later than they had planned but not too late. The icy river and the storm didn’t stop them.

“I am splitting the force into two columns. Would you rather join Major General Greene or Major General Sullivan?” General Washington asked United States as they approached.

“As long as I can fight, I do not care who it is with,” United States answered with a small smile. He didn’t like being forced to choose. His influence was too great, and he could divide people too quickly. General Washington nodded.

“Go with General Greene and attack from the North,” he ordered, and United States quickly moved beside the other general, nodding as he did so before the order was spread and the army began to divide into two columns.

While United States was nervous, as any sane man would be, he was not as nervous as he thought he would be. His militia had been wearing the Hessians down for weeks; their defenses would be low, and his father would not be there—there was no way he could lose, and it filled him with giddy excitement.

“And once we win, we will liberate much of my state, and then we can move to liberate Yorkie’s,” New Jersey added, excitement in his voice.

When they reached the outskirts of Trenton, they engaged with pickets on the outside of town. Worry squirmed in United States’ gut, and he was worried that this might cause them to lose the element of surprise.

“You’ll be fine; just stop worrying about what might happen and focus on what is happening!” New York cheered, full of a youthful faith in his father. A small part of United States didn’t feel like he deserved it, but much of him was swelling with joy.

He had failed New York so terribly, but the state still believed in him.

Now, he had to prove that he deserved that faith.

Despite the fight at the picket lines, they really didn’t seem to lose the element of surprise, as United States and his army overwhelmed the Hessians, leading to a one-sided battle, something that seemed to excite both New York and New Jersey.

Soon, the Hessians began surrendering, and not just a few dozen, but hundreds. United States let out a shocked laugh as New Jersey crept closer. Knowing what his son was trying to do, United States relented, knowing that although New Jersey didn’t fight, he needed this victory.

He hadn’t heard excitement from them since the British landed in New York. It was all fear and terror.

This victory was for United States, yes, but also for his states.

While there was no official surrender yet, the crushing weight of the American army, his army, left United States certain that New Jersey would be okay.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” United States whispered before passing control of the body to New Jersey.

They had managed to win. They weren’t defeated yet. They could still do this. United States could be a country.

Even though he drifted in a space of awareness and unawareness, United States felt a hand slip into his own.

“My state next,” New York said, his voice a mix of mournful and happy. If we can, my state next.”

Eager to make more of his children happy, United States nodded. Even if it seemed impossible, he had to try.

For his states.

• ───────────────── •

January 3, 1777

New Jersey had not expected to fight a battle. While he knew that the British would counterattack after Trenton, he had just been in control of the body to celebrate, not to fight. But despite Uncle James’ pushing, he knew that he had to fight.

Father had fought for New Jersey and his people, and New Jersey was grateful for that, but now it was time for him to fight for them.

“Just don’t get hurt. We can’t risk losing morale right now,” Plymouth said, his voice worried.

Even with their victory at Trenton, the British general had come for them, but General Washington had snuck away from the general the night before and was now preparing to flank the British troops.

Unfortunately, when he had detached Hugh Mercer’s brigade to investigate the area, they ran into some British troops. Mercer had been wounded, his men routed in a bayonet charge, and the British were on the verge of splitting the army.

New Jersey had been worried—terrified that the Battle of Trenton had all been for nothing and he would be back under British occupation, somehow forced under Grandfather’s control, and used to hurt his family.

The fears were unreasonable, but they terrified him so.

But General George Washington had quickly attached new troops to plug that gap to prevent the British from splitting the army. However, the troops, like so many, were new and inexperienced and once again broken by British bayonets.

It wasn’t fair! They outnumbered the British, so how could they win?

“Better training,” New York grumbled angrily.

“United States! I am going to lead fresh troops to plug the gap. Are you going to stay here or come with me?” General Washington asked. New Jersey felt his brain stuttered as he processed the request.

“IS HE MAD?” Virginia exclaimed, and the other states, including New Jersey, began to echo her shock.

“But, sir, you could be injured or killed. We can’t lose you!” he protested.

“Someone has to rally them to fight and hold the line,” General Washington responded. New Jersey shook his head.

“I can do it. I am their country!” he exclaimed, almost forgetting to keep up the facade that he was his father.

“And I am their commander, and I need to show them that I will stand by them,” General Washington said. Stressed and scared as he was, New Jersey could not help but feel more confident with his general beside him, who was promising not to abandon them, abandon Father, abandon what they were trying to build.

“He’s a good man,” Uncle James said.

“And I will stand by you,” New Jersey said, his voice full of more conviction than he felt. General Washington seemed touched, but the expression faded as he began to rally more troops.

Later that day, when Faher returned to control of the body, New Jersey proudly regaled him with the tale of how he and General Washington had defeated the British.

• ───────────────── •

January 15, 1777

New Connecticut was caught in a bad situation. That was one of the first things explained to him when he was born only a few hours ago. On one side, the United States of America, a colony of the British Empire, fighting against his father to become a country.

He was the country, if he won his war, that is, that surrounded New Connecticut on three sides. On his northern border was the Colony of Quebec, the former French colony now loyal to the British Empire.

In short, he had been born in a warzone, and with his status as a new country, he might be mistaken as an ally of the United States.

In a way, he was, as many of his people were inspired by the United States and wanted to be allied with the new nation.

New Connecticut didn’t know what to think. He had finally found a moment to himself, fiddling with the clothes he had been given, thinking over the threads he could feel connecting him to the personifications that lay below his Northern and Southern border.

His parents, the United States of America, and the Province of Quebec. He was guessing it was them, at the very least. He wouldn’t know until the owners of those bonds came to him or until he came to them. But he knew whoever was on the side of the invisible tug was his parent.

Then there was a knock at the door, and New Connecticut opened it to see a young boy standing there, someone who looked to be about his physical age, fifteen.

“Good evening, sir. My name is Liam Walker, and I have been assigned by your government to be your assistant until you have adjusted to…life, I guess. It’s a pleasure to meet you!” the boy said, holding out his hand. New Connecticut took it.

“It is nice to meet you. And please, there is no need to call me sir. I am much younger than you, even if we look like we are of a similar age. It feels strange to make you call me that,” New Connecticut said. Liam looked nervous and surprised at that but nodded.

“Okay, si—New Connecticut. I will try to remember that. Although I do not have much experience in dealing with your kind,” he said. New Connecticut smiled.

“Neither do I. I was nothing more than an idea a few hours ago. We can learn together, and I will forgive you for your mistakes, as we are both learning. I am…I am glad I have someone to help me learn. How to be a person, that is. I am excited to know you,” New Connecticut said, excitement flooding him. He didn’t exist a few hours ago, but something within him felt excited to be a country, like he had been waiting for a long while.

He supposed, in a way, he was his people’s eagerness for the official creation of, well, him, their countryhuman.

New Connecticut was excited and nervous.

His people were afraid of failing him. New Connecticut was more afraid of failing them.

#countryhumans #statehumans #countryhumans america #historical countryhumans #the shot heard around the world by weird #statehumans new jersey #statehumans vermont

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