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Wrong Reflection Chapter 9

Opening Up Over Pets (Wattpad | Ao3)

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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.

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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 sighed, 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.

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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.

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Alba agus A Mac (Wattpad | Ao3)

Scotland and Orcadians, requested by NewJerseySHlol

Alba enjoyed spending time with Arcach, his eldest son, who had been a constant for much of Alba’s life. Arcach had been with him for a long time, and while their father-son bond remained strong, sometimes it felt as if they weren’t just that but also dear friends.

Even if he was also Nirribhidh’s son, but Nirribhidh hadn’t been involved in Arcach’s life in a long time.

It was also nice to have someone to speak Scots with. Much of the time, people would mock Alba for it, calling it a crude form of English, and that only made him cling harder to the language. Arcach preferred it to English, even though he still spoke Norn frequently at home, as it was his first language, and he always had an easier time expressing himself with it.

“I don’t know how you deal with all this modern stuff. I hate it,” Arcach said as they watched the cars go by. Alba laughed.

“At this rate, you’ll be an older man than I if you keep complaining the way you do,” Alba joked. Arcach rolled his eyes. 

“You know what I mean, Athair,” Arcach began, “This is the era of globalization, and that’s really good for you, but us little guys, the ones who are people and not governments, this weakens us. I like some of it, I really do, but…it’s hard not to feel nostalgic when the simple fact of the matter is that this could all be helping lead to my death. Scottish Highland Travellers and I have talked about that a lot.”

Alba couldn’t help but wince. If Arach and Ceàrdannan were talking, that couldn’t mean anything good.

“I’m not going to try to destroy your culture,” Alba said, “I don’t want you to die.”

“I’ve already lost Norn, and sometimes it feels as if I am losing Scots. I know you aren’t trying to kill me, but I fear I might die all the same,” Arcach said before shaking his head and standing up. “But I am over a thousand years old, in the end. I think I have lived a good life.”

Alba frowned, standing up and following his son down the side of the road.

“I’m sorry if I have done anything to make you think—”

“You haven’t. I have just had a lot of time to think recently. And…” Arcach trailed off, shrugging. Alba pulled an arm over his son’s shoulder, tail curling around his leg.

“Tha gaol agam ort,” he muttered. Arcach leaned into his side before sighing.

“I know. And I know I’m not going anywhere. I just can’t help but worry,” he said. “I think that’s why some of my people want me to have my own government or something.”

“I can’t make that happen. I…I only recently stopped being governmentless. And…you know how Britain is,” Alba began, prompting a laugh from Arcach.

“Yeah, the man who sends me daily letters asking me to move into his home so we look more like a unified family, like I’m related to him. No offense, Father,” Arcach said with an apologetic smile.

“None taken. I disowned him the minute he started beating his kids,” Alba deadpanned as the two came to a stop.

“Then why are you so insistent on trying to change him?” Arcach asked. Alba sighed.

“I want to show him…I want to give him a chance to be better and grow. He’s not leaving anytime soon, so he deserves to grow as a person, like we both have over the years,” he answered. 

“You have too much faith in people.”

“And you’re too distrusting. It’s why we balance each other out so well,” Alba said, releasing his son, who laughed.

“Maybe you’re right about that,” he said, “But I still think it is a bit futile to try and save Britain.”

“Well, we’ll have to see. In the meantime, I’ll stop him from sending letters to you.” Alba offered. Arcach nodded.

“That sounds great.”

[weirdestbooks]

British Michigan AU Oneshot

The Misguided Aunt (Wattpad | Ao3)

Michigan had heard about the new colony, about Sandwich Islands, the country that his Grandfather had taken under his wing. He had heard about her…relationships with America, how she thought that America was good, that he was family. 

That he can be trusted.

Michigan was eager to avoid her for that reason. He didn’t know what nonsense America had told her about him, but Michigan was pretty sure that Sandwich Islands would try to recorrupt him with America’s delusions.

Unfortunately, he was not so lucky.

“Michigan,” Grandfather asked a few hours after Sandwich Islands had arrived, “I want you to help me.”

“Yes?” Michigan asked, eager to do anything he could to help his grandfather.

“I need you to help me show Sandy that America is using her and that she shouldn’t trust him and should begin to distance herself from him,” Grandfather asked, placing a gentle hand on Michigan’s head.

“Are you sure I’m the best—” Michigan began before Grandfather’s hand suddenly tightened around his hair, pulling it sharply.

“You are the only colony of America that has been decorrupted. What better person than you to show her the delusions and backwardness of America?” Grandfather said. Michigan nodded.

“I understand. I apologize for questioning you,” he said. Grandfather smiled, and Michigan felt Grandfather’s grip on his hair loosen.

“Good boy. Now, I think it’s best you start now, before she takes to lashing out. Ireland has sworn to be troublesome, so the sooner you help her, the less likely she is to be corrupted by his madness,” Grandfather said before pushing Michigan forward some. Michigan stumbled before recatching his balance and rushing off to find Sandwich Islands.

She was easy to find despite having the same flag as so much of his family due to the air of confusion and unfamiliarity around her.

“Are you Aunt Sandy?” Michigan asked, just to verify her identity. The colony startled before nodding.

“I am,” she said, “Who are you?” 

“My name is Michigan,” Michigan began, watching her for any trace of recognition. Much to his disgust, she seemed to recognize his name, a sign that America was probably feeding her lies about him. 

“Oh! Lika’s so—”

“I’m not that bastard’s son! I am Canada’s son and Britain’s grandson, and I’ve always been British because I refer to acknowledge anything between myself and that…that monster,” Michigan snapped, anger flooding through him. He hated this. He hated to be associated with America. He couldn’t wait until the day America dropped this delusion and Michigan could finally live in peace.

Sandwich Islands’ eyes widened as she took a small step back, seemingly caught off guard by his anger.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her tone nervous. “I had been told you were Amelika’s son.”

“I’m not. That…America took me away from my family; he hurt me and tainted me. I was lucky enough to be saved, but…other territories have to suffer under him. I…I hate him,” Michigan said, trying to ignore the pain that came with those memories, the months of learning who he really was and where he belonged. 

“That…that doesn’t sound like Lika. Any time he brought you up…you could hear how much he misses you,” Sandwich Islands said. Michigan scowled.

“It was probably all just a trick to fool you. He’s probably trying to steal you from Grandfather because he’s upset that I wanted to be with my real family. You’re just being used by him to hurt Grandfather,” Michigan reasoned. It made perfect sense. Why else would America care about any of his half-siblings if not to corrupt them and turn them against Grandfather?

“I am not! Lika loves me, and he cares about me as a person. He’s not using me to try and get back at Beretania,” Sandwich Islands said, crossing her arms with a small huff. Michigan suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. How could she be so stupid to believe America about anything?

There must be something about the savage mind that would explain it, as Michigan could see no other reason that someone could believe something so delusional. Well, he could think of one other reason, but Sandwich Islands was a favorite of his Grandfather, and Michigan was not going to risk the punishment that would probably follow, pointing out how she was mad.

He knew Grandfather would just see it as Michigan looking for an excuse for his failure. Even if she were mad, Michigan would still be expected to convince her of the truth.

“How can you know that? How can you dismiss the pain I suffered just so you can feel like you’re in the right? How can you do any of that and claim you aren’t being manipulated?” Michigan asked, his voice a mix of anger and confusion, slowly getting louder.

He needed to show her she was wrong, and that meant pointing out the flaws in her argument until she had nothing left to argue with. Then, she would have to agree with him and realize that he was right.

“I don’t know what kind of pain you are claiming to feel, but it’s obvious that Lika loved and adored you,” Sandwich Islands said, sounding annoyed, like she was the one arguing with someone who was defending a nonsense claim.

“He only cared about using me to make himself look better! I never meant anything to him! Don’t act like you know my personal relationships! He killed my brother!” Michigan snapped before turning away. He knew he had a job to do, but he needed to calm down before he let his anger get out of hand.

At least he gave Sandwich Islands something to think about. Hopefully, with time, she would realize her mistakes. If Grandfather hadn’t promised to give her independence, then he would have had the time necessary to teach her the error of that way of thinking, as he did with Michigan. 

She would be better off with them forever anyway, safe, away from America, and safe from anything else that would harm her. 

America was hurting her, and Grandfather wanted to help her.

Why couldn’t she see that?

[weirdestbooks]

Secrecy and Deception Chapter 20

Overthrow and Split (Wattpad | Ao3)

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Event: Guatemalan coup d'état

Location: Guatemala City, Guatemala

Date: June 27, 1954

Guatemala refused to show her fear. She refused to show Armas an ounce of fear and refused to give him any credibility. Despite the parts of her that had been affected by the propaganda meant to discredit President Árbenz, that called him a communist for wanting to help her people and country, Guatemala refused to be shaken.

Armas’s invasion wasn’t particularly strong, and Guatemala had remained hopeful that the revolt could be defeated. 

She should have known she wouldn’t be that lucky. Even though the invasion had done poorly militarily, and Guatemala and her army had defeated most of its defenses, the propaganda had been effective on Guatemala’s army. 

That, combined with fears of a US invasion, because, of course, fucking United States was involved in this shit, she could have expected him from the start when the fuss about communism started being raised, but that fear has caused her army to refuse to fight.

Guatemala tried; she tried to convince her army to fight, to convince her people to fight because they could stop this. If they really tried, they could prevent this.

It didn’t work, and Guatemala felt a looming sense of dread.

“President Árbenz, please, you cannot resign. If Armas is able to take power, I fear what will happen to my people and my country,” Guatemala begged when she heard what President Árbenz planned to do, that he was going to resign due to the invasion. 

“I am sorry, Guatemala, but with the military and people refusing to fight and the fears of a US invasion, I can’t do anything,” President Árbenz said. Guatemala felt like she was going to cry but did her best to push it down. She had to appear strong. That might help motivate people to fight against Armas. 

“There must be something you can do other than just hand Armas power! Just because United States supports him doesn’t mean that no one will support us! There has to be someone that would help, someone who would fight with us if United States invaded,” Guatemala said, pacing and tugging at her hair, feeling as if she were drowning, being pulled under in deep water.

“Guatemala, you know…I am sorry I could not do more for you,” President Árbenz said. Guatemala swallowed down her tears.

“You are an amazing president. I am lucky to have had you. Thank you…for everything you have done. Even the stuff that drew United States anger. It’s not…it’s not truly your fault. That man will do everything he can to cling to power, and he will attack anything he sees as a threat to that power. You have done nothing to make him that way. I don’t want you blaming yourself,” Guatemala said, trying to offer her president some comfort before they departed, knowing the likelihood of Armas letting her speak to him ever again was slim.

“Thank you, Guatemala. What will you do now?” President Árbenz asked. Guatemala sighed.

“I’m not sure. I want to speak to Armas, perhaps, but I also do not want to give him hope that I support him. I think…I think I will return to my home and prepare myself for whatever Armas brings. Perhaps see if I can talk to United States as well,” Guatemala said, before smiling. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve survived worse. I can survive this.”

“I have faith that you can, sir,” President Árbenz said. Guatemala didn’t flinch at the honorific, having spent her whole life being gendered wrong, and simply nodded.

