Wttt Colorado - Tumblr Posts

Already working on something new cuz haha funny

Now time to disappear for like a week again 🏃‍♀️

Put those fangs away bro!!! I aint no sheep 😤!!!

Ayyyyyyy guess who finally (yay) finished the drawing that i was supposed to finish like 5 days ago haha, sorry for the wait tho, school has been eating me alive, and cuz of that im probably gonna post a lot less until Christmas aaaaa 🧍

Anyways, hope you still enjoy this silly lil Coco drawing :3

Hello hi here’s a headcanon(pretty much California focused)

California has asthma really bad lungs 1) bc of wildfires 2) bc of smog(San Bernardino had some of the worst smog of any county in the states)

Also he likes doing outdoorsy stuff like hiking, running, surfing, snorkeling, etc. . He just likes to be outside(golden retriever energy tbh)

Speaking of running I also think he started a running group with Massachusetts and their most frequent members are Colorado and DC

He likes to try new things and start new projects but he loses interest pretty easily so he has a lot of “hobbies” that he says he’s gonna get back into but chances are he won’t

That’s all I have for now, I hope you don’t mind me rambling in your asks lol

The Cali brainrot is real in this comunity frfr ‼️‼️

Im gonna open up to requests 😶‍🌫️, because doing this was fun, and i need something fun to do in free time, so dont be afraid to send something in my ask box or dms. ANYWAYSS! Tysm @theywhoshantbenamed for sending in something 😼🫶 Feel free to rant as much as you want in my asks, i dont mind it at all! (+ i leant something new!)

Hello

MuffinRoll ship (CocoMass) opinions?

omg the i can't get over the name that's incredible.

Never really thought about it but they're vibes are so different I bet they'd be a pretty weird but fun couple. idk why (probably bc I lived in Boston lol) but they give off huge stoner boyfriends vibes.

Mass rants A LOT and Colorado is a good listener

The only thing they fight about is hockey. They get HEATED, but it's all in good fun. They like big strong men whack stick on ice

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Colorado: ur my ideal blunt rotation <3

Massachusetts: bro wtf does that even- oh... awe thanks ya friggin' weirdo (⸝⸝⸝O﹏ O⸝⸝⸝)

ASK ME FOR WTTT HCS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I NEED TO YAP !!! ANYONE ANY SHIP BRO PLS 🙏🙏🙏

Colorado’s statehood day 🤯??? Today??? Yeahaaa B) I changed his hair, I like it!! He’s got that unattainable swag type beat (no one gets what he’s rambling on about)

In my head thsi was really funny. Anyways I think Washington and thsi guy would be pretty close B) they’re both kinda chill like that

i would say oops i dropped this or something but i didn't so that would be a lie anyways i said i was unmotivated but i played jackbox last night and the rounds of tee k.o. and champed up have spurred me to draw more so i hope y'all like this (and i hope you all have been enjoying my shotty camera work to take pictures of my drawings bc i don't draw digitally)

bro smoked too much weed 😔 (it looks weirder on camera than irl.. not sure what's up w that)

stewarts gang!!! any of y'all also love stewarts? they got that good shit fr (can't talk for the vermonters tho, idk how y'all feel bout them)

@sleepdeprivedsimp234, lovely. I accidentally deleted my acc so I’m reposting everything 😭

You sent in two, so they’ll all be here!!

🔴 (Angsty/Sad)

Colorado’s one of the few States that gets attached to humans. He sticks by those he sees as friends for decades, always around to see them age and eventually die. The end for all mortal creatures, but it still hurts.

Colorado’s biggest fear is those he loves dying, and seeing so many of his friends— mortal human friends, people he knew would die long before him— pass upsets him more than it would other States, States who get used to people they know dying. States who can grieve for a day or so and move on.

Every time, he goes back to Mom and Dad’s house, he stays there for days. He brings his dogs, because he knows they’ll leave him too, one day, and wants to spend as much time as he can with them.

At Mom and Dad’s house, there are no expectations. He doesn’t have to work, can just curl up in his childhood bedroom and grieve. If it hurts too much, he’ll even lock his Mom and Dad out of the room. They won’t force themselves in. Just remind him to eat, and leave food at the door. They don’t quite understand, they’ve never really cared about humans, but they do their best to comfort him.

Sometimes, he and his human friends will grow apart before it gets to that point, but they still pass away all too soon. It still hurts, but it’s not as bad.

It hurts more when he looses a pet.

He’ll grieve pets for years, has kept all their collars and favorite toys, even when he eventually finds another stray and takes them in.

...He has a lot of pictures, all the way back to when he was a child himself, playing in the streets with the human children while his Mom was in the markets. He has hundreds of photo albums full of friends and pets, and they all have one thing in common...

They’re all someone he lost.

🌑 (Sleep)

When he was younger, he slept horribly. Always too hot or too cold. It was always too loud or too quiet. Definitely one of those babies that kept his parents up for hours before they finally figured out how to get him to sleep.

Thinner shirts, thinner blankets, but combined they were warm enough to keep him from getting sick. A quiet music box he still has to this day, and even used with his own Cities.

As he got older he grew out of his pickiness with sleeping conditions, and can pretty much sleep wherever. He can’t nap though, he just can’t sleep during the day.

The marijuana definitely helps, though.

👔 (Clothes)

Very much a black cargo pants man. He loves the pockets. Perfect for holding everything the local weed dealer needs…not that he’s a dealer (Don’t tell Mom or Dad—).

