@sleepdeprivedsimp234 Its Back

@sleepdeprivedsimp234 it’s back

Prettier

Mass finds New York, with four of their children.

———————————————————————

Massachusetts couldn’t find New York.

Now, normally that wouldn’t be an issue– New York is a busy man and often leaves for days at a time for work-related reasons.

Thing is, he had explicitly told the humans not to bother him that week.

But Mass still couldn’t find him anywhere.

He hears muttering from one of the bedrooms, a room they don’t usually check without permission– New York City, Nicki’s room.

He nudges the door open, carefully, but stops. He holds back a snort.

Nicki, Grayson -Boston-, and Cooper -Newark-, he can spot New York asleep on the chair behind them, and covers his mouth.

Little Robin, barely the size of the average 10-year-old, an older make-up kit that used to belong to Trenton next to her, sits in New York's lap as the cities mutter to her with large grins. All three of them are crouched around the chair New York and Robin sit in.

“He’s gonna love it, Dollie.” Nicki grins, crooked and full of teeth.

“Yer makin’ him pretty for the first time in his life.” Grayson snarks.

Cooper just hands her the brushes and paints as she reaches for them, her little face scrunched in concentration.

Mass crosses his arms, leaning against the doorway as she huffs.

“Poppa is already pretty, Grayson!” she says, almost offended– Mass has to hold back another snort, “I’m makin’ him prettier!”

“Poppa’s pretty enough,” his amused voice makes all four heads turn, New York still completely passed out– but Mass can see their fingers twitching.

Robin perks up.

“Daddy!” she says happily, “Look! We made Poppa prettier!”

“I can see that.” he snickers, finally stepping into the room completely. “Though, I think ya did most of the work, Birdie.”

He sees New York’s eyes blink open slightly, watches him study the room for a moment before his arms come up around their daughter.

She squeaks, “Poppa!” as he sits up completely. She’s still grinning, “Poppa, we made ya prettier!”

New York blinks sluggishly, not at all aware as he tries to wake up, “Thank ya, Ro, I look great.”

“Ya haven’t seen it yet, old man.” Nicki snorts.

New York just turns to look at him.

“Hey, Ro.” he says, suddenly, “Why don’t ya make yer brothers pretty too?”

Ro beamed, squirming and kicking her bare feet– the girl hates shoes and refuses to wear them most of the time– “I’ll make ‘em prettier!”

As the three cities suddenly look some form of nervous– Mass doesn’t know why, for her age, she actually did pretty well– New York releases the girl.

She barrels into Grayson first.

As Mass makes his way through the sudden chaos; the boys talking rapidly, like they’re negotiating for their lives and not just trying to stop their baby sister from making them prettier, and Robin ignoring every offer they give as she advances like a car after a mouse– if the mice were nearly a foot taller than the cat.

“Birdie–Ro, ya don’ wanna waste yer make-up, do ya?”

“But I want to!”

“Heeyyy– dollie, why don’t we call Adam and you can make him prettier? Yeah?”

“Adam’s already pretty! He don’t need ta be prettier!”

…

They’d figure that out later.

Mass siddles up next to New York, grinning as their fully-gown, adult sons continue to try and negotiate with their kid sister.

“She did good,” he says, leaning down slightly, raising a brow. “She could learn a bit about blendin’ around facial hair, though.”

New York scowls at him, before he grins; crooked and so, so lovely. “Am I pretty, Edward?”

Mass grins, “So pretty, Tomcat.”

A faint sound of a door opening downstairs, New Jersey’s voice echoing up as the Cities shouting started to die down, Robin sitting on top of Boston’s chest with her brushes and makeup kits, the other two sitting nearby, accepting their fates.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOIN’ ON UP THERE?!”

“I’m making them prettier, Pa!” Robin answers for them, shouting back down the hall gleefully.

There are footsteps coming up the stairs, and Mass knows Jersey will be there soon– and he still can’t help but snicker to himself.

And as Jersey appears in the doorway, Robin perks up, waving with one hand as the other applies red powder to Grayson’s cheeks.