“Thank you, President Árbenz. I…I am going to take my leave now. I don’t want to be here for this,” she said before turning to leave at President Árbenz’s nod.

She felt so helpless. Why did nothing she do work? Why did this have to happen? Why did United States have to be so damn power-hungry?

She didn’t know.

Guatemala wished she did.

• ───────────────── •

Event: Vietnam is split at the 17th parallel. 

Location: Geneva, Switzerland

Date: July 21, 1954

State of Vietnam was upset. Despite all his efforts to avoid a partition of Vietnam, it still happened. His country, split at the seventeenth parallel.

At least it wasn't meant to be a permanent solution. The only thing that could have been worse than what he got would have been that. Still, he had refused to sign the agreement. Only France and the other Vietnam had done that, leaving Vietnam and America to refuse.

At least someone was on his side. 

This plan didn’t seem like one that would last either, not with the concerns over the proposed elections in 1956, not with the detail of their being two Vietnams. 

Vietnam was sure this was going to end badly. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent that partition,” America said, walking to stand beside Vietnam as he lit a cigarette. Vietnam’s language left his mouth with surprising fluency. It was odd. Sometimes, America was fluent, and other times, he couldn’t understand a word Vietnam was saying. It was strange, but so was the man himself.

“You tried,” Vietnam answered, trying to appear composed like he wasn’t as worried as he was.

“Those elections aren’t happening. Are you ready for what’s most likely to come?” America asked.

“A repeat of the Korean War?” 

“What else?” America said before taking a long drag of his cigarette.

“If they didn’t partition my country, that wouldn’t happen!” Vietnam exclaimed, angry, “We could have prevented that, secured my independence, and ended conflict!”

“The communists would probably still fight you, even if there was no partition. It would…conflict would not die,” America said, face troubled. “Although you think we would have learned our lesson after the Second World War.”

“Sometimes violence is necessary for freedom. You should know that, after all, you fought for it as well!” Vietnam said. America was an important ally, but sometimes, he made Vietnam feel more like his subordinate than an equal country.

“I’m your ally in this. Why are you mad at me?” America asked, a sharp, dangerous look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Vietnam said, looking away. “I am just stressed right now.”

America silently passed him the cigarette, and Vietnam took a drag of it before looking up at the sky.

He hoped he didn’t end up embroiled in a war with the other Vietnam.

But frankly, he didn’t see very many other outcomes.

[weirdestbooks]

The Place of Origin (Wattpad | Ao3)

Requested by an Anon on my oneshot request form

“It’s hard to believe you were born here,” North Carolina said as she and her grandfather-turned-adopted-father sat at the site of what was once the Roanoke Colony, the colony that had been her father’s original life. Father laughed.

“It’s hard for me to believe, too, considering I barely remember the damn place,” he joked, a sadness in his eyes.

“Do you wish you remembered more?” North Carolina asked.

“A lot. I…it’s the only part of my childhood I wasn’t with Britain or England. I know…I know there’s a lot I could have learned from it. It’s why I wrote down all of my experiences there when my memory began fading,” Father said. North Carolina leaned their head against their father as he wrapped an arm around them.

“And then it was destroyed during the War of 1812,” North Carolina said, filling in the gaps. She knew this story well.

“Yeah. I wish…well, there’s nothing I can do about it now. I remember the colony, even if I don’t really remember what happened between then and Jamestown,” Father said.

“Does that bother you?” 

“Not really. I have a lot of memory gaps from being a system, so I’m used to it. Plus, James remembers a little,” Father said. North Carolina pulled away, brows furrowing in confusion.

“James was alive then?” he asked, shock in his voice. Father shrugged.

“I’m not too sure, and neither is he, but he remembers from what I’ve said to others before, conversations I don’t remember as well,” Father said, “It’s mainly secondhand, but it’s the closest thing we have.”

“Secondhand is always better than nothing,” North Carolina said, thinking back to the stories she had been told about her birth father, the Province of Carolina, by her siblings. She never got to know him, but the stories were nice. “It’s weird being home to your birthplace when everyone always says you were born in Mass or Gin’s land.”

“That’s because everyone thought I had died, and I didn’t want to correct them. I felt…I thought I would be abandoned again,” Father said. North Carolina frowned. It was so easy to see their father as a strong and steadfast figure. It was easy to forget that he had fears, too. A fear they had once contributed to. 

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“You don’t need to be sorry. It’s behind us,” Father said, “I am glad that I was born in a land as beautiful as yours.”

“You’re just saying that,” North Carolina protested.

“I might not remember much of my childhood, but I remember that. Don’t sell yourself short,” Father said. North Carolina smiled.

“Thanks, Dad.”

[weirdestbooks]

The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 25

American Crisis (Wattpad | Ao3)

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October, 28, 1776

There had been daily skirmishes with his father’s army as they made their retreat out of southern Manhattan, barely ahead of the British troops. United States hadn’t been involved in any of them. 

He couldn’t tell if that was lucky or not.

“They don’t want you fighting Grandfather and risking your capture. That would crush the war effort,” Virginia pointed out. United States hummed in agreement. While he knew Virginia was right, a small, selfish part of him wanted to be involved in the fighting. 

The more realistic part of him knew he couldn’t, not because he was afraid of capture, but because he was terrified of his father.

Sometimes, he wanted to sink into the back of his mind and let the states and James handle the rest of the war so he wouldn’t have to even risk fighting his father. 

He knew he couldn’t do that. Not to his children, not so soon after independence. If he was going to be a real country, he couldn’t hide from his problems—no matter how badly he wanted to.

So he did his best to be as present as possible.

Right now, they were in White Plains, their base of supplies, which they had fortified with breastworks as his skirmishers tried their best to stop the British advance, to buy them more time.

“It won’t be enough. He’s determined,” James said, and United States could feel him lean in closer, ready to take control.

“Only if we see him,” United States murmured, voice low.

“Okay,” James responded, moving away. It was strange, willingly giving up his body, learning to work with the many people that he shared a body with…but it was also nice. United States knew he wouldn’t be able to do half the things he did without their help. 

He only wished he knew why he was like this. He couldn’t shake the idea that he might be mad, that this might be a sign that he was unfit to be a country, that it wasn't a side effect of being a country at all. He…he felt like he didn’t know who he was.

It hurt sometimes.

United States was pulled out of his musing by a whispered warning from New York, and his body strengthened as he realized how close the enemy had gotten, how the skirmishers were falling back to Chatterton Hill. 

“Are you sure you want to do this yourself?” James asked, sounding nervous. United States nodded. He had to. He had to try. At the very least, his father was not here, as far as he could tell, so United States would have an easier time fighting.

The battle seemed to go well at first, with them holding out against the British assault. But if there was one thing his father had that he didn’t, it was men. They were outnumbered, and if things continued like this, they would be overwhelmed.

“It doesn’t help that they’re better trained, an actual army, not the hodgepodge we have,” New York said with a scowl. His presence had been as constant as James, most likely due to the fact that the war was being waged in his land.

New York was right. His father had the advantage in every way. United States lowered his gun, fear suddenly crashing into him.  What was the point of fighting him when he always won?

His hands suddenly lifted, firing the gun with the rest of the American volley, a sign that James had now decided to step in. 

“Do you need me to step in?” James asked. United States’ breath hitched. His father wasn’t even here. Why couldn’t he do this? Why couldn't he fight? Why was he so useless?

United States felt like sobbing. He…he felt like a child again, huddled against the floor as he took the punishment he deserved for being a selfish, sinful, horrible little child, and…and…

“Jonathan, I’m stepping in,” James said, and United States felt himself be pushed out of control of his body, before everything grew fuzzy and faded. He wasn’t in the world inside his head, but he wasn’t watching James either.

United States was okay with that, so he closed his eyes, letting the remaining sensations fade away.

When he opened them again, he was looking at a fire. He was in control of the body. 

United States blinked.

“We lost,” New Jersey said. “We had a fighting retreat, but we lost. We’re retreating to my state. Yorkie’s…he’s really upset.”

“I’m sorry,” United States whispered, voice breaking.

There was silence, broken only by the crackle of the flames.

“Don’t be. You being there wouldn’t have changed anything,” New Jersey said, “We made the foolish choice to fight Grandfather. We can only hope now that he will show us mercy.”

The fire popped. 

New Jersey then retreated from the edges of their mind, and United States felt painfully alone.

He picked up a stick and poked at the fire, wondering if it would be better to surrender now.

They were going to lose anyway, it seemed, so what was the point in fighting?

No one answered.

• ───────────────── •

November 16, 1776

Britain was annoyed. When General Howe made the decision to stop pursuing Thirteen Colonies, and the traitor Washington, Britain had argued with it, the same as he argued against besieging the rebel forces at Brooklyn. He didn’t think they should stop now, not when capturing Thirteen Colonies would break the rebel spirit.

But General Howe decided they would be attacking an American fort.

At least they were still getting something done. And at least General Howe had sound reasoning for going after the fort. One of the rebels had seen sense and handed over the plans to the fort. It wasn’t going to be a useless siege if things went well, that is. 

At the very least, it would eliminate the rebels in Manhatten.

They had made their plan several weeks prior, with three primary attacks on the fort, all from different directions, and a fourth feint attack. Scotland had volunteered to be a part of a feint, figuring that splitting up him and Britain would prevent any focus on one particular attack that contained the two and add more credibility to the feint.  

Britain was just glad Scotland volunteered before anyone tried to make him do it.

Instead, Britain had spent the days leading up to the battle composing a letter to his son, a letter that he delivered under the flag of truce the day before, as Lt. Colonel Patterson was sent with a message telling the rebels to surrender, or their garrison would be destroyed. 

The rebel leader had responded that he would “defend this post to the very last extremity.”

It was his mistake. 

The attack had begun before the sun had risen, with artillery from the army and navy bombarding the fort. Unfortunately, delays in crossing the Harlem River meant that the infantry advance didn’t start until around noon.

Britain was furious, gritted teeth and glaring eyes, wishing that this could just be over, that his son would stop being a selfish little worm and stop causing so much death and frustration for his father. 

The battle continued for hours as the rebels fell back to a second line, and a note to request surrender was sent. 

However, it wasn’t until 3:00 p.m. that the rebels surrendered after the leader tried in vain to get better terms. What a fool, thinking that they would negotiate with the rebels more than they had to.

Britain was happy to watch the surrender, knowing that they had driven the rebels from New York. If Thirteen Colonies had any common sense, when he received Britain’s letter, he would surrender as soon as possible. 

Still, now they had a fort, they had valuable supplies that they could now keep out of rebel hands, and most importantly, Britain could burn their stupid rebel flag.

“He kept your Union Jack,” Scotland remarked as they watched the flag burn.

“There’s still something there to save them,” Britain remarked, glaring at the fire.

“It’s not going to burn any quicker with you glaring at it like that,” Scotland commented, sounding amused at his joke. Britain scowled.

“If he’s going to play at being a country, he could at least stop holding onto my flag. That fact that he is only makes me think that he is…less committed than the rebels want to believe,” Britain said.