Hiking boots, he may love to ski and snowboard, but he loves to hike in the warmer months— he’s often invited to join Oregon and Washington with his dogs.

Puffer vest, one with a hood. I love vests and he seems like the type. It’s his State flag colors and the funky little ‘C’ and circle they have. I love it, it such a weird (affectionate) flag to me.

In colder months, he’ll wear a white sweater, a thicker black beanie, and his ski goggles.

In the warmer months, he’ll wear a white t-shirt underneath the vest. He also has one of those thinner beanies made for summer, also black. In place of his goggles, he’ll have those sporty sunglasses.

He also has a silver chain necklace, and all his cities have a matching one. He also wears a watch to keep track of time, he’s very time blind— probably made worse by the marijuana. It’s an older model of watch, he gets a new one every few decades. But the first one he ever got was his Dad’s old watch, and he keeps that old thing in a drawer of his desk.

(Gov has tried to get him to throw the old watch out; “Joshua, it doesn’t even work anymore. It’s taking up space.” “I don’t care.”, he’s very sentimental)

🏡 (Home)

All the States have several homes throughout, usually apartments in major cities and homes in suburbs.

Then they have their Main House, usually wayy bigger than the others (most being manors) somewhere in their State.

Colorado has a rustic-style, manor-ish (not as big as a manor but close) home in the mountains, pretty far away from other people.

He likes humans, more than he probably should, but he likes having the big open space-- his doggos love it too. It’s perfect for when all his kids come visit, enough space for them all to have their own thing, yet close enough for them to be meshed together. He can’t have them all over at once, unless some want to share beds, sleep on couches, and camp in the yard.

There are plenty of natural trails he likes to take around, and its just a pop away from anything else!

🟣 (Romantic/Sexual/Shippy)

Panromantic Demisexual, not currently in a relationship.

He’s not really looking for a romantic relationship right now, but if it happens naturally...

🍜 (Food)

He’s a stoner. He’s got the munchies. He will eat pretty much anything edible thats placed in front of him.

But if Mom or Dad makes cinnamon rolls...he has to be held back from eating all of them. Like, literally restrained.

It’s ONLY if Mom or Dad makes them. He will not do it with anyone elses cinnamon rolls.

It’s not that strange, we’re pretty sure everything Gov and Assistant make is laced with something...the lab results have shown nothing weird, but we can’t be too sure. It might be magic.

🧵 (Hobbies)

Skiing, snowboarding, rock climbing...of course, those are expected. He will try everything outdoorsy once! Its fun for him and his dogs, and his kids often join him.

He also has a synthesizer and plays grand piano, though he usually only does the grand piano at Mom and Dad’s house. He also has a portable beatmaker. He likes the flashy buttons.

He does yoga and other exercises, and likes jigsaws.

Mom taught him to crochet, and he often does it when he’s stressed.

Most States know how to sew, Mom and Dad taught them so they could fix their own clothes if needed, but Colorado is one of few that wanted to crochet too.

Jealousy

They shouldn’t be jealous, but they are.

———————————————————————

“You’re sure about this?”

“Why would we lie about it?”

“I dunno, Gigi. It just seems like he hates us..”

“Funny, Adam said the exact same thing about you.”

“W-what?! We could never hate Papa!”

“Well, you’ll have to tell him that yourself.”

Several groans throughout the room, emotional conversations with the Father you thought was dead for a century would be difficult.

“If you don’t want to talk to him, you could just act like nothing happened and call him ‘Papa’.”

That wasn’t viable either, too much had changed since the 1800’s.

There are 20 States unafraid to call Gov their father or treat him as such: Minnesota, Oregon Kansas, West Virginia, Nevada, Nebraska, Colorado, North and South Dakota, Montana, Washington, Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Arizona, Alaska, and Hawai’i. And not even to mention the Departments, Territories, and the Agencies– though the Agencies are more the mans grandchildren.

“Look, kids. I’m not gonna force ya, and neither are yer other Grandparents, but if yer gonna get jealous when he gives the others any affection, you have to talk to him.”

No one responded.

———————————————————————

Kansas was the last State to be inducted into the Union before the Civil War– 3 years in body and less than half-a-year- a State–, and the third oldest State to call Gov ‘Papa’ to his face. Nebraska was the seventh, both Midwestern States– pretty well surrounded on either side by States that watches them in jealousy whenever they called out…

“Papa! We’re out of ranch!”

“Evan, I bought 8 bottles three days ago.”

“There are 49 of us in this house and most of us in da Midwest eat it on everythin’, ya know that!”

“Hmmm…fine. I’ll buy another bottle on my way back from the meeting this evening– but I will not buy anymore until next week. Use it sparingly, all of you.”

“Papaaa…”

“No.”

They did it constantly, almost as if they were mocking the others.

“Papa! Come by mah house this weekend! I got another cow– and she’s just the sweetest thang!”

“Papa, lookit! The sunflowers are growin in, we’ll hafta keep an eye on ‘em!”

“Ey, Papa. Mama said ya haven’t been sleepin’ right lately, ya doin’ okay? Naw, naw– ya look like death warmed over! C’mon, we’re gonna take a nap.”

“Papa.”

“Papa…”

“Papa! Mama!” the Sunflower State beams from where he stands by the patio, the Cornhusker State perking up at the mention. It’s a summer day, the weather is warm and it was decided to be a perfect day for an outdoor grill-by-the-pool. It was still early afternoon, most of the South and a few of the Midwest setting up the backyard, “Thought ya were in Germany for the next bit!”