From Jersey’s expression of confusion morphing into fond acceptance, Robin’s pure joy, and the Cities all looking grim at their prospects, York and Mass start to cackle– leaning against each other as Jersey plops onto the ground within Robin’s reach; obeying the girls grabby hands and demands of ‘Let me make ya prettier Pa!’.

Mass hadn’t been expecting any of…this, and he knows he’ll eventually be made prettier. And still, he can’t help but feel warm inside, a soft, fuzzy feeling as York leans further into him, the others eyes already starting to droop once more.

It’s…nice. He likes it.

And it’s only August, it’s still 1776. He has plenty of time to experience more of it…

But he should

IDC: (on phone with Gov) No Gov you can’t send Seal Team 6 after Britney’s husband

IDC: (sighs)

IDC: We can’t make him disappear either

This is money cat. He only appears every 1,383,986,917,198,001 posts. If you repost this in 30 seconds he will bring u good wealth and fortune.

Source 

I’m Your Father

Gov tries to be their father, the States try to be his kids.

They’re getting better.

———————————————————————

“You need to try, dear.”

“Easy for you, love, they still call you their mother.”

“And they call you their father, you’re just never around to hear it.”

“Why would they hide it, though?”

“Because they’re afraid, Adam. Last time they saw you they were planning war, and next thing they knew; you were gone. They were still young then.”

“I know, I don’t blame them for any of it— it’s just…”

Robin hums, tucking the mans head to her chest.

“Take your time, dear. Something will happen to bring you all back together. Such is the way of Fate.”

“…I know… thank you, my dear Infinity.”

“Always, my dear Eternity.”

———————————————————————

He hadn’t been expecting the soft knocking on the office door, hesitant in its sound at the early hour of morning.

The sun hadn’t even risen, and the only people normally awake at this hour wouldn’t knock.

He stands immediately, grimacing at a particularly painful pop in his back, and speed walking over to the door.

He opens it, causing the State behind it to jump in place— where they seemed to have been preparing to leave.

“Mississippi?” Gov asks, and the other shuffles his feet. There are tear stains on the man’s cheeks, and Gov sucks in a breath, “What’s wrong?”

“Ah- n-nothin’.” The man mutters, turning away, “Sorry fer botherin’ ya—“

Gov notices the stuffed animal in the man’s arms, feels his heart clench.

Back in the 1820’s, he and his wife had made several toys similar to those of the Roman Rag dolls— filled with softer material and made large enough for their children to hold when they were afraid and based on their State animals. They never shared the toys with anyone but their family, and were surprised it took until the 1880’s for the humans to make something nearly the same.

The small red fox doll had grown worn through the years, a series of patchwork and faded orange and white fabric with one missing button eye.

He can’t stop himself from whispering— “You still have Bella?”

Mississippi froze, and Gov cursed himself. All the kids named their dolls, and the names were stitched on the bottom of one of the front paws so they’d never get mixed up.

“O’ course I do.” Mississippi sounds almost offended, “She’s…um— you and Ma made her fer me—“

The man looks like he’s about to cry again, and Gov reaches out, desperately.

Mississippi— his child, his son— is upset and Gov wants- needs to comfort him in any way necessary. He’d come to him for comfort— so screw whatever wariness Gov has right now, he needs to hold his child.

“Oh, Rylee..” he whispers, hands coming to rest on Mississippis’ upper arms, “What’s wrong, honey?”

The Southerner blinks, once, twice, before Gov suddenly finds his arms full of a silently crying Southern State.

He runs his hand through dirty blonde waves, humming softly as one hand runs up and down the others back, gently swaying side to side.

“Shhh…” he whispers, “It’ll be alright, little fox, it’ll be alright— just tell Papa what’s wrong.”

“Papa.” the man whines, burrowing closer. “Papa…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Mississippi mumbles into his shoulder, and Gov just hums.

“Alright, honey. If you don’t want to talk right now we can get you back to bed, hmm?”

“Yes, please.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Mississippi backs away hesitantly, reminding Gov of when the man was still just a young boy. Holding the ends of Gov’s sleeves as they make their way back through the dark halls to the Southerner’s bedroom, the stuffed fox still held tightly in one arm.