“You think he is only fighting you because he feels he has to?” Scotland asked, a hint of surprise in his tone.

“I want to think that. I won’t know for sure until I get to speak to him in person or get a response from that letter I sent him,” Britain commented, crossing his arms as the flag turned to ash. “Until then, I will treat him like a willing rebel. Just in case.”

Silence fell over the two Europeans as the rest of the flag burned.

• ───────────────── •

November 20, 1776

The rebels had abandoned the fort by the time they got there. It pissed Britain off. He wanted to capture another fort in a way that would crush their already low morale. If he couldn’t capture Thirteen Colonies, taking more and more supplies and forts from them was the best way to keep them from having the morale needed to win.

Britain was confident one more devastating defeat for them might be enough to convince the rebels to surrender.

“Seems they knew they couldn’t win and wanted to preserve their men,” Scotland commented before setting a hand on Britain’s shoulder. “Do you want to look and see if they left anything of use? Like correspondence?”

Britain sighed.

“I know you’re just trying to distract me from the complete lack of a battle we had for this fort,” Britain deadpanned. Scotland raised an eyebrow.

“Is it working?”

Britain didn’t dignify the man with an answer; instead, he entered the fort to search for anything of use. Scotland laughed before following him in.

There was silence as they searched, as neither country wanted to break the silence with the worries that troubled them, their inner musings.

“Are you going to make the other colonies fight Thirteen?” Scotland asked. Britain scoffed.

“Quebec already has.”

“Because he was attacked and was defending himself,” Scotland pointed out, “I received a letter from my daughter recently.”

“Which one?” Britain asked, even though he knew it was a bad question. Scotland had two daughters, the Isle of Man and Nova Scotia, and he would only be asking that question about one of them.

“Which do you think?” Scotland asked, sounding annoyed.

“Only if I know they can be trusted. I know that Nova Scotia…cares about Thirteen. If she can’t be trusted to put aside her emotions, then I will not make her fight and insist that she spend the duration of the war with that other child of yours,” Britain said.

“Arcach or Ceàrdannan?” Scotland asked. Britain scoffed.

“You know which one I mean,” Britain asked. Scotland’s mouth twitched into a grin, sharp fangs glinting.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” he said before picking up a letter off the floor and laughing at the name on it. “Seems Thirteen got your letter, by the way.”

“What?” Britain asked, snatching it out of Scotland’s hand. It was indeed a letter from Thirteen Colonies, as Britain would recognize his son’s handwriting anywhere. But something seemed off about it as if it was written by someone pretending to be Thirteen Colonies. It wasn’t a lot, but the fact that the letter was addressed to “United Kingdom of Great Britain” was a hint it was a forgery, as well as the way the i’s were written.

It wasn’t like how Thirteen Colonies did it.

But Britain supposed that war and being in a rush could have affected things, so he was quick to open it anyway to verify whether it was indeed from his son. 

It began with Father, a good sign as any, though Thirteen Colonies seemed to have neglected the date. Once this rebellion ended, Britain would have to go over letter writing with Thirteen Colonies and fix things.

The rest of the letter was proof enough that it was a forgery. Britain wished England were here, as he would be able to get rid of the letter quick enough. Instead, Britain ripped it to pieces before dropping it on the floor.

“What was that for?” Scotland asked. Britain scowled.

“It wasn’t from him.”

“Are you su—”

“It wasn’t from him! Just an imposter playing at being my son!” Britain snapped, cutting Scotland off. He knew his son. Even if Thirteen Colonies was playing at being a country, he wouldn’t say those things.

That wasn’t from Thirteen Colonies. It seemed that Britain would have to drag his son home himself. 

• ───────────────── •

December 23, 1776

“These are the times that try men’s souls.”

Those were the first words of the pamphlet The American Crisis, which had been published a few days earlier by an author using the pseudonym “Common Sense,” perhaps the author of the pamphlet bearing the same name. It was read aloud to United States and its troops in an effort to regain the morale that had been slowly beaten out of them through the fall and to raise morale for the coming battle that General Washington had planned.

It had certainly given United States a lot to think about. 

James had loved it, sitting with rapt silence as he listened to it being read along, whispered words of agreement only falling on United States’ ears. United States had tried his best to be a good country, nodding and smiling at all the right parts, even the parts he didn’t agree with.

Like how the author had decreed that the British were trying to assume powers only God should have, that part didn’t sit right with United States.

His father…his father was an Angel. He was Holy. Surely, that meant he had some leeway in assuming powers only God should have. If his father, so Holy in his actions, needed that power, then surely he would be allowed it, as God would not want his Angels to be deprived of the power necessary to remove sin.

“You’re making excuses. If your father is Holy, then you are as well. You are both countrypeople. You are both Angels in that sense. You cannot allow him to seize the kind of power he is just because you don’t see yourself as worthy of glory,” James pointed out, voice gentle. United States sighed.

“But he—”

“You’re both countries, remember? Besides, I think this Common Sense fellow is right, that God will be on our side because we tried to avoid war,” James added.

“Most of us tried to avoid war. Mass certainly wasn’t,” Georgia joked.

“Well, he’s always been quick to anger and action. That’s why he has the rest of you to keep his impulses grounded,” James said.

“He had reason to be upset, though. He was being targeted the most,” New Hampshire added. New Jersey snorted in amusement.

“Yeah, because he was the one pissing off Grandfather,” he added.

“And now we’re all dealing with those repercussions,” South Carolina said, his tone less joking. “Do you think the author's right? That we don’t lack a proper force and just a proper application, and that we need training, real training, in order for a win to become absolute.”

“Absolutely. Britain has a better army, and we don’t. We can’t even fill the supply gap, not really, so our focus should be on having a well-trained army. That’s why the author’s point about the panic helping us makes sense because we can beat a well-trained army if they’re confused, but if we’re confused, we also get a disadvantage because we already don’t know what we are doing,” James said. Despite his reservations about everything, United States agreed. He needed a better army. He just wasn’t sure if that was possible.

Normally, he would be skeptical of an anonymous author with such a positive view of the war, wondering why they felt so qualified to talk about it. However, the author had written about being at Fort Lee before it was captured, meaning it was someone involved in the war effort, someone who knew the struggle.

“What do you think about that other section?” James asked, the question clearly being directed at United States. Not wanting to answer it, United States crossed his arms and refused to speak.

“Grandfather never enslaved us. That’s not how colonies work,” Georgia said.

“It’s a bad analogy. He…he still loves us,” New Jersey added. 

“If he loves you, then why does he hurt you so much?” James said, his voice gentle despite the blasphemous things he was saying.

“James, shut up!” United States snapped. A silence fell, and United States had never been more glad to have a private tent. He…he…

“He loves us,” New Hampshire said, voice determined, if a bit teary, and United States so badly wanted to comfort her.

“Okay…I’m sorry. I just…I don’t want to see any of you hurt,” James said. 

“We deserve it…but it happens. So it’s not…it’s not like he’s really hurting us,” South Carolina said. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you all into this,” United States said.

“You didn’t drag us into anything. We helped to cause this war, and we’re willing to fight it,” New Jersey said.

“Yeah, Father, don’t blame yourself,” Georgia added. The words did little to soothe the anxiety that still filled his body.

United States could only hope now that the Attack on Trenton would go better than the rest of the war.

[weirdestbooks]

The Ghosts That Haunt You (Wattpad | Ao3)

Inspired by this lovely bit of art by @collar-cat. They also made a banger animatic for this oneshot!!

And @lost-islands just made this wonderful animatic for it so please go check it out!

TW for suicidal thoughts.

Plymouth’s new identity had been haunting him for years. Even now, as the sixth state to join his father’s country, the name of his dead brother haunted him.

Massachusetts, they called him, the politicians whose hands he shook as they offered to buy him a drink and invited him to their homes, their faces alight with joy at the “birth” of their state.

It made Plymouth feel sick. His throat seized up, and he did his best to smile and nod as he choked back tears.

I’m not Massachusetts! He wanted to scream. Stop saying I’m him! 

He couldn’t. He couldn’t, not without making people think his father was mad, that he was mad.

So he bit back sobs and ignored the tears that crept into his vision as the politicians of Massachusetts Bay celebrated the existence of his murderer.

He was grateful when the day ended, when he could excuse himself from the celebration of his body.

Of the life he stole from Massachusetts Bay.

“I need to get home,” he had said. “My father wants to do something with the whole family.”

It wasn’t a lie. It still felt like one.

So now here Plymouth was, curled up on the sofa and wishing so desperately that Virginia was here, that she had ratified the Consitution before him, so he didn’t have to face this without her.

She had been there since his birth. Plymouth wished she could be with him now.

He felt empty. Even though he had a body now, a chance to live life as himself, he felt as if he had been drained of all life and all will to live. In Father’s head, he could at least pretend that Plymouth was still real, that Massachusetts Bay wasn’t—wasn’t dead, but just somewhere else.

There was no pretending here. There was no Plymouth here—only the life of his dead brother he was expected to take.

Plymouth wished he was dead.

Although…he did have a body of his own now. Would it be better if he just took care of things now so…so Massachusetts Bay’s people would have a better personification, a personification that wasn’t a murderer? Maybe if he were lucky, it would be Massachusetts Bay’s replacement.

Maybe he was standing in the way of things.

Plymouth walked into the kitchen, not feeling in control of his body. The only person in there was Connecticut, sitting on the table. The state grinned, mouth curling into a familiar smile.

“Hello, Massy,” he said. Plymouth couldn’t stop himself from flinching at the nickname. Connecticut frowned. “Sorry, Plym. I guess this day would be rough on you.”

Plymouth didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure if he could without sobbing.

“Are you okay? I know the bodies can be overwhelming,” Connecticut said. Plymouth couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was going to faint. Everything was too much.

His hands were shaking.

He needed Virginia. He needed his mother, the only person who would understand. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe.

“LITTLE BROTHER!” 

Plymouth gasped, black spots at the end of his vision as Connecticut’s voice snapped him out of whatever fit he had fallen into.

Dimly, he realized he had fallen to the floor.

“Little…little brother?” Plymouth asked, confused. He was sixteen years older than Connecticut. What was he talking about? The confusion eased the pressure on his chest, eased the weight that was crushing his mind.

Connecticut smiled, worry in his eyes.

“Well, since we’re supposedly as old as our statehood dates now, that makes me older than you in the eyes of our people,” he argued. Plymouth scoffed.

“It’s not even thirty days!” He protested, clinging desperately to the topic, eager to get his mind off of his crimes, his sins, the blood that he drowned in daily.

“Still enough to make me older,” Connecticut sing-songed. “Want to get Father?”

“He’ll say I’m older,” Plymouth said, hoping he could distract Connecticut and keep the conversation about fit to a minimum so he could forget how much his family cared for a murderer. It would make it easier for Plymouth to do what needed to be done.

“Plym…” Connecticut chided, the concern not leaving his eyes.

“I’m fine!” he snapped.

“Is this about Mass—”

“So what if it is!” Plymouth snapped, cutting off Connecticut before he could finish, rising to his feet. He couldn’t stand to hear his name anymore because it hurt, because it sank into his soul and ripped it apart, and it hurt, it hurt so badly because no one wanted to use that name to refer to its rightful owner.