Gov, of course, looks out of place in his slacks, loafers, and pale blue polo, but at least he wasn’t wearing his usual turtleneck. At the very least, Assistant was wearing a romper in the same shade of blue and sandals.

They both immediately drop what they’re doing, settling the stacks of paper plates and silverware on one of the foldout tables, before running over to the other personifications. They both stood a few inches taller than the man and woman, like many States did, and a few inches broader. Most of the Midwest and South were similar, all larger than the Government personifications in some way. Nebraska and Kansas looked a lot alike in build, actually.

The man smiles– the bags under his eyes looked darker than normal, he’d been getting better sleep and they’d been fading. What happened– allowing his arms to fall open as Kansas skids to a stop in front of him, practically lifting the man off his feet in a hug. Assistant laughs from Nebraska’s grasp, though he didn’t quite lift her the same way, Gov letting out a quiet ‘oomf’ at the sudden shift.

Kansas grins, the gap in his upper front teeth adding to his boyish joy at seeing his parents. Nebraska’s smile more tame than the others, but still just as bright.

“Meeting got delayed,” Assistant chimes as they’re set back on their feet, “We’ll be leaving tomorrow, so we decided to come visit beforehand!”

The others watch in a mix of jealousy and grief.

They want that. To be able to call them Ma and Pa and receive the same type of hugs and hair ruffles and constant words of love and praise. They want that.

They just can’t have it.

———————————————————————

Nevada, Utah, and Colorado may not agree on much, but they did agree on one thing.

Utah’s human kids are the cutest.

Gov and Assistant agree as well.

“Really, dad?” Utah sighs, Colorado chuckling and Nevada snickering behind him as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I only asked you to babysit.”

“I am babysitting.” Gov retorts, pulling up his sunglasses from where he reclines on one of the patio chairs, “Look at how much fun they’re having.” None of them notice the other Western State at the sliding glass door. California just behind the wall, listening and leaning over to watch.

“Dad.”

“I really don’t see the issue, Micah.”

The 7-year-old triplets, Kayden, Brayden, and Jayden, were in a circle with several large lego sets— lego sets Utah knew he and Ilithiya hadn’t bought for the children.

12-year-old Kingsley fiddled with a fresh-out-of-the-box nintendo switch, and 14-year-old Kayleigh seemed to be dancing with a VR headset over her face.

16-year-old Jaxon was sitting close by the triplets, reclining on one of the patio sofas as he flew an expensive looking drone around the backyard.

Even Paisley, Utah’s youngest at only a year old, strapped to the Gov’s chest via a baby carrier, with her own mini sunglasses on her chubby baby face, seemed to be enjoying herself. And, judging by the pastel yellow mini truck just a few feet away, even the baby wasn’t safe from the Grandparent urge to spoil.

“You bought my baby a car.”

“It’s a little car for baby people, Micah. It even has seatbelts, and Paisley’s such a smart girl,” Gov turns to coo down at the happily babbling toddler, “Aren’t you, sweetheart? Know all about road safety, yeah? You’ll be the best driver, won’t ya?”

“Dad.”

“How much did this cost, daddy?” Nevada asks, still snickering, holding up her phone to record the interaction, “I had to be a lot— I know those toddler cars alone go for $200.”

“Eh.” The man waves the question off, moving to stand from the patio chair with a grunt, “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Utah stresses as the older man approaches, “It’s a lot of money, Dad—“

“Micah.” The man’s voice is softer, sunglasses held in his hand as he gently rests a hand on the Westerner’s shoulder, “It’s alright. I wanted to buy this stuff for the kids, I know they get a bit bored out there during the summer— you and Ilithiya have been complaining about how hard it is to keep them entertained. Consider this,” he gestures to the kids, “a Christmas present.”

“It’s June.” Utah says weakly, leaning into the touch.

“Early Christmas Present.” He corrects, “They can leave the stuff at your Mother and I’s house if you want. Don’t stress too hard, bumblebee.”

Utah sighs, smiling, “Thanks, Dad.”

“Awww,” Nevada coos as Colorado snorts, “How precious.”

California slips away, chests clenching painfully at the sounds of playful banter coming from the back patio.

———————————————————————

Alaska is one of the youngest States. He may be the largest State, the largest man in the house too, but he’s still younger than the others.

He’s not very good at written social cues, and even worse at unwritten social rules. He has no sense of direction, a habit of getting distracted and wandering off: this means that when they go out in public anywhere…

“Let’s go, Ivan.” Gov says calmly, tugging gently on the man’s wrist.

Someone usually has to hold onto him, either his wrist or his hand.

“Coming.” The younger mans’ voice is quiet and soft as usual.

They’re walking through one of the busier parts of the city, where all the stores and such are; it’s an unavoidable place when they need to stock up on necessities.

Other than Gov and Ivan, Oklahoma, Maine, Vermont, and Wisconsin had joined them on their shopping trip. To get everything they need, it takes a whole team.

Vermont is in charge of the cart and Maine in charge of the list, Wisconsin in charge of the second cart and Oklahoma sent to grab things across the store or to run back into previous isles if they forgot something. Gov is there purely to supervise and Alaska to lift anything the others can’t.

It’s going well, Oklahoma rambling about his university sports teams and tornados and such, Gov humming along and Alaska following dutifully behind. The other three watch from behind them, a scowl on Vermont’s face, a grimace on Maine’s and a simple frown on Wisconsin’s.

Each look away, Maine down at the list and the other two to opposite sides of the aisle.

But there’s a sudden presence looming over the Pine Tree State, a hand coming to carefully rest on his shoulder.