Gov nudges the bedroom door open carefully, stepping into the room. Navy walls with white and dark wood decor, small golden trinkets that glimmered in the moonlight that peaked through the closed curtains.

An electric guitar rests in the corner of the room, maroon and white in color, and a vase of magnolias settle on the bedside table. Gov knows that if the lights were on, he’d see posters of popular ballet performances and bands he didn’t know the name of. There was another stuffed animal on the nightstand, a teddy bear- a Morris Michtom Original teddy bear to be exact. It was a little faded with age, but in perfect condition. Not as worn as Bella the Fox…

Not as well-loved.

“Come on,” Gov urges the State into bed, his centuries of experience and his subconscious moving his hands for him as he tucks the State into the sheets and blanket— tired, wet green-blue eyes wide with shock as the other watched him flutter around. “It’s time for little States to sleep.”

“‘M not little no more…”

“Shhh,” Gov sits on the edge of the bed as the other slowly relaxes into slumber, “No matter how old or big you lot get, you’ll still be my babies…” the man’s eyes shut, and Gov presses a hesitant kiss to his temple, “Goodnight, honey.”

———————————————————————

Like Massachusetts, Louisiana is one of the more magically inclined States— at least the sort of Magic humans think of when they hear the word.

But that also comes with a downside.

Due to Louisiana being one of the most haunted States in America, he often sees shadows or flashes of spirits or demons in his peripheral. It’s normal for him, and he learned to deal with it when he was a young boy under his Mère and Père’s guidance. The spirits, good and bad, seemed to vanish when he was with either of them.

It has always only been glimpses, little flickers of movement only he can see.

But some days are bad days.

He hasn't had a bad day in years, but he remembers his rules.

Lock the doors and cover the mirrors. Don’t let it sunlight or turn on the built in light— lanterns and candles only. It makes it harder to see them when everything is dark.

Don’t let anyone else in, and don’t leave the room until they get bored— they will mess with everyone’s faces until you can’t distinguish reality from whatever they want you to see.

Don’t fall asleep, that leaves you vulnerable to whatever the more malicious spirits wish to do. Stay alert the entire time, no matter how long it takes.

These rules have gotten him through many a bad-day before.

But it’s not helping now.

The spirits whisper and curl in the darkness, snickering at Louisiana— hiding in the corner and curling his hands over his ears. He feels thin pinpricks on his arms as his eyes squeeze shut— feels slow drips of blood flowing down his arms as they try to get him to look at us, try to make him listen to us—

There are hands resting over his own, broad and warm and calloused in a familiar way.

The pinprick feeling on his arms stop, the incessant whispering ceases, and he opens his eyes.

Gov, with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. The lights are still off, the mirrors still covered and the door still shut.

The spirits have left with the mans arrival.

“I need you to breathe,” the man says slowly, carefully, “In and out, alright?”

He can’t— he can’t—

“You can.” The man corrects, gently tugging the Pelican State forward until his ear rests against Gov’s heart, “With me, breathe with me.”

With Louisiana’s hands fallen from to grab at his arms, one of Gov’s comes up to cover his other ear. The man takes deep breaths, and, subconsciously, Louisiana begins to copy him.

Gov’s free hand moves slowly to rub at Louisiana’s arms, gently over the bloody marks left by the more corporeal spirits. The State feels a silent hiss rumble in the man’s chest, and turns to bury his face entirely in the man’s sweater.

It reminds him of when he first joined his Pére in DC, most of the politicians looking at him with contempt. He’d practically been his fathers shadow at the time, the man keeping him close for the most part. At some point, he had felt it safe for the boy to explore; only for one man to have the bravery— the audacity— to corner the boy away from his parents.

The man had spoke of how useless the land of Louisiana was, scoffing at the boys own appearance and darker skin— saying that he must be feral, and it’d do good to beat the wilderness out of the thing before it shows.

He remembers how the walls had rumbled with a loud hiss, how the man’s eyes had gone wide with terror as he scrambled back and away from the young State, only to bump into his father.