“If it helps, I know how you fe—”

“How can you? How can you possibly know how I feel? I murdered our brother and sister and then took our brother’s place, and now I’m being celebrated for it! How the fuck could you know how that feels?” Plymouth snapped, tone venomous.

“You aren’t the only one whose land is made up of the dead. Rhode is lucky. Newport, Warwick, and Portsmouth are still alive. But…Saybrook, New Haven, they’re gone. Because of me. I never took anyone’s place like you did, Plymouth, but don’t you fucking dare say I don’t know what it’s like,” Connecticut snapped, tone equally venomous, before it faded into something sadder.

In an instant, all of his anger faded from his body, and Plymouth sank back to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. The urge to get it all over with grew stronger. He couldn’t stay here anymore, ruining things for everyone else.

“I know you are. I know it hurts,” Connecticut said, sounding like he was holding back tears. “And I can’t imagine how you feel, knowing that everyone thinks you are the one and only personification of Massachusetts Bay.”

“I don’t…I can’t be the state that they want me to be, Connecticut,” Plymouth whispered as his younger brother pulled him into a hug. “I can’t.”

“Be the state that you want to be, then,” Connecticut whispered. Plymouth just clung to his brother, not answering.

He wasn’t sure what else he could say.

“New Jersey and I have been planning something,” Connecticut then said, pulling away from the hug, keeping one hand on Plymouth’s shoulder. Plymouth swallowed down his tears. 

“What?” Plymouth asked. He meant to be politer, to say more, but the words failed him. Connecticut didn’t seem to mind.

“We were planning on making a mausoleum in the Land In-Between, wherever Father builds his new home. For New Haven, Saybrook, West Jersey…and for Maine and Massachusetts Bay, if you would like to join us? We still need to wait for Virginia so she can memorialize the ones she got to know, but…do you want to help us?”

“Yes,” Plymouth whispered, desperate. He would stay until the mausoleum was complete to ensure that Maine and Massachusetts Bay were memorialized properly so he would have a place to beg for atonement for his sins before he finished things.

It wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough.

But Plymouth had been living in Hell on Earth since they passed. He was prepared to be sent to actual Hell.

He would be better off there anyway.

[weirdestbooks]

The Funky Gender of the Northern Carolina (Wattpad | Ao3)

Request by an Anon on my oneshot request form.

North Carolina has always known she wasn’t a girl. She didn’t know what she was, but it definitely wasn’t female. 

His gender was confusing to him. He didn’t mind using she/her pronouns, but being called a girl never sat right with him. He liked all pronouns; he didn’t mind that, but assigning a specific gender to himself never felt right.

They never told anyone. Even when Australia and South Carolina came out as transgender, North Carolina never told anyone. They never got the courage, too, because if they were going to tell everyone they weren’t a girl, then they should know who they are.

So she waited, and she waited, and she waited.

California came out as non-binary, but that label didn’t fit North Carolina, so she still stayed silent. When Lousiana came out as genderfluid, North Carolina thought that she had finally figured out the gender that fit her. But that didn’t either. Her gender never changed. It was never anything that she could easily label.

So North Carolina waited some more.

He should have realized he wouldn't have been able to hide it from his twin forever.

“Are you trans?” South Carolina sprung on him one day, causing North Carolina to let out a startled laugh.

“What? What makes you think that?” North Carolina asked, unable to stop anxiety from pitching their voice upwards.

“You act really uncomfortable with being called a girl like I was with being called a man. I…it’s fine if you aren’t, but I noticed that and wanted you to know that you can tell me anything,” South Carolina said. North Carolina laughed somewhat nervously and nodded.

“Thanks, little sister, that means a lot,” they said.

“Hey! Just cause I’m South Carolina doesn’t mean I’m younger. Mama and Uncle James said we’re the same age and that we were born at the same time when Carolina split!” South Carolina protested, crossing her arms, worry still in her eyes. North Carolina cracked a small grin, hoping that his sister had been distracted enough as not to question her anymore.

He wasn’t so lucky.

“Seriously, though, is something bothering you?” South Carolina asked.

“No, I’m fine,” North Carolina answered a bit too quickly, based on the raised eyebrow their sister directed their way.

“Are you? I won’t tell anyone if you just need someone to talk to about it. I can keep a secret, and Oz will back me on that,” South Carolina said. North Carolina said.

“You aren’t going to leave me alone about this, are you?” they asked.

“I can leave you alone! But…I just want you to know I’m aware something’s up, and I’m willing to talk if you need it,” South Carolina said before turning to walk away.

“What if I wasn’t a girl? But not a guy or like Cali or Ana? Just…not female, but unsure of what I was. Hypothetically,” North Carolina asked. South Carolina paused before sitting down beside her twin.

“Well, I’d say that’s pretty cool. Ask you what you want to be called, and tell you that the word for that is genderqueer,” South Carolina said. North Carolina’s head snapped over to look at his sister.

“There’s a word for that?” he exclaimed before blushing and looking away, realizing he had given up any semblance of a ruse.

“Yeah, there is like queer, but specifically for people who don’t know what gender they really are. You don’t have to have a word for it to know you aren’t a girl. I’ve known I wasn���t a man for years, but I never had words like transgender when I was younger. That never meant I knew it any less,” South Carolina said.

“I didn’t think…I didn’t want people to think I was just confused because I didn’t have a word for it. I felt…felt I would need something to validate it before it would be believed,” North Carolina explained.

“I do believe you. Do you…do you have a preference for pronouns? Should I not use she/her?” South Carolina asked. NorthCarolina sighed.

“No, she is fine. I’m okay with them all. I just hate being called a woman or girl or sister or anything like that,” they explained. South Carolina nodded.

“Understood, Northie. Want to tell the others?” she asked.

“No, not yet. I think…I just…don’t feel comfortable enough with it yet,” North Carolina said. South Carolina nodded, understanding in her eyes. 

“I get that. Thank you for telling me. I’m glad I could help you find a word for yourself. Or at least, one that fits better than most,” she said. North Carolina smiled.

“Thank you for that.”

“Anything for my favorite sibling.” 

Sibling. That felt nice.

[weirdestbooks]

CountryGems AU Oneshot

Coral and Pearl (Wattpad | Ao3)

Gems in Oneshot:

Black Coral: Hawaiʻi Star Sapphire: America Philippine Pearl: Philippines (duh) Blue Diamond: Britain Quartz #1/LP: Lower Peninsula Quartz #2/EJ: East Jersey Chlorastrolite: Upper Peninsula Amethyst: Michigan (Fusion of Lower and Upper Peninsula) Garnet: West Jersey Franklinite: New Jersey (Fusion of West and East Jersey) Peridot: Kalahui Rainbow Quartz: Aloha

Black Coral felt like an idiot. She should have seen this coming, seen the signs. Why would a Sapphire take an interest in her if not to acquire her for his collection?

She knew she was rare, a mistake, a seriously defective gem that was meant to be a quartz until something had gone horribly wrong, but her defective nature and strange gem were exotic and fun enough that she wasn’t shattered for it. She knew she was on the same level as a Pearl, but she wasn’t a made-to-order servant and was allowed to be her own gem.

As much as one could be in this society.

But it did explain the appearance of Philippine Pearl, why he was here to. 

Blue Diamond’s favorite Sapphire had acquired them both, new gems to his collection. Black Coral really should have seen this specifically coming. Star Sapphire was known for his habit of collecting gems that were odd or rare and hadn’t bought a pearl yet.

This was an excellent opportunity for him.

Black Coral hated it.

She would have run by now if it hadn’t been for the fact that she was on Homeworld and had nowhere to escape to. She couldn’t leave Philippine Pearl behind either; he was one of her few true friends, and Black Coral would rather be shattered than purposely leave him behind.

“So, did Star send you to ensure we can’t escape?” Black Coral asked, ignoring Philippine Pearl’s wide-eyed gaze of shock at her lack of title and calling Star Sapphire by a name only used by the gems that outranked him. The two quartzes exchanged looks before one smiled.

“Don’t worry, Black Coral, Star’s not like that,” the one Quartz said.

“He’s better than most other gems that are this high up. For obvious reas—ow!” the second quartz cut himself off as the first reached over Black Coral and Philippine Pearl to smack him on the head.

“EJ, we can’t talk about that,” the first quartz said. The second quartz—EJ—rolled his eyes.

“Everyone here is loyal to Star and knows already,” EJ said.

“Yes, but it is up to Star to tell them, not us. How would you feel if someone went behind your back talking about your relationship with Garnet?” the first quartz asked. EJ crossed his arms.

“I get your point, LP. You can stop guilting me. The point I wanted to make is that Star isn’t like the other gems or other sapphires. The only bad thing about living with him is that Blue Diamond comes in now and again and starts ranting about his current problem before demanding that Star see a future where it is fixed,” EJ explained, causing Black Coral and Philippine Pearl to exchange looks. 

Blue Diamond was the easiest to anger of the diamonds and very quick to shatter anyone who made him mad. Black Coral didn’t want to have to spend more time around the Diamonds. She struggled enough with the honorifics and formalities of Homeworld, and if a Diamond saw her insult Star Sapphire, she would be in a world of trouble.

Black Coral was silent for the rest of the trip, taking comfort in Philippine Pearl when he put his hand in her and squeezed it, something that EJ and LP didn’t comment on. Black Coral could be grateful for that, at least.

When they arrived in Star Sapphire’s room, the gem was pacing around, talking rapid fire to a small green gem who was sitting beside him, a Chlorastrolite if Black Coral was right. Another rare gem, usually only working for Diamonds. Then again, Star Sapphire liked collecting rare gems.

Chlorastrolite noticed them first, and the grin that split her face was infectious.

“LP!” she called, rushing over to the quartz, embracing him before…before they fused. Philippine Pearl’s mouth dropped open in horror as his eyes flittered over to Star Sapphire.

“EJ, Garnet is in the other room if you would like to become Franklinite again,” Star Sapphire said. EJ nodded and quickly took his leave, leaving Black Coral and Philippine alone with the illegal fusion, Star Sapphire, and the knowledge that the other Quartz had left the room to create another illegal fusion.

“Your Clarity, I—” Philippine Pearl began, seemingly not thinking, before quickly slamming his mouth shut and lifting his hand into the Diamond salute. Black Coral scowled, glaring up at Star Sapphire.

“He’s a nervous one,” the fusion said. Star Sapphire laughed.

“You were once, too, Amethyst. We aren’t exactly conventional here. It’s okay, Philippine Pearl. There’s no need for titles or salutes around me. You can call me Star, so long as no one from outside my inner circle is here, that is,” Star Sapphire said. Black Coral’s scowl deepened.

“If there’s no need for titles or salutes, then why would you force us to be a part of your collection,” Black Coral spat, tone venomous. Star Sapphire sighed as if he had expected the question but did not like it any less.

“Black Coral, you know how your gem is viewed. Blue Diamond has collected a fair few himself, as well as Yellow Diamond, and with your personality…well…” Star Sapphire trailed off.