Despite the careful movement, he still flinches in surprise— not paying attention to his surroundings—, and the hand quickly retracts.

When he sees the purse of Gov’s mouth, he immediately regrets not paying more attention— cursing his subconscious reaction that lost the familiar, comforting touch.

“What else is there?” The man asks instead, scanning the list over Maine’s shoulder as the State clears his throat.

“We gotta get a few cases of watah bottles, Cal asked fo’ those kale chips they like, and, uh—“ Maine squints in an attempt to read the scribbled mess of words at the bottom of the paper, “I dunno what the hell they wrote down here.”

Gov hums, reaching out a hand. “Let me see?”

Maine hands the list over without a second thought, and watches the man’s grey eyes study the mess of pencil and ink at the bottom of the list.

He sighs, “Eugene, would you run and grab a few boxes of Hostess Sno Balls, Twinkies, and Coffee Cakes?” He closes his eyes tiredly as he hands the list back to Maine, “Just two boxes of each, they need to learn moderation.”

“Aight, Papa.” The ravenette says, vanishing around the corner after flashing the man a grin.

“We’ll head over to the water cases, and meet you there.” Gov said to the other three, referring to himself and Alaska, “Eugene shouldn’t be long.”

“Alright.” Vermont nods, “Meet ya there..”

Gov studies the three of them for a moment, brows furrowing in what looked like concern. He seems to fight himself, before he shakes his head.

“Alright. Be careful, then.”

He and Alaska vanish around the opposite corner of the aisle, Gov gently tugging the other along.

It was…it was so simple. They shouldn’t be feeling this way at Gov using the other’s human names in a public space as required, at him holding Alaska’s hand because the tall man would get lost if he didn’t.

They shouldn’t be jealous over it.

But they know he’d do the same in non-public spaces, preferring human names to anything else, and it stings.

———————————————————————

Gigi said their father thinks they hate him, but that can’t be true. They could never hate him, have never hated him. He…he just doesn’t want to be their Papa, anymore. Right?

…

Then why does he look at them so sadly, when he thinks they aren’t looking? Why do his hands twitch as if he wants to reach out but is stopping himself?

Why does he always sad when they call him ‘Gov’? Why does he always seem to hesitate before calling for them— by their State name in private and more-so their human names in public?

…

Could Gigi be right?

Under My Protection

A late night shopping trip goes wrong for the Four Corners.

*gun violence, implied cannabalism*

———————————————————————

It wasn’t often the States held genuine fear for their lives. They aren’t human, few things that do damage to the mortal meat suits do damage to them.

But sometimes, they were inexplicably human in their reactions.

Especially when it came to bullet wounds.

But with three of them ducked behind one of the shelves and another silently creeping along to join them, doing their best to void the shooter's gaze. A late night shopping trip in their pajamas to the local 24-hour supermarket.

Utah’s mouthing words, folding his hands in silent prayer. Colorado’s arm is thrown over New Mexico’s front, keeping the younger States close and behind himself, the other’s free hand twitching as he reaches for the knife attached to his thigh. Arizona is crouching, carefully crawling behind the shelves to join them. They flinch at each shout and shot, a few thumps of bodies hitting the floor.

Colorado meets Arizona’s gaze over the large open space between them, nothing for the other to hide behind.

“Stay over there.” he mouths, but Arizona’s expression goes grim.

He takes a deep breath, listening to the gunman shouting, and shifts his stance.

The aisle is long, and he knows he’ll likely be seen, but…if he waits just a moment…moves fast enough–

But their Do-Not-Notice-Me only prevents humans from noticing their abnormalities, it doesn’t stop humans from seeing them.

It doesn’t stop humans from attacking them.

Arizona grits his teeth to swallow a scream as a bullet hits in his side, barely managing to throw himself into the other aisle as another buries in his knee, a third striking the floor behind him. Colorado tugs him closer, the Grand Canyon State squeezing his eyes shut as Utah holds onto his shoulders, his body half laying on the other and half on New Mexico. The Land of Enchantment holds up his dirk as the gunman’s footsteps grow closer.

They’d teleport out, but there are humans here. In danger. And- look, States don’t really mingle with humans, but that doesn’t mean they want people to get hurt.

And the Do-Not-Notice-Me grows weaker when the people around them are afraid and hyper-vigilant, so someone would see them teleport.

And that would be bad.

Arizona doesn’t know what happens in the next few moments, only knows he’s holding back pained sounds– desperately wanting his Mama and Pa.

The shooter rounds the corner, gun raised and eyes maniacal– yet, calculating.

The Four Corners shift, Colorado– Joshua Jones shifting to put the other three further behind him even as Camilo snarls over his shoulder and Micah presses his hand against the bullet wound in Eric’s side.

But the shooter freezes, and with them do the States.

The feeling– the taste of Static in the air is thick. Two different sorts of Static.

One feels like Static electricity, tracing along the air like a protective embrace. It molds around them like a thick blanket, warm like the quilts their mother knits every year. It’s lighter, mostly harmless unless provoked.

The other is heavy. Heavy like a weighted blanket, like a boulder, like the weight of their father’s arms as invisible lightning arcs along their flesh– it does not hurt them, no, but the gunman’s sudden shaking and flinching and twitching say it is not as kind to them.

The gunman whirls in place, staring down the long, long aisle with a barely concealed, primal fear.

“What-” their teeth click around the word, hand on the gun shaking, “What- what is that?” they ask.

Something out of their sight rumbles.