Louisiana hadn’t seen his fathers face, or the man’s, because his mother had pulled him close and hid his gaze. Had covered his ears and called him bambino.

It was only for a moment, maybe a minute, before his father had knelt next to him the same way, smiling gently and asking if he was alright.

He remembers never seeing the man again, remembers how everyone in the buildings avoided staring at him afterwards.

The hiss slows to a stop, fingers gentle as the rub along the marks as his skin starts to stitch itself back together. His own breathing had finally returned at a normal pace, the memories of protection soothing him.

“There you are, Gus.” The man coos above him, holding him tighter, “You left us behind for a moment there.”

“S’rry, Pére.”

“It's alright Mon Trésor. We all have bad days.”

Louisiana smiles at the endearment, at being able to call the man father for the first time in ages.

He had taken the chance, after all— Gigi had rarely been wrong before— and it… it seems…

It seems that they were right.

———————————————————————

It’s well known that Memphis is one of, if not the most dangerous city in the United States.

So, when Tennessee nervously invited Gov to join him in the city for a day, someone obviously had to join them.

That’s how they ended up here, Memphis herself leading the way, the girls arm looped with her grandpa’s, with Tennessee following close behind.

“C’mon Papaw!” Memphis, known as Harper Jones, says with a toothy grin, “You and Nana haven’t been to Graceland since it opened, we should totally go!”

Gov smiles at her, “Perhaps another time, dear, when your Nana and I have a bit more free time. I’m sure your Papa would love to join you.”

The city groans dramatically, scuffing the heel of her boot against the sidewalk. “It’s not as fun with Papa! He’s more into horse riding like Uncle Eli than he’s into Elvis!” She turns her narrow eyes to him, still pouting, “You even knew Elvis personally Papaw! I still got that autographed picture ya took with him in the 50’s!”

“I know, dear.” The man rolls his eyes fondly, “But I’m sure he’ll love it because he’s doing it with you.”

Tennessee watches from behind them, eyes mournful. It’s true Harper and him didn’t get along as well as they used to, but finding out that she’d had contact with his own father without telling him?

It…stings. Quite a bit, actually.

…he tries not to think about it.

There’s a grunt, and a loud “Papaw!” in front of him, and he jerks his gaze from the sidewalk.

Harper and Gov had stopped walking, the man clutching his side and grimacing.

“Ah heck,” Tennessee mumbles, sprinting across the few feet of distance to stand at his father’s side, “You alright, Pa?”

“Fine, I’m fine,” the man says, voice strained, stumbling slightly in place, “Just– need to sit down for a minute.”

They guide him to the closest bench, where he sits down heavily. Tennessee takes his spot next to him, hands hovering fearfully as Memphis takes off-

“Be right back, Papaw!”

Tennessee watches his daughter until she vanishes around a corner, returning his gaze to his father’s in-pain face.

“Pa?”

“I’m– fine.”

Tennessee snorts derisively, “Coulda fooled me.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Richard Jones.” the older man scolds, a narrow-eyed look forming on his face, “I raised you better than that– Scheiße–” he hisses the last word, holding tighter at his side.

“Pa?!”

“Today started as a Low-Pain Day” he explains, “Suppose it simply wasn’t meant to last,” Tennessee carefully pushes against one side and his chest, forcing the man to lean back against the bench, and Gov sighs– face relaxing slightly, “Maybe I should get one of those ‘mobility dogs’ your mother’s been talking about since the ’90s.”

“...Ma wants what's best for you.” Tennessee mumbles, and Gov blinks, “...We do too.”

Gov blinks again as Tennessee spots Harper sprinting back around the corner, three bottles of water in hand. The man smiles.

“I know, Rickie.” he mumbles, reaching up to ruffle the other’s hair despite the tugging on his sore muscles, accepting the water bottle from Harper with a smile, “Thank you, dear.”

Tennessee feels his chest grow lighter.

———————————————————————

It’s not perfect, of course not.

But it’s getting better.

They’re healing…

And that’s what matters.