“What’s wrong with my personality?” Black Coral snapped, summoning her weapon as Philippine Pearl lept to stop her.

“Forgive her, Your Clar—Star. She’s had a long day. She doesn’t mean it!” Philippine Pearl said, hands pushing down Black Coral, fear in his eyes.

“Sorry, Black Coral, that came out wrong. What I meant to say is that you’re hotheaded and impulsive, and that’s okay, but if you anger the wrong person by mistake, there’s no buffer to stop you from being shattered or…” Star Sapphire trailed off, and the fusion—Amethyst—put a hand on his shoulder. Star Sapphire patted it, and Black Coral scowled.

“I was fine where I was! I never encountered the Diamonds or any high-ranking gem until you! Everyone was fine with me there! I had friends there! Peridot and Rainbow Quartz, and you just—” Black Coral threw her hands in the air, trying to hold back a scream.

“I know this is different from what you’re used to, Black Coral, but I won’t stop you from seeing them. I just…I want to protect as many people as I can, allow them to be themselves without being punished. I’m sure you’ve seen that with Amethyst. Anyone else would have him shattered,” Star Sapphire said, Amethyst nodding in agreement.

“I trusted you before, and you betrayed me,” Black Coral spat.

“I hope you can learn to trust me again, then,” Star Sapphire said. Black Coral scowled.

Fool her once, shame on her, but she refused to be fooled again. She didn’t know what Star Sapphire had planned, but she didn’t trust it. No sapphire would allow an illegal fusion without ulterior movies…right?

[weirdestbooks]

Secrecy and Deception Chapter 19

H-Bomb (Wattpad | Ao3)

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Event: 1953 Iranian coup d'état

Location: Tehran, Imperial State of Iran

Date: August 19, 1953

Iran knew that United Kingdom and United States had something to do with this. As soon as Prime Minister Mohammad Mosaddegh revealed his intentions to audit British oil companies to see if they were paying their dues, to bring Iran’s oil deposits more under Iran’s control and less under the control of foreign companies, Iran knew those two were going to get involved.

When the pro-Shah riots began, Iran had a sinking feeling that they were involved. He couldn’t prove it, but he knew them, knew their nature, and knew how eager they were to grab power and cling to it, how they saw themselves as his betters.

He knew how angry United Kingdom was that Iran wanted control of his own resources. He had been suffering through the boycotts that had begun just because Iran wanted to control his resources, his nation.

Was he not meant to be an independent country? He was not their colony to control! It had been infuriating to deal with, the backhanded words, the attempts to get him to stop those who wanted to nationalize his oil industry—it was terrible.

Iran knew deep in his heart that they were involved, no matter how much they would deny it in the years to come. 

Iran knew he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He might be a countryhuman, but his military was leading the coup, and one man alone couldn’t fight it.

Especially because he wasn’t sure he wanted to fight it.

The conflicting ideas of his people, the fear, it divided his mind and made it hard to choose, paralyzing his ability to do anything. He would try to stand, to get involved, and another headache would wrack his body, forcing him to sit down again.

He wondered if it was a side effect of the nature of the coup.

At least he wasn’t dead. That was a good thing. To the powers at play, he still had a purpose, for better or for worse. It was not to instate a new government, merely weaken the position of Prime Minister due to Prime Minister Mosaddegh’s actions, and strengthen the power of the shah.

He would still be alive.

It didn’t offer as much comfort as he hoped. 

Iran needed to…he needed to do something to prove that United Kingdom and United States were involved in this somehow. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything for him, but maybe it could offer as a warning to others, others that they might go after for daring to question their power.

He hadn’t been able to save his government, but maybe he could save someone else’s.

Provided that everyone in the world didn’t already know those two were involved and just didn’t care. 

They wanted Iran to be closer to them and their allies, to be more easily controlled, another country under their thumb. 

Maybe everyone already knew.

Iran didn’t know.

He wished he did.

• ───────────────── •

Event: Berlin Conference

Location: Berlin

Date: February 1954

Allied Control Council wasn’t sure why she had been brought to this meaning. She supposed she was the organizationhuman for the Four Powers, but she didn’t feel like she had any power. She felt more like she had been brought along to show how great and effective this meeting was going to be as if hopes of reunification hadn’t been dashed months earlier.

“Are you okay?” Father asked one morning. Allied Control Council shrugged.

“I think this is a waste of our time, Father. Reunification isn’t happening anytime soon,” she pointed out. Father sighed.

“I know, but better to look like we tried than just give up. This has allowed us to discuss France’s Indochina situation anyway,” Father said.

“Because the USSR won’t listen and has decided to argue that reunification can happen with the dissolution of NATO, like West Germany’s even a part of it,” Britain said, looking tired. “I’m backing ACC here, America. We should just leave and let the humans handle this, save ourselves the time.”

“Never thought I’d see you the one suggesting that,” Father said, voice vaguely amused.

“I know we can’t leave because the USSR will hold it against us and accuse us of sabotaging peace, but I feel we are arguing circles over and over again,” Britain said. Allied Control Council snorted in amusement.

“That’s because we are,” she said. “At least neither Germany has to be here. Lord knows they would only make things worse.”

“That implies they would take to each other and, ya know, acknowledge the other exists, which neither has been keen on doing,” Father said. “Although some of the states have been more willing to, right?”

“Brandenburg kinda has, but only because he’s my dad and knows I live with West Germany, and therefore always asks how I’m doing. Refers to West Germany as my roommate, although I don’t know if that’s cause he’s not wanting to acknowledge West Germany, or because he doesn’t feel he should stir the pot,” Allied Control Council explained.

“How fun. Well, who’s ready for another day of Soviet telling me that I can’t have my troops in Europe while he has troops in Berlin and just used them to crush protests?” Father asked, his smile taking on a sharp, dangerous edge.

“Father, you can’t start anything. With both of you having atomic—”

“I know, ACC, I know. I won’t try anything. I’m just…very annoyed at this hypocrite,” Father said before throwing an arm around Britian and whispering something to him in a language ACC didn’t know. She scowled.

Father may think that the USSR was a hypocritic, but he was no innocent man either.

She wondered if she knew that.

• ───────────────── •

Event: H-Bomb Castle-Bravo Test 

Codename: Castle Bravo 

Location: Bikini Atoll, The Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands, United States of America

Date: March 1, 1954

Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands didn’t know why she came to some of these tests. It wasn’t because America had asked her to come to report back on the tests. He had asked her, but she wasn’t doing it just for that reason. She…she didn’t care much about the power that America wanted to wield.

She cares more about her people. She wanted her island back from the hands of scientists. She wanted to see what they were doing.

At least this time, they were detonating the bomb on an artificial island. That would prevent damage from being done to her land, hopefully, in any case. This was supposed to be the most powerful nuclear weapon by far, according to her adoptive father, and Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands supposed she was about to see just how true that was.

It was early in the morning, but the bomb was set to be detonated soon, giving Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands time to complete everything she needed for the day.

“I figured that your father would be the one to come,” one of the scientists asked her, breaking Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands out of her mental planning.

“America has better things to worry about, not bomb testing that he will get the reports from, especially because we still have working bombs,” Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands answered with a roll of her eyes, hoping to shut down the conversation. Thankfully, he seemed to get the message and stopped trying to talk to her. “It’ll be set off soon.” 

Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands nodded before the ground seemed to shake, and a massive mushroom cloud appeared on the horizon. It was ginormous, bigger than any she had seen before. Just how powerful was this bomb supposed to be? How powerful was it?

It was undoubtedly more powerful than the bomb that America had dropped on the cities of her bastard of a mother, but…

Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands hoped that this bomb would never be used in war. 

She didn’t think the Earth would survive if it did.

[weirdestbooks]

Countrycats (Wattpad | Ao3)

Crack AU writing inspired by @lost-islands drawing various states as cats. Literally everything is the same as in canon, the personifications are just all cats now. Might write more later but idk, wanted to share this with y'all. Also countries with animal features (for the most, reasonable part) keep them, just so you don't get confused if they are mentioned.

America pulled Delaware closer, grooming the small cat’s head as he squirmed in America’s grip.

“Da…” he whined, “you’re embarrassing me. I was going to go play with York and Jay!”

“You can play once you’re clean,” America said as Delaware pouted.

“I’m just going to get dirty again, Da!” Delaware pointed out. America just gave him a very pointed lick between the ears before stepping away.

“Fine, go play with them. I need to hunt down a certain fluffball anyways,” America said, stalking off to hunt down their tiny brother. Delaware watches his father leave before he is suddenly barrelled over.

“Finally!” New York said from atop Delaware, paws pinning down the smaller cat. Delaware squirmed beneath his littermate as the bigger cat slowly crushed him, wings outstretched.

“You’re real proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Delaware asked. New York didn’t answer; he just clambered off his brother.

“Let’s go get Jay now!” he exclaimed.

“No, you aren’t!” New Jersey explained, having overheard them, before running in the other direction. New York and Delaware exchanged looks before running after their older brother, quickly catching up and tacking him, rolling around in the dirt as the three littermates playfought with one another.

“Can you idiots keep your paws off each other for a day? You all act like a bunch of kittens!” their older sister, Maryland, asked, blinking over at them in annoyance, having clearly been woken from her nap.

“Sorry, Mary!” New Jersey called right before being batted across the face by Delaware’s paw and immediately forgetting his apology as he headbutted his brother, not wanting to hit him with his tiny hooves.

And despite Maryland’s annoyance, the three littermates tussled with each other like kittens for the rest of the afternoon.

[weirdestbooks]

The Shot Heard Around the World Chapter 24

Defeats of New York (Wattpad | Ao3)

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August 27, 1776

What was he thinking? Why did he really believe that he could get away from his father? Why did United States—Thirteen Colonies delude himself into thinking he really had the power to get away from his father, that he really had the power to declare independence and become a country?

What gave him the right?

Panic and fear ran through him like never before. He supposed that he had been lucky not to see Father during the battle that morning, only spotting Scotland, who just seemed sad upon seeing Thirteen Colonies.

Vaguely, he began to register someone talking to him.

“States, you need to breathe. You’re going to pass out!”

The unfamiliar voice—

“James.”

James was right. Thirteen Colonies couldn’t breathe. His breath stuttered and stopped and came out in short little bursts, which prevented him from breathing very well, as black spots crept into his vision.

Slowly, Thirteen Colonies let his breaths even out, vision clearing. Miraculously, it seemed that no one had noticed his panic—or at least how bad it had gotten.

“We ensured you stayed upright so no one thought you were going mad,” New York said, his voice sounding distant with how foggy Thirteen Colonies' head was. He felt…he felt as if he was watching someone else control his body. 

Maybe someone was. It was all fuzzy.

“General Washington has a plan of escape. He is going to escape across the river since the British have laid siege. This is not going to be the end, United States of America, so snap out of it now! Your people need you!” the male voice said. And he wanted to Thirteen—United States—whatever his name was going to end up being, he wanted to break out of the fog and help. But it was…it was just so hard.

“Let me take control! I can help General Washington!” New York exclaimed. Thirteen Colonies wanted to react, but he felt foggy. He knew his body was moving, that his mouth was forming words that he could not hear, but he was not the one in control. 