They don’t notice how every other human in the store is closing their eyes and covering their ears– in a way that says its involuntary, that something is causing it, that something is protecting them.

“Th-the aisle isn’t– wasn’t that long.” the gunman whispers, taking a shaky step back.

The heavy Static grows heavier.

But the lighter Static shifts, focusing on one area.

Then, there’s someone kneeling next to them, pressing against Arizona’s side in Utah’s place.

His eyes open from their squint, and they all stare.

Their father.

“Papá-“

“Dad-“

“Whatever you hear,” he whispers, carefully pulling Arizona closer to study the bullet wounds, “Whatever you think you see– Do. Not. Look.” The man’s tone is firm, the same way it was when he was explaining something when they were younger– something that would have serious consequences if they did not listen.

“Look at me,” he says, as the gunman screams and starts to run down the main aisle, “Look at me.”

They obey.

“Camilo, put the knife away.” he says calmly, but his brows remain furrowed as he pulls off his jacket, tearing off one sleeve. The sleeve is tied around Arizona’s leg, the man’s pained groaning silenced by a harsh wheeze when the rest is tied tight around his midsection.

“Shhh.” Gov brushes a hand through lank hair, “Breathe, Eric.”

The shelves rumble, and the gunman’s shouting grows frantic, several more bullets firing until there’s nothing but a resounding clicking in the distance.

The heavy Static forms a barrier around them, but the bulk of its presence moves down the main aisle after the gunman.

The clicking is replaced by sickening cracking sounds, the screams replaced by wet gurgling.

Gov’s hand reaches to catch New Mexico’s face, the sounds drawing the younger entity’s attention.

“Do. Not. Look.” he says, a hiss underlying his words, “Focus on me, focus on Eric, focus on each other, but do not look anywhere else.”

“Pa…” Arizona wheezes, face scrunching in pain before the hand returns to his hair, the State’s head settled in his lap. “Pa.”

“Shhh.” the man whispers, “It’ll be alright, Ringtail, keep your eyes open.”

“Hurts.”

“I know, sweetheart.” the man says, “Just stay awake for me, okay?”

Arizona whines.

The sounds of struggling have stopped, the cracking of bones and the wet tearing of meat silent.

The heavy static returns.

Their mother appears on Gov’s other side, a few tears in her coat and shirt, but she doesn’t seem concerned by the steadily growing dark spot on the fabric.

Gov squints.

“You’ve been shot.”

“I’ll live.”

“Hn.”

“We need to get them out before the authorities arrive.”

They stare at each other for a moment, before, as one, Gov holds tighter to Arizona and rests a hand on Utah’s arm, as Assistant does the same with Colorado and New Mexico.

They land in the Statehouse, in the makeshift medical bay. The three States huddle together, watching in shock, fear, worry and awe as their father presses Arizona flat on the cot, their mother settling above him with tweezers, disinfectant— though unnecessary, most viruses cannot survive in their bodies— and thick rolls of gauze.

Arizona squirms, but it doesn’t deter their mother. She’s methodical and careful, gaze focused on Arizona with practiced movements.

The bullet in his side is removed, but the one in his knee had gone clean through. They’re disinfected, the needle threaded and skin stitched together.

“Camilo, dear, grab me one of the knee braces and crutches from the closet.” She says, “Micah, run down and grab some water and something light for him to eat. Joshua, come help wrap these.”

They disperse, Colorado grimacing when he lifts Arizona’s leg and holds it straight for his mother to wrap in gauze— she would’ve had to cut his clothes if he’d been wearing pants instead of shorts.

Arizona’s gritting his teeth, soothed only by the hand Gov has in his hair and having himself pressed against the man’s chest protectively.

New Mexico reappears a few moments later, compression knee brace in one hand. Assistant slides it up Arizona’s leg and straps it in place.

“There we go, sweetheart.” She says softly, humming as she slips down from the cot to run a hand down his cheek, “You’re all set.”

Arizona mumbles something, hiding further in Gov’s chest as Utah returns with a water bottle and a pack of Ritz crackers.

“Eat something,” Gov rumbles, “Then you can sleep.”

Arizona grumbles as he’s helped into a somewhat sitting position. Drinking half the water and eating about five of the crackers before he tries to hide again.

Gov and Assistant share a look.

“To bed, then,” Gov says, shifting around to stand.

Arizona grumbles at the movement, before an arm slides under his back and his legs to lift him. He latches his arms around the man's neck tiredly.

“We should check yours, Mom.” Utah hovers at their mothers shoulder, who only smiles.

“I’ll be fine, dear. It went all the way through. It’ll heal soon enough.” She waves it off, only for a choked sound of anger draws their attention to the doorway.

Massachusetts stands in the door, dressed in black sweatpants and a shirt with ‘Spilling the Tea since 1773’ in blue and red letters, alongside the silhouette of a ship.

“What the fack?” He barks, stepping further into the room, “What happened?”

“Shooter at the market.” Gov responds easily, shifting his hold on Arizona, “Eric was caught in the crossfire.”

Massachusetts studies the State in the other’s arms, his gaze trailing along the others before landing on Assistant.

“And you got shot too?”

“It’s fine.” She says, “It’ll heal.”

“Not if ya don’t wrap it properly!” The Bay State storms into the room, nudging Assistant to the cot, grumbling angrily all the while.

“Dad-“ she protests as Gov steadily makes his way out of the room, soon followed by the other three States.

“Sit down! Jesus fack Robin—“

The sounds of the argument fade as Gov approaches the door that leads into his own room, the one they added a few weeks ago to lead to any house they were staying in.