He was watching.

Like his states.

“York—”

“This is my state, Uncle James, and if Father is unable to fight, then I will!” New York declared, his voice distant. 

Thirteen Colonies blinked, and suddenly, he was staring up at a darkened sky, faces crowded all around him. Faces…with his flag. Well, most of them, in any case.

“Father?” exclaimed one of the faces, his voice familiar.

“Mass...Massachusetts?” Thirteen Colonies exclaimed, recognizing it. Where was he? The states were supposed to be in his head, right? Massachusetts nodded, tackling him into a hug, and the other faces—other states—did the same.

“You’re here!” a voice that Thirteen Colonies recognized to be Maryland said. Thirteen Colonies was crying, tears of happiness and sorrow running down his face. These were his children—he was seeing the faces of his children for the very first time, and yet…

“Where am I?” he asked. He must have died. Father overtook their army and crushed them, killing Thirteen Colonies personally for his disobedience. He killed his children.

“We’re in your head! Well…our head? We didn't know you could come here. But this is where we are when we aren’t near enough to talk to you or take control!” New Hampshire said. Thirteen Colonies scanned the faces of his children again. They were all so beautiful and wonderful.

What has Thirteen Colonies dragged them into?

“Are you okay?” Thirteen Colonies then heard that unfamiliar male voice from behind him that everyone refused to name.

Thirteen Colonies shot to his feet, knocking the small colony—Rhode Island and Providence Plantations—off his lap.

The man looked kind, but Thirteen Colonies knew better than to trust that. He had been hurt by kind-looking people before. The most shocking thing about this man was his face—not flag or seal—just pale human skin.

The colonies in his head were a weird country thing. So what…what was this human man doing here?

Thirteen Colonies was scared.

“Hey, States. My name is James. I…I also exist here, even though I’m human. I…we don’t know why,” he introduced. Thirteen Colonies shook his head, feeling panicked.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” he muttered. He felt like he was going insane. What was happening?

Thirteen Colonies wished he was with his father again, with his father who could say a few words and make everything go away, everything have an explanation, some semblance of sense.

“Father, are you okay?” Virginia asked.

“Guys, I know you’re excited, but how about we give him some space,” James said, and Thirteen Colonies heard the other colonies scatter. He wanted to say something, but it felt like his mouth had frozen shut. “Jonathan’s a nice name. It was a good pick.”

“I should be back…I need to be in control. Father’s going to kill them all. I need to talk him down from that!” Thirteen Colonies said, unwilling to even begin discussing the stupid, stupid, human name he had picked for himself. This was a mistake. He should surrender now and save everyone from the bloodshed of his madness.

“It’s okay. New York has that handled. We’re not surrendering, and the British are not attacking. We’re evacuating across the river. Your son can handle that,” James said, his voice soothing and vaguely familiar, causing Thirteen Colonies to dreg up memories of long ago, back when he was a child.

He…he remembered James.

“You…you used to sing to me. When I was little. Before…before Jamestown,” Thirteen Colonies asked. When he was scared and alone, even when he had his aunt, that voice was always there to sing gentle songs that helped him sleep and made him feel safe, warm, and loved.

James nodded.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any answers about how I’m here. I hardly know myself. But…I’ve been trying my best to look after you, to keep the bad memories away so you can be happy,” James explained. Thirteen Colonies shot him a confused look.

“Bad memories?” he asked. What did that mean? Was James erasing his memories? Was that how Thirteen Colonies became so delusional to think that he could actually go to war against his Father and win?

“Whenever Britain got…rough or violent, I would take control to spare you the pain. So you remembered the good memories, not the bad ones. So you could be happy and content,” James said, voice tinged with sadness.

“He made me forget you. Or…stop talking to you. I spoke with Virginia before. I know that,” Thirteen Colonies said, looking at James in way of an explanation.

“I don’t like him, but…I think that shows that he did love you in a strange way. He…he could have killed you, and if he said you were insane, he would have been given clemency because it’s a good reason. But he chose to use martial law to make you forget so that you wouldn’t look insane. I can’t…I know it hurts, but it might have been the right call at that moment,” James said, looking conflicted.

“I…I guess so. I think…I think we need to go back to him,” Thirteen Colonies said, hunching in on himself and burying his face in his knees. 

“What? But you’ve been so excited about independence and being a country before? What brought about this change? You—you can’t be under martial law because you’re independent, but…Jonathan, are you alright?” James asked. Thirteen Colonies bit down a sob.

“I can’t fight him! He’s too strong. It would…it would be better to give up now and beg for mercy. I can…soldiers are one thing. Father is another. It’s better to return to being his colony before he runs out of patience. It will save everyone from his anger, and I can take the punishment,” Thirteen Colonies explained before waiting for James’ response. 

Instead of saying anything, the human pulled him into a hug, and it was so warm and safe that Thirteen Colonies just began sobbing, gripping onto James tighter, wanting the safety the hug offered.

“I know he’s held power over you before, but if we get independence, he won’t be able to hurt you. You’ll be safe. Permanently safe from him,” James pointed out, his voice gentle and prompting a new wave of tears.

Safe. What did that mean? Countryhumans were rarely safe, always part of so much violence and hate. Thirteen Colonies…he had been safe with his Father. The hurt was just a way of protecting him, of preparing him for the real world, where he could be killed at the drop of a hat.

It was…he was safe there.

Right?

“I can’t fight him,” Thirteen Colonies eventually said. “Seeing him…I’m scared, and I…I stop being the United States of America, and I just…I feel like the Thirteen Colonies again,” he explained. James squeezed him tighter.

“I’m sorry. I know this…this is terrifying for us all, the what-ifs and worst-case scenarios, but if we just give up, we never actually try, prove that it is possible to beat your father,” James said, pulling out of the hug, still keeping a hand on the countryhuman’s shoulder. “But you aren’t alone.”

“But I have to fight him, and I can’t do that! I can’t fight my father!” the countryhuman said, slapping his hands over his ears, trying to block out all noise. 

“You don’t have to,” James said. The countryhuman lowered his hands from his ears, looking up at James with a faint hope in his eyes.

“How can I not? I’m supposed to be their nation,” he asked. James laughed.

“New York is in control right now, helping with the evacuation. But to your people, it is just you. If you ever can’t fight due to your fear of Britain, I can take control and fight for you. To everyone else, the United States of America is fighting with them, but you don’t have to be the one to do that,” James said, gently taking the countryhuman’s hands and looking him in the eyes.

“Thank you,” said the United States of America before pulling the man into another hug. He didn’t know why the thought of facing his father stole his breath away and made him shake, but…at least he had the people who shared his body there to help him.

At least it ensured that he looked like he was doing something.

• ───────────────── •

September 15, 1776

Britain was glad to be standing in New York City. They had heavily shelled the land before landing at Kip’s Bay, but considering they landed unopposed, it seemed the shelling might not have been necessary.

They had also been able to cut off any rebel escape routes and capture some militiamen. Thirteen Colonies and his rebels would not slip away from him this time. He would see them captured and justice served. 

And then he would remind his son where his loyalties lay.

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep gripping your gun like that,” Britain heard Scotland say from behind him as the country slowly walked over and gently took the gun from Britain’s hands. Britain’s hands then curled into fists. “You seem upset for someone who is winning.”

“Thirteen should be in my hands by now! I told Sir Howe that a siege was a dumb idea and that we should have just attacked their troops and crushed them, but no, he insisted on a siege, and Thirteen slipped away! This entire thing could have been over!” Britain ranted, anger in his voice, throwing his hands in the air.

“Your flag is slipping,” Scotland warned, and Britain quickly returned focus to straightening the pattern on it. “And…Crùn, do you think that this rebellion will last forever?”

Britain scoffed, “Of course not Ath—Alba. But…I despise that it has gotten so out of hand that Thirteen has now deluded himself into believing he is mentally fit to be a country.”

Scotland raised an eyebrow, not saying anything but listening to Britain's rant, which was evident by the way his ears were.

“Even if it—” Britain cut himself off, unwilling to admit that he had been aware of Thirteen Colonies’ mental incompetence for a while. “He’s a child, my child, and he shouldn’t be a country. He can’t protect himself from France and Spain, from the Indians! He’ll die without me.”

“An Fhraing and an Spàinn might not be an issue. If Thirteen proves himself to them, they could recognize him and become his allies,” Scotland pointed out.

“Alba, I was trying not to acknowledge that,” Britain chided before sighing, “Hence why Sir Howe should have listened to me, so this whole mess could be over.”

“It’s not wrong to want to show mercy sometimes,” Scotland pointed out. 

“It is when it risks throwing the balance of the world into uproar. Thirteen cannot become independent,” Britain said. Scotland then sighed.

“If you don’t show him mercy, he’ll try again. Èirinn always has. You’ve heard that before, I’m sure—the more Thirteen fears you, the more he’ll do everything he can to avoid you. You need to promise not to punish him too harshly and allow things to eventually return to how they once were,” Scotland explained. Britain respected the man immensely, but his one weakness was that he was too soft on his children, too willing to let them get away with things, which would only hurt them in the end.

“I will ensure that Thirteen sees the necessary punishment for treason and hurting England. Or have you forgotten what he did?” Britain snapped.

“Sasann’s survived a lot worse than a blow to the jaw. I have faith that he will recover. I am not trying to insult your parenting skills, Crùn, but it is better to coax Thirteen back than force him back. One will ensure he wants to stay with you. The other will leave him bitter and resentful,” Scotland said, voice calm.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. My son deserves to be punished, and he is not escaping that, even if you want to show him mercy!” Britain snapped before walking away. His son loved him and knew his place, and once Britain reminded him of that, then his son would be back at his side.

No mercy is required for that.

• ───────────────── •

September 16, 1776

United States had been talking to General Washington, composing a letter to Congress about their present situation, when the alarm went off about British soldiers approaching their position. United States had frozen at the news as General Washington ordered riders to investigate, fear flooding through him at the thought of his father’s rage.

He then felt James approach, so close to him, a sign that the man with whom United States had begun conversing daily about their arrangement and his states was ready to take over if he needed it. United States shook his head slightly, snapping out of the fear. 

They were investigating the reports. There was no sign of his father yet. He would be okay for now.

“America, I am going to ride down to the southern part of the camp to observe the situation myself,” General Washington had said. “Are you coming with me?”

“Of course,” United States had responded, and the two set off. The ride was silent unless you counted James and New York’s whispered argument in the back of United States’ head.

“Sorry, Father!”

Anxiety still knawed at United States’ stomach, and when he saw General Reed racing back towards him and General Washington, the sinking pit that was forming seemed to grow even deeper.

“I can take over now if you’d like. I know he’s not here, but I’d rather you not collapse in front of Washington,” James offered. Once again, United States shook his head. He was staying for as long as he could, or so help him God—

“Okay, I get it,” James relented, backing off but nonetheless present.

“What’s happening, General?” United States asked once General Reed was within earshot.

“Lt. Knowlton’s rangers have begun a skirmish with British troops. We need reinforcements,” he said. United States bit back a curse. This was not what they needed, not after losing New York City. They needed a battle whose terms they could dictate, not a battle that was sprung on them.