The bed is even larger than they remember it being.

He settles the other onto the bed, raising a brow at the other three.

“Are you staying here as well?”

“Yes.”

“Please.”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

Gov hums, waving a hand to the bed.

“Make yourselves comfortable. I need to save your mother from Popop.”

He vanishes back through the door as the four of them huddle together, curled over and around each other like cats.

They barely notice when their father returns a few minutes later with their mother, who’s both grumpy and with a new wrap of gauze on her side.

It takes them a few minutes, changing from their suits into softer clothes and muttering quietly to each other.

There’s a kiss pressed to each of their temples, one from both of the older entities, before they settle in on either side of the four States.

With the feeling of heavy and light Static curling through the air defensively— protectively, lovingly, nothing-will-hurt-you— they slip deeper into a comfortable sleep.

Broken Bones

A rock climbing incident goes wrong for Colorado.

*broken bones, implied murder, implied looting of a corpse*

———————————————————————

Colorado didn’t remember much from the accident itself.

He remembers going to his favorite indoor/outdoor rock-climbing place, with the super high walls and the carefully monitored mountainside guests could pay to climb.

He, of course, preferred the actual mountainside aspect. He always paid extra for it, it wasn’t as popular as the indoor walls, so— due to lack of customers— there were fewer people keeping watch. Most of the time, if someone wanted to go mountain climbing, they’d actually go to one of the many mountains the State had to offer. Even as cold as it was this time of year.

But he liked not having to worry about keeping his safety in check, sometimes. Using the offered equipment and harness/pulley system at the establishment was just easier sometimes.

He remembered being close to halfway up the 300 foot cliff, nearly as tall as the Statue of Liberty—the cliff had been part of the property and converted for guests a few years after business opened, extra footholds added and the terrain made easier for the less experienced: whom were the usual users of the cliffside.

He remembers the line attaching the harness to the pulley fraying, remembers pulling himself closer to the wall— it’s not the first time equipment has failed on him.

He remembers the thick cord falling, the weight tugging him away from the wall.

He remembers holding on for dear life— he didn’t want to drop more than a 150 feet—

He remembers his fingers slipping from the hold.

He remembers free falling.

He remembers twisting to try and catch himself.

He remembers landing on his left side, feeling the bones in his arm and leg crack and flare with a blinding pain.

He remembers his head cracking against the stone ground.

And he blacked out.

———————————————————————

When he woke up, he was in what seemed like a hospital bed. He knew it wasn’t likely, very, very few doctors knew what they were and how to treat them, and they’ve all seen every single one of those hospital rooms.

But the Statehouse and every single one of their parents' houses have a medical room, with all the equipment to treat any injury they get or illness they catch.

With centuries to learn and no one else to do it, most of the OG’s— including his Mom and Dad, unsurprisingly— have the medical knowledge and ability of a veteran in the medical field.

This room is a pacific blue, so one of Mom and Dad’s. The Statehouse medical room is a duller grey-blue, with beiges and whites; truly has ‘Doctor’s Office’ vibes.

Colorado hums, the faint hum of a heart monitor and IV drip the only sounds in the room.

The blinds and curtains are shut, off-white in color, same as the thick quilt that covers him. The sheets beneath it are a light green-teal color.

His body feels heavy, and his head lols to the side. He tries to move.

He flinches, gritting his teeth against a pained sound.

He doesn’t quite succeed.

There are hands on him, then. One holding his right hand, another pressing gently against the left side of his head. Another pair of hands check the IV and the cardiac event monitor patches on his chest.

He’s dressed in different clothes than he remembers wearing.

Gone are his shearling sports jacket, insulated pants, winter gloves, hat and rock-climbing boots. Even his goggles are gone.

Instead he’s wearing an over-sized, cream-colored sweater and a pair of sweatpants he can’t see under the covers. He can also feel a fuzzy sock on one foot, wiggling his toes in the fabric.

He can’t wiggle the toes on his left foot.

He blinks, hazy vision finally focusing enough to see where the hands had come from.

“Joshua.” Dad’s holding his hand, fingers trailing lightly across the left side of his face, but he can’t see the man's hand from his peripheral. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

He only hums back.

Mom is checking the IV and heart monitor, but he can’t see her either. Something is covering his left eye.

He tries to lift his free hand to paw at it, but he spots something that makes him blink, slow and tired.

A cast, starting at the second knuckle on his fingers, keeping his elbow bent at an angle, likely more comfortable in a sling. It’s a pastel, baby blue in color, almost looking white in brighter light. The sleeve of his sweater is slightly bunched at the elbow, but he sees the lumps of the casting tape all the way up to his bicep.

He notices something else immediately after. His left leg is slightly elevated under the blankets by a pillow. He feels the same cast padding all the way up to where his leg meets his hip, and he’s sure the casting tape is the same blue as the one on his arm.

He furrows his brow in confusion, staring at his raised arm.

That…is his arm, right?

“You had quite the fall, la mia gioia.” Mom’s voice comes from his blind side, and he twists his head slightly to see a bit of her as her hands pull away from the wires and tubes. “Lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

She continues muttering in italian under her breath, words Colorado’s brain is too foggy to translate, “Non hanno controllato le attrezzature di sicurezza, perché non hanno controllato le apparecchiature? Lascia che qualcuno faccia un test perché erano troppo pigri? Gesù, penseresti che i professionisti saprebbero…”

“You have a concussion, a broken arm, and a broken leg.” His head lists back over to face Dad, the man’s voice still soft despite the worried crease in his brows, “Had you landed any other way, you would’ve broken your neck.”

There is something in Dad’s voice, in Mom’s muttering, that Colorado doesn’t like.

He huffs. His shifts his body to sit up further, grunting at the strain on his sore, bruised and broken body, ignoring the sudden frantic words and hands.

“No, no— Joshi you stay right there—“

“Joshua, Süßer, you shouldn’t—“

He manages to reach a slightly more upright position, huffing out a strained breath and turning to Dad. Joshua reaches his arms out, making grabby hands as best he can with his body feeling so heavy and useless.

But Dad isn’t moving, isn’t doing what Joshua wants him to do. He’s standing now. Dad’s supposed to be sitting down and holding him while Mom makes the hurt go away, then they all sit together until Joshua falls asleep and they tuck him into bed.

Dad’s still not moving.

He whines.

“Daad.”

The man stops, sucking in a breath before he releases it in a sigh. He looks over Joshua at Mom, the two seemingly sharing a silent conversation Joshua can’t be bothered to decipher.

Then Dad smiles, a soft, worried smile as he moves, carefully lifting Joshua up just a bit to slide underneath the State, allowing him to curl against his chest like a content cat. There’s another shift as Mom comes around to the other side, sidling up against Dad and letting Joshua’s legs hang over her lap.

It’s then he notices they aren’t wearing their usual get-up of suits or other area-and-season appropriate clothes.

Dad’s dressed in one of his pajama sets, long sleeve and buttoned up, in a blue so dark it almost looked black, with white buttons and trim on certain parts.

Mom’s wearing a light yellow, flowy set, the shirt long enough to be a nightgown, with slight ruffles on the ends of the sleeves and pants.

Joshua mumbles something he can’t even hope to understand as Dad’s hand starts running through his hair.

“Shh…” the sound rumbles in the body below him, “Just go to sleep, sweetheart. We’ll take care of it.”

And, a lot smoother, more welcome, than last time, the world goes dark.

———————————————————————

It’s about three days after that Mom and Dad decide he’s good to use the crutches on his own instead of being carried everywhere.

He had tried to use them earlier, sure that Dad’s back would be killing him— he was the one doing most of the carrying if Mom didn’t get to Joshu first—, but had been denied.

He almost wished they’d carry him again. Using crutches with a broken arm and a leg broken nearly all the way up was harder than rock-climbing over a pit of venomous snakes.

They did help him down the stairs, making sure he didn’t do so much as stumble on the way down.

The other States and his grandparents were really nice about it, too. Grumps grumbled as normal and Grampaps fussed like the Jersey Mom he is. Popop checked him over triple and Gigi made him food. G-pa and Pappy were all about helping him around when Mom and Dad weren’t able to be there. Pawpaw, Powpow, Gee, and Papa were the ones who went and took care of his dogs for the time-being, Joshua not even allowed to teleport without assistance until after he healed entirely. Grandpa and the Oldest Man were also there to help when sleep evaded him, those two always had the good pain meds— though not as good as whatever Mom and Dad had him on that first day.

But it hadn’t all been smooth sailing.

There had been an..incident. About two weeks into his recovery, his bones still stitching themselves together, sore and painful if he woke up wrong.

He’d been walking out in Denver with Mom, Dad, and DJ themself. It was a cooler day, but still warm. There weren’t a lot of people on the sidewalks for once, most out in local parks or driving out to hiking trails and such.

A store had caught DJ’s eye, and their eyes had done that little sparkle they do whenever they get excited.

“Ooooohhh!!!” The bounced outside the shops window, “Dad! They restocked the snow globes, they got new ones!” Their eyes look over pleadingly, and he just smiles.

“Ya got your own money, dontcha?”

“Yess!” They throw their arms up in excitement. “Nana! Papa! Ya gotta come in with me!!”

“I’ll wait out ‘ere.” Colorado grins lazily when Dad’s gaze finds him, “Be easier. I’ll be fine.”

Mom and Dad share a glance, before Dad reaches out to ruffle his hair under his hat.

“Daad.”

“Yell if you need us.” He says, fixing the others hat before the three of them vanish into the store.

Colorado situates to lean against the wall of the store, sighing at the slight relief he feels when his weight is pulled off his good leg and transferred to the wall behind him.

He closes his eyes…

And regrets it immediately.

Something solid slams into his side, throwing hid off balance and onto the ground, his crutch falling out of his grasp.

Most of his weight lands on his left arm.

His broken arm.

He grits his teeth at the new, burning agony that rips through him as the person above him snickers. A little bit of his wail escapes into the air around him, but he manages to swallow most of it.

He turns, glaring through pain-squinted eyes at the man who shoved him off the wall. In one of the man’s hands is a bag, with a jumbo-sized snow globe box inside. The store they’re in front of.

The man laughs, “C’mon! Can’t be that bad, man. With that kind of break, you’re most of the way to healing if you’re out and about, yeah?”

That’s not how it works, not how any of it works, but Colorado can’t respond.

The man’s snickering is choked off, his body thrown down the adjacent alleyway. Dad whirls back around and kneels in front of him, Mom vanishing around the alley corner. DJ drops down at his other side.

“Dad?!” The City near screeches, Colorado groaning in pain as Dad lifts him into a sitting position, with his good arm pressed against the man’s chest.

“Let me see.” Dad whispers, glaring at the fee onlookers until their heads snap to look in a different direction, “Let me see, Joshua.”

Colorado takes a few deep breaths, holding up his arm.