Before General Washington could respond, the figures of Lt. Knowlton’s rangers appeared, the men seemingly having fled back to camp.

“That’s not good,” Pennsylvania muttered. Behind the rangers were the British Regulars, a clear sign that United States’ troops were fleeing the British line. Terrifyingly, the British forces were getting close enough that United States could hear their bugle and see the blue face that belonged to either Uncle Scotland or his father.

United States’ hands were shaking.

The worst part was what they were playing. It was not a standard bugle call meant to signal to the troops that they needed to advance or deploy; no, it was a song that was very familiar to United States.

It was called Gone Away, and it was no war song but a fox-hunting song, a song meant to signal that the fox had been killed and that the chase was over in a foxhunt.

Father was saying that he was a fox that had been killed, that the hunt was over, that the hunters had come to collect their prey. It was humiliating, and shame burned in his throat as tears pricked at the corner of his eyes.

United States could see his father now, see that his father was playing the song as well, and United States’ hands were shaking, and he couldn't breathe and—

Breath returned to the United States as James began to take over. The man slowed and calmed their breaths and stopped their hands from shaking.

United States was in control still, but James was now keeping their body calm.

“I can take over now if you want to go into our head and talk with your children,” James offered. United States didn’t want to leave his people, but…he couldn’t. He couldn’t fight right now; every instinct in his body was yelling at him to get on his knees and beg for mercy, from his father, from God, and accept whatever punishment he deserved. 

His fear of his father, a fear he didn’t realize was this strong, made him a liability in battle. He had to leave. 

So, United States backed away, and James took control.

“We need to prepare a counterattack. If we lose our force here, independence dies with us,” James said, turning his horse back towards the camp. He needed to get Jonathan’s weapon so he could fight.

He promised his brother he would do it, so he had to.

“I will send men to loop around the British and fire on them once they get behind them. Are you going to join them?” General Washington asked. James shook his head.

“Britain is with these troops. He’ll be keeping an eye on me. If I leave, I give it away,” James pointed out, glazing back at the approaching soldiers, “I need to stay here to draw eyes away.”

General Washington nodded and rushed off to rally men to fight as James returned to his tent.

“It’s wrong to fight,” Rebecca, a new human that had appeared in their head sometime in the last few months, said. She always advocated for them to give up and surrender to Britain because it would be safer.

Like Britain hadn’t hurt them before. Like Britain hadn’t made a habit of hurting them and hurting them until everything hurt.

Like Britain was someone who cared about them.

“He’ll hurt us if we surrender, Rebecca, you know this. We need to protect ourselves, and this is the best way to do that,” James responded.

“That’ll just make him madder. We can probably still convince him to show mercy if we surrender now,” Rebecca argued, some trace of fear in her voice. Despite the fact that James hated what she was saying, it was clear she did it out of actual concern for Jonathan and the states.

“We’re not going to surrender, Becca. We’re going to fight him, win this battle, win this war, and then we’ll be safe,” James said, voice dropping to a whisper, “Then we’ll finally be safe.”

• ───────────────── •

September 22, 1776

Britain hated spies. He hated traitors. He hated everything about them. He hated being tricked and deceived. 

So when parts of New York City began to burn, Britain immediately suspected that Thirteen Colonies’ sinful rebels must have been behind it. So when they found a man with physical evidence that proved he was a spy, he was eager to make an example of him.

With Scotland standing beside him, Britain listened as the young man gave his last words before he died. Britain shut his eyes as the man hung. Too many young lives were to be lost in this rebellion. The man had been a rebel and traitor but was so young. How many young lives were Thirteen Colonies going to cut short before he gave in? How many were going to die in this foolish war?

How many good men did his son tempt into sin?

This spy, Nathan Hale, he might have been an illegal combatant, but he behaved with great resolution, and although Britain abhorred what he had done, he could respect the man for his strength. 

Facing death was no easy feat, and the man faced it honorably. 

“I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country” had been the man’s final words, and jealousy burned within Britain that his son, a man who had betrayed his family, who was attempting to drag so many others into that same sin, had inspired loyalty so deep. What good had that child done to deserve this?

“Crùn?” Scotland’s familiar voice asked from beside him, a gentle hand placed on his back. “Are you okay?”

“I hate this all, and I want it to be over. It is time to stomp out this rebellion before more people die and time to return my son home,” Britain snapped. 

Regardless of what these rebels believed, he was not a man who wanted to murder men so young.

God, please ensure that all those who pass early in this sinful rebellion make it to your Holy gates. Even those who have been tempted into rebellion ensure that they find peace. I am sorry that I could not protect the son you so graciously gifted me from sin, but I promise that I will save him from sin and help his soul be cleansed. In Jesus’ Name, I pray, Amen.

With the victory at Brooklyn and their control over New York City secured, Britain hoped they would soon capture Washington or Thirteen Colonies. Both would be a big enough blow to the rebellion that it might help it fall apart, end sooner.

Britain wanted nothing more than for this to be over soon.

[weirdestbooks]

Hermanos (Wattpad | Ao3 | CH HHM Oneshots)

“Rico, do you remember when Padre used to get mad at us for saying we were siblings?” Cuba asked one evening as he and Puerto Rico slowly walked down the streets of the latter’s capital. Puerto Rico was his uncle on his Padre’s side but on the side of his native father’s…Puerto Rico was his half-brother. It was a strange set of circumstances that Padre had hated more than anything.

“How can I not? He never went after me, but his anger was loud enough that we knew it, even though he played nice in front of my padre,” Puerto Rico joked before looking back at Cuba, concern in his eyes. “What’s this about?” Cuba didn’t answer, and Puerto Rico sighed. 

“Cubito…” he began warningly.

“Don’t Cubito me. I’m taller,” Cuba said, trying his best to keep a smile on his face. Puerto Rico raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Cuba’s resolve crumbled. “I’ve just been thinking about things recently. Padre’s gone; you’re a United Statian now, and I’m going to be a new country soon. I…I feel like so much has changed, and I…I don’t want to lose what’s left of my family.”

“Cuba, if you think being a country is going to stop me from being your big brother, I’m going to start thinking that independence made you stupid,” Puerto Rico deadpanned. Cuba stopped in his tracks, gaping at the smaller colony.

“Excuse me?” He asked, startled. Puerto Rico smiled before speaking.

“You heard me. That’s a stupid thing to say. I’m always going to be with you, and I can tell you now that your brother feels the same way. Florida was never hiding from you. He was hiding from New Spain and the expectations of perfection that haunted him. But not from you, you know that.”

Cuba knew that. It was one of the first things Puerto Rico had said to him when they reunited, that he was sorry for leaving Cuba behind. Florida had sworn on his immortality that Cuba would always be his family, be his hermanito.

It was easy to be told that. It was harder to believe it.

“I know I’m just…I’ve never been alone before. I’ve wanted this for so, so long, and I’m not going to give it up, but…I never realized how lonely it was going to be,” Cuba sighed.

“We’re not going to leave you…we’re just going to be somewhere else. A new house, a different country. But come on, Cubito, you know how big this family is and how many countries make it up. Is Dominican Republic any less your aunt because she’s independent and adopted?” Puerto Rico asked. Cuba shook his head.

“Of course not!” he said. Aunt Dominican Republic had struggled with her place in the family due to the nature of her adoption and the nature of the restoration of her independence, but she never stopped being family, always sending letters and remaining in contact, even apologizing to Abuelo for giving him false hope that their family would be reunited again.

“Then why is it different when it’s you and not her?” Puerto Rico asked. Cuba paused, processing that question. Why was it different? Why did he feel like his entire family was going to leave him as soon as he became independent?

“I don’t…I don’t know,” Cuba eventually said. Puerto Rico smiled, soft and sweet, so reminiscent of the foggy memories Cuba had of their native father.

“We’ll be there for you. I promise. We’ll write, and we’ll visit, and we will ensure that you never feel alone. Understood?” Puerto Rico asked. Cuba smiled, pushing aside tears. 

“Perfectly.”

[weirdestbooks]

The Murder of a Kingdom (Wattpad | Ao3)

TW: Blood and Murder. It's kinda graphic. For @jmysty4

When Norddmandi asked to meet with him, Gwynedd was skeptical. Norddmandi, the conqueror of Lloegr and the murderer of the Kingdoms of Iwerddon, was well known in the Ynysoedd Prydain for her being ruthless and cruel, someone who cared only for her own wants and desires. 

Gwynedd believed it. He had spoken with her many times before, and it was always unpleasant.

Unfortunately, Gwynedd was a countryhuman, and therefore, he had to meet with other countryhumans when they asked. However, he didn’t trust Norddmandi not to stab him in the back, so Gwynedd picked a small stone hut he owned as a meeting place, where Norddmandi wouldn’t try any funny business with his rulers.

He tried to be professional when Norddmandi arrived to talk with him.

“I have heard about this new principality you are trying to make?” she asked. Gwynedd sighed.

“Norddmandi, you have been informed of these plans because they will put us in a similar position to what Alban is now. Why do you need to check this?” Gwynedd asked, suspicious of her intentions.

“I just want to talk about what you plan to do after. Are you going to live with me and Engleterre?” Norddmandi asked. Gwynedd really hates talking with this woman.

“No, I will stay in my own home but visit once or twice a year,” he explained, uneasy. Something about the way Norddmandi was holding herself set off over seven hundred years of hard-won instincts within Gwynedd’s brain.

Even though he suspected it before, he was sure now that Norddmandi was up to something.

“How nice. And what about Engleterre? What are your plans for him?” Norddmandi asked. Gwynedd snorted.

“I’m not becoming a principality to try and control Lloegr. Relax. If anything, I will simply rekindle our former friendship to ensure peaceful relations,” Gwynedd explained, tensing as Norddmandi’s eyes narrowed. 

“Meaning?” she asked. Gwynedd shrugged, trying his best to look nonchalant, even as his fire built up in his throat, making it hard to breathe normally.

“I just want to be friends. After all, I have known him for longer than you, and I am much older than you both. I have plenty of wisdom and advice to pass down, and I would be happy to do so. I remember years ago when Lloegr would come over to my capital, and we discussed trade and then would get off topic, and I would tell him stories of the kingdoms before him—the ones I knew in any case, and then, especially when he was younger, I would help him with his flight.” Gwynedd explained, smiling as he remembered the many weeks spent teaching Lloegr to fly. It was the reason for his first official visit to Winchester, as Lloegr’s government wanted him to know how, and Lloegr certainly took to it like a duck to water.

What Norddmandi did to his wings was unforgivable. Gwynedd couldn’t imagine the kind of torture going through losing them and then having to be without them was. He shuddered at the very thought of it.

“So you’re the one who instilled that in him,” Norddmandi said, something calculating in her eye. Gwynedd shrugged.

“I was simply the closest dragon countryhuman nearby to help,” Gwynedd said. Norddmandi nodded before smiling

“Thank you, Gwynedd. You have made this choice much easier.”