Dad takes it in one hand, gently, and runs his other along it, pressing with just the slightest pressure.

At one particular spot, Colorado whines, burying his face in the other man’s sweater.

“Small fracture, but it should heal faster than the break itself.” His Dad’s voice rumbles against his ear, “DJ, grab his crutch.”

He’s slowly lifted up, into his Dad’s arms.

“Ya didn’t have to throw ‘im.” He mumbles as he’s set back onto his good leg, the crutch settled back under his arm with Dad’s hand against his back.

“I did.” Dad replies easily, as if it’s normal.

Colorado blinks.

Something in his brain clicks, he shudders.

Oh. Mom, Dad, and DJ must be done with their shopping.

But…

“Where’s Mom?”

“She had to grab something else really quick,” his Dad replies, “She should be back any moment.”

“Why does my arm hurt more than earlier?”

“Someone tripped you, you received a small fracture that should heal in a few days.”

“Oh…yeah, yeah I remember that. Who tripped me?”

“We don’t know.” Something gleamed in his Dad’s eyes, the steadily setting sun lighting the flecks of green still swimming in the grey irises, “But they won’t be doing it again. They apologized profusely about it.”

“I..don’t remember that part.”

“I’m not surprised, you were in a good bit of pain.”

“You okay, Dad?” DJ asks, hovering at Colorado’s other side.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine D. Just sore.”

Mom exits the store with a shopping bag before they can respond.

“I got you a gift, amoruccio.” They declare to DJ, digging through the bag to produce an average sized snow globe, with a small handle on the side and what looked like motors inside.

DJ gasps, taking the globe in hand.

“Nana! You got me the music box one!!” They exclaim happily, studying their new addition to their already massive collection, “They said it was limited edition!”

“Only the best for my nipotino.” Mom hums, pinching DJ’s cheek before turning to him. “And I got something for you, gioia.” She coos, pulling another item from her bag.

Another snowglobe.

The base was made to look like a forest, a small, painted dirt path leading up and into the globe itself. Inside the glass are more trees, and some absolutely tiny animal figures to fill in space. He’s sure he even sees some tiny deer hidden around the base.

It’s also jumbo sized.

“Aww,” he says, “Thanks, Mom. I’ll put it on my mantle.”

Mom hums.

“Nana!!” DJ says, “They said they sold the last one of those, didn’t they?!”

“A man came by to try and return it.” She says gleefully, as they begin to make their way further down the sidewalk, “They wouldn’t accept returns, so I offered to buy it from him.”

“And he accepted?!”

“It was actually incredibly cheap in-store.” She laughed, “He asked for…a good bit more than a human would be willing to pay. But I didn’t mind.”

As they walk, Colorado slowly forgets about the pain in his arm, about whoever the hell shoved him and ran off.

He has his parents around to help, and his kids are more than willing to help him out.

He smiles, snickering at something DJ says as they get farther and farther from the shop.

As they get farther and farther from that creepy alley next to it. He wasn’t sure why it gave him the creeps, but it did, and he wasn’t even gonna chance looking into the thing.

Why should he, anyway?

It’s just an empty alley.

Hi!

Can you draw a scene from the story you wrote about Colorado breaking some bones, I have no clue what scene to choose from tho-

Of course! Sorry it took so long, Lovely!

*STATE DESIGN LIABLE TO CHANGE!*

Yoo

When you have the time can you do some story four corners based?

Something movie night based maybe?

I bust this out in like 30 minutes, I’m pretty sure I black out writing this.

Movie Nights

The Four Corners have weekly movie nights.

———————————————————————

States have their own circles amongst themselves. The OG’s, their Grandpa’s, hang out together the most– no one knows what they’re doing, but they’re sure it’s the Old Man Hobbies.

Washington and Oregon are practically attached at the hip, where one goes the other almost always follows– dubbed Regina George and Heather Chandler in most people's contacts list.

The circles aren’t always the same, shifting and changing with time and as they start to communicate more– but few States have the tight-knit bond that Colorado, New Mexico, Utah, and Arizona have, dubbed the Four Corners.

Colorado- Joshua- is the oldest of them, becoming a State in 1876. Utah- Micah- followed in 1896. New Mexico- Camilo- and Arizona- Eric- bringing the end of their group in 1912. They only started really hanging out in the late ‘60s, but have been closer than other States ever have been– the exception being the OG’s.

The Four Corners have weekly Movie Nights, usually taking place on Mondays’ as a pick-me-up for the start of the week. They choose the movies ahead of time, but they always end up in the same place. Arguing about their placements on the couch.

———————————————————————

“Jooooooshhh.”

“Huh?”

“Scoot over, man, you’re hogging the entire corner!”

“Nah. Not feelin’ it Cam.”

“Oh you maldito bastardo, te mataré–”

“Okay- let’s not with the death threats!”

“For once, I agree with Micah.”

“Hush, you!”

———————————————————————

And the night always ends the same way.

———————————————————————

It’s 3 am. Joshua sits up right in the corner of the sofa, Micah leaning on his left shoulder. Camilo has his head in Joshua’s lap, sprawled out and snoring. Eric lays on top of Camilo, sprawled out in a similar way and drooling on the other State’s shoulder.

The TV still plays, volume lower than it had been.

A hand strokes through their hair while another set of hands tuck various blankets around their shoulders. A slow, humming tune filters through the air, a harmony of two voices. The sleeping States relax further at the sound.

The TV clicks off as the humming fades down the hall.

———————————————————————

They always sleep the best on Movie Nights.