Norddmandi suddenly lept at him, teeth bared. The noise that escaped Gwynedd at that moment was far from human, but one that showed his surprise. Norddmandi knocked him to the ground, stunning him as her claws ripped at his chest, cutting part of his clothes and flesh into bloody ribbons as his teeth snapped at his throat.

Growling, Gwynedd did his best to hold her head away from his neck, wishing at that moment that he had been blessed with claws like so many other nations with lion or dragon features. But, unlike Norddmandi, he was fireproof, and he let that flame that had been building in his throat free, burning Norddmandi’s face as she screamed, falling off him.

Gwynedd was quick to regain his footing, not wanting to lose the advantage as he moved towards Norddmandi, whose hands were covering the left side of her face, brutally burned.

“You have one chance to leave my lands and never return, or I will kill you. I suggest you take the offer. After all, you have a son to get back to, don’t you? Then again, you aren’t really his mother, so I think he would be okay if I were to strike you down now.” Gwynedd snarled, growling as fire dripped past his lips. His chest ached, and he hadn’t wanted to look at the damage, but he already knew it was going to scar.

Norddmandi’s head shot back up, madness and rage in her eyes as she returned Gwynedd’s challenge with an inhumane snarl of her own. It was clear to Gwynedd that this was not a battle that would be fought like men, but rather tooth and nail and claw until one of them was dead on the floor.

Gwynedd refused to let it be him. He had to kill her, to put a stop to the murderous rampage she had cut across their isles, to get revenge for all those who were dead because of her. And for the little dragon he had once known, the dragon that was so twisted from the boy he once knew. The little boy Norddmandi twisted into her slave and son.

With a loud noise of anger, Norddmandi lept at Gwynedd again, claws dripping with his blood. Knowing this was a fight for his very life, Gwynedd did not pay attention to the furniture and trappings in the room, willing to destroy however much of it was needed to defeat his foe.

Catching Norddmandi and throwing her to the side, ignoring how her claws ripped across his arms, tearing through skin and flesh, he was quick to let the flames that were eagerly building in his throw and mouth free as they danced around his face. It was risky and he usually would never do this, not eager to lose his hair or his clothes, but sacrifices needed to be made in favor of keeping his life.

Unfortunately, even though he had gotten Norddmandi in the face, only half of it was burnt, and he was bleeding from several wounds. He needed to end this. Now.

Norddmandi lept at him again, and this time, Gwynedd grabbed her right arm between his fangs, biting down as hard as he could, pumping flames into her arm, hearing bone crack and flesh sizzle as Norddmandi clawed at his face and neck over and over again, until the pain from the savage attack forced Gwynedd to let go. 

He was bleeding heavily and was lightheaded from the blood loss. His breath was wheezing and came out in short bursts through the abuse that Gwynedd had received as he put a hand to his neck to try and cover the wounds, all out of fire. 

The only thing filling his throat now was blood, which Gwynedd was quick to spit out. He always hated the taste of blood.

Norddmandi was on the ground, writhing in pain, her right arm nearly detached from her body at the elbow, where Gwynedd had bitten down. It was an excellent match to the ugly burn scars that wept from the right side of her face.

“Go…home…” Gwynedd gasped out, “I can…get you…a physician. To ensure…you survive if you….wish to travel by land.”

Norddmandi glared up at him, hatred in her remaining eye.

“Never,” she snarled, and in his injured state, Gwynedd couldn’t stop her from jumping up and slashing at his face with her good arm, snarling as her mouth grabbed ahold of his throat, blood bubbling up as Gwynedd began to choke on his own blood. 

His clawless hands scratched at Norddmandi as he desperately fought her off, becoming weaker and weaker, dizzy until her hands dropped to his side, feeling numb and cold. 

Norddmandi then released him, and Gwynedd dropped to the floor, blood slowly draining out of his body.

He felt so cold…

His eyes began to flutter shut, but Norddmandi rapped his cheek with her good hand, and Gwynedd forced his eyes open. 

His feet were so numb, and tears flowed from his eyes—either pain or grief or sorrow, he didn’t know.

“You fought well,” Norddmandi said, pain clear in her voice, her own tears streaming down her face. “No one else has defeated me like that.”

Gwynedd tried to respond, but all that came out was more blood, spilling past his lips and making his mouth taste of iron.

“I hope this means your replacement will be similar. I would be good to have power like that on my side,” Norddmandi said. Gwynedd laughed, more blood flying out of his mouth.

“You already…have a…draig, but you’ve…beaten that out of…him long ago,” Gwynedd whispered as his vision grew darker. Everything was numb and cold.

“I will…replacement…useful! I will…son!...you? Hurt…” 

Norddmandi’s angry voice faded in and out as Gwynedd sank deeper into the darkness. 

The pain was fading.

And the land sighed a final breath as the younger nation ranted, fueled by her hatred and rage, until she noticed the still nation in front of her, covered in blood, tears, and ash. Normaundie screamed in rage before raking her claws over the dead nation’s face again and again, as, unbeknownst to her, a newborn nation-child huddled in the back of the room, trembling in fear.

Normaundie then finished her ramage, cursing out the man again before vanishing back to her land, finally realizing the true extent of her injuries.

The nation-child then crept forward to the mutilated man before throwing himself onto the body and sobbing.

Both for the life and father he just lost.

[weirdestbooks]

The Puppet Master (Wattpad | Ao3)

Bonus Oneshot for the Consequence of Loyalty

Philippines had been dreading seeing Japan again. Now trapped behind the glass eyes of a puppet, he shuddered to think about what she might do to him now that he no longer had any way of fighting back. He had been worried, and if he had control of his body, he would have been pacing, trying to do anything to soothe the anxiety that wriggled in his stomach.

What he was faced with wasn’t what he expected.

“Philippines, it is so good to see that you have arrived safely. A bit thin, but that’s to be expected after being held captive in the jungle for so long. We’ll be sure you get enough rations to rebuild your strength,” Japan said upon his arrival, as Philippines stayed still and frozen in his spot in the Japanese truck, only staying upright because of the soldiers on either side of him.

He wished he could speak. He wanted to argue, to show her that he was not a prisoner until she made him, that he fought of his own free will because he was fighting for his land and his people. Was she really so deluded to think that Philippines supported her?

“Ma’am, he’s—” one of the soldiers began before Japan cut him.

“Ah, yes, my apologies. Philippines, you can stand and walk of your own accord. I forgot that you would still be frozen. Come, join me. We have much to catch you up on about your government,” Japan said. Philippines felt a cold feeling sink into his stomach as his body stood against his will, jumping out of the back of the truck and walking over to Japan.

He fought it the entire way over. It didn’t do anything. Philippines felt sick. He wanted to cry and scream and throw up, but all he did was stand beside Japan with an empty face and a still form.

“Come with me, Philippines,” Japan said, and Philippines was forced to follow. He fought it every step of the way, but it did nothing, and Japan continued, seemingly oblivious to the teeth and claws struggle Philippines was waging against his own body. 

Philippines wished that she knew. That she could tell that despite the blank gaze and obedience his body gave towards her, Philippines did not feel the same way and that he hated her for dragging him into a useless war.

Independence had been so close that he could taste it. She ripped that away from him, ripped his body away from him.

It wasn’t fair!

Philippines finally stopped when he and Japan entered an apartment, and her voice very quickly ordered him to.

“This is going to be our home when I’m able to be here. Of course, the war will keep me busy, but I hope to move most of our children here until a proper place is prepared in Tokyo,” Japan began immediately, creating a whole range of questions.

Their children? Philippines had never had children with Japan before. And was she going to be living with him? What was she talking about? 

Philippines wanted his voice back, to voice the questions that plagued his mind. Japan didn’t even seem to notice that he couldn’t talk back, just talking and talking about what their life together was going to be like.

Philippines was suddenly hit with a horrible realization.

Did…did Japan think that Philippines was in love with her? Was that what this was about? Taking away his free will, his country, his people, his autonomy, just….just to play house with her? Was she fucking insane?

Japan finally seemed to break out of planning…planning their life together (the idea of it made Philippines feel sick. For all his Padre’s flirting, countryhumans never felt any sort of romantic or sexual attraction. It conflicted with their nature, so for her to feel…feel something like this must be a sign of her madness), and she smiled at him.

“Please, Philippines, sit down. This is your home as well as mine,” Japan ordered. Philippines’ legs nearly collapsed as his body attempted to lower itself to the floor as quickly as possible. Japan frowned, and Philippines wanted to grit his teeth in anger.

She ordered him to sit down. He had no control over anything and couldn’t do anything to affect his body, so what the fuck was she frowning about?

“I meant on the furniture, not the floor,” Japan said, grabbing his arm and forcing him onto the couch. Philippines wished his face could display his confusion. If she meant couch, why didn’t she say that? His body only took commands from her. She needed to tell him what she wanted if his body was going to do anything.

Philippines hated this. He hated this more than he had before. He wanted to cry. He wanted his body back again. He wanted to go home, to his real home, not this place Japan crafted to feed her delusions.

“It…it is good to see you again,” Japan said, sounding…flustered.

Oh god, she really was delusional. But Philippines couldn’t say anything. He just sat on the couch, limbs a mix of stiff and limb, in an uncomfortable position he couldn’t free himself from.

Philippines hoped that Kentucky was fairing better than he was.

“I know this is not the most ideal approach, but it was the best way to keep you out of American hands,” Japan continued. Philippines couldn’t tell if she was referring to the invasion or the puppet state. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Both things were utterly deplorable actions. 

“But, now that you are safe, we can begin discussing the future,” Japan said. “Therefore, I permit you to speak. You’re lucky I had some other puppets to practice the extent of the control on, too.”

Philippines tried to open his mouth and was surprised when it actually moved. Every other part of his body still remained frozen under Japan’s control, but at least he now had this little bit of control back. It was something.

“Can I have back the rest of my body?” Philippines blurted it out before he could even think of anything else. He hated this. He hated being trapped; it was his body, and if Japan could give him back control over his mouth, she could give him back the rest of his body.

“Not yet. You will before the war is over, I can promise you that, but I need to ensure some things first,” Japan said.

“Like what?” Philippines asked, grateful he had the chance to talk even if every other part of his body was locked away.

“How do you feel about America?” Japan asked. Philippines paused. He could give the answer Japan probably wanted and be allowed to continue conversing, but at the same time…he couldn’t give up on his morals, even if that hurt him down the line.

“I wish he never took my independence from me, and I cannot deny that we have had some rough patches, but…he’s giving me back my independence. And he never made me a puppet. I’d rather be back with him than with you,” Philippines said. Anger flashed across Japan’s face, and Philippines wished he had enough control that he could straighten his back and look Japan in the eye and show her he was not afraid.

“I see. I will have to remove your permission to speak then. I do not want to do this, but…” Japan began to trail off, shaking her head, and Philippines went to speak, but his mouth was already glued shut again.

He wanted to sob.

But his sorrow was hidden by empty doll eyes.

“America has manipulated you. I know you don’t want this, Phil. I know you want to be away from them—finally free, and I promise I will do everything in my power to give you that,” Japan said. The hypocrisy sicked Philippines, but there was nothing he could do.

The puppet that Japan had turned him in to keep him still.