Wttt Maine - Tumblr Posts

Vermont: *walks in covered in dirt & what looks to be blood, carrying a rifle*

Illinois: What the fu-

Wisconsin: Heya Vermont what’s goin’ on there?

Vermont: Huntin’ season. *calmly walks away*

Wisconsin: Oh. Okay!

*Massachusetts & Maine look at each other worriedly*

Maine: Uh guys… Vermont is a vegetarian.

---

I have this overarching headcanon that before all the states moved into the Statehouse (minus Hawaii of course bc she knows her worth lol) that a lot of the states just kind of lived in weird ass, region specific places, finding themselves doing all sorts of jobs throughout their time.

All this to say that I believe Maine 100% was a seafaring lobsterman who definitely spent time as a lighthouse keeper. I can just imagine the locals gathering so many spooky stories about ghosts, crazy old men, etc., surrounding whatever lighthouse he posted himself up in.

Only to find the fucking human embodiment of the state of Maine having the time of his life puttering around in the fog, singing sea shanties as he turns the light on to help incoming ships.

---

HCS FOR MAINE?? - 🦞

of course love :3 (i totally do not know who this is at all.... sarcasm)

Maine HCs!

One of the shortest of the states. I see him around 5'2 ish!

Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't like seafood too much! I feel like the meat would cause texture issues for him.

His hair is a mix of blond, and ginger!

Seeing as Maine is a cold state, he's constantly wearing long sleeves, but the moment it gets to 50°F is when he whips out the shorts and tank tops.

Maine is one of the only states that can actually cook, besides the southern states. The midwest can't cook shit other than brats.

Seeing as Maine is home of L.L Bean... he wears so much L.L Bean it's not even funny.

Maine is the first state that sees the sunrise in the US, so naturally he's more of a morning person! He surprisingly gets up, and cooks breakfast.

He loves blueberries and donut holes! Seeing as Maines the largest producer of blueberries in the country... be adores them! And the donut hole was invented in Maine!

---

Oh, Maine 💙 I have a little bit on him;

Maine is the 23rd State and the 10th State to be raised by Adam and Robin; Gov and Assistant. Granted Statehood March 15, 1820.

Now, despite him being raised by a younger Gov and Assistant, he’s still very much a Northeastern State. He’s just better about talking through his feelings than the Oldest of Old Men, the OG 13.

Like most of the older children, he can get protective of the younger ones when they form, because they’re all incredibly small children when they form as State personifications.

This does not mean he sees them as siblings, it’s more like…the bond kids raised in a tight-knit community have. Not to say some States don’t have sibling-like relations, Gov and Assistant just never forced them to see each other as family.

The only ones who are by blood are the Carolinas and Dakotas. It’s why they always say ‘the other kids’ instead of ‘my siblings’ in my stories. Gov and Assistant are their parents, but that does not mean they see each other as family.

They aren’t human nor are they ‘born’, there is only blood relation between the Dakotas and Carolinas.

For a long time, mostly his youth, he didn’t really have any form of contact with the OG’s; especially since the younger States usually stick around Gov and Assistant until they’re at least 15-in-body. This is the age they usually attend their first meeting, as well.

The thing about the Northeastern States is that they’re very protective of their loved ones, and Maine came around after the OG’s pulled back from Gov and Assistant, and, by association, the younger States and Departments. Vermont, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Ohio are really the only States who got the Grandparents the OG’s are. Louisiana, too, but he was really young and barely 2-years-a-State when the Ultimatum went into effect.

Maine is very much that one kid who doesn’t want anyone near his parents.

They’re too nice to be friends with you, so shove off! — Little Maine to nearly every human he’s seen his parents interact with. Not swearing because it makes his parents upset when he does.

Maine was one of the few who took the change from Optimistic Congress and Forever-Smiling Assistant to the ever-exhausted pair of Stoic-but-caring Gov and Always-Worried-but-hiding-it Assistant the best; it took the rest awhile to get used to, but Maine got used to it quick.

They were still his parents, after all. He loves them and knows they love him.

A few more little extras about him!;

—Congress and Assistant made each of their kids a stuffed toy based on any animal of their choosing, even stitching the doll’s name somewhere on the toy. Maine’s is a blue lobster named Ebenezer, because he was an old man even at five. The name is stitched in red on Ebenezer’s left pincher.

—He most definitely owns a lighthouse and uses it to hide when he’s done dealing with people.

—He has a Maine Coon named Persephone and she’s Satan in disguise. She will eat your socks while they’re on your feet. He will hear no word of her wrong-doings.

—Maine, Louisiana, Hawai’i and Alaska have fist-fought bears together. It is not good for Gov or Assistant’s health. They don’t do it as often anymore, but they do hang out a lot.

—Massachusetts is Maine’s favorite Grandpa and Maine is one of the favorite grandchildren.

—Do not believe the OG’s when they say they do not have favorite grandchildren. They are liars.

—He’s very ‘Maim First, Ask Later’. He gets it from his Mama, except Robin is more likely to murder as a warning.

—One of his Cities got him a shirt with ‘Maim First, Ask Later’ printed alongside a Moose. It’s one of his favorite shirts.

—Very much has that ‘lumberjack’ aesthetic. Alaska would too if it wasn’t almost always freezing. The cold doesn’t bother him but it’s become habit to bundle up for the cold weather.

—He enjoys hiking and camping, and takes at least two months every year to just vibe in the woods.

—He was a lobster fisherman in the mid-1800’s to and everyone on the docks adored his Ma whenever she came by, even if they never really remembered her face. Most likely because she made the best blueberry pie any of them ever had.

—He’s not entirely sure, but any food his Ma and Pop makes is more delicious than anything else he’s ever had. Other states agree and so do the few humans they make friends with. At this point, the consensus is either magic or a blood deal.

—He’s sure it’s probably because they grow and make most of their food by hand, no matter how busy they are, or buy from local farmers. They once said its relaxing and they always seemed to have fun, so even Baby Maine didn’t make a fuss like he usually did when they were overworking themselves. (Probably because they bribed the toddler with homemade blueberry jam. They taught him how to make it when he was older. His never tasted as good as his parents.)

—He doesn’t do the fishing much anymore, but he still goes out on his own boat once in awhile for fresh fish, crabs, oysters and lobster.

—He, like all states, can play instruments. Most States know piano, taught by Gov and Assistant, along with whatever other instrument they chose. Maine chose the acoustic guitar as his second favorite.

---

If We Were Younger

Magical Mishaps lead to revelations.

———————————————————————

It was…an accident.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

“HEY! Why do you think we did it?!”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE THE ONLY ONES IN THE DAMN ROOM!!”

“What’s with all the smoke?”

“Lou and I were looking through his Wizard Book–”

“Voodoo, sha.”

“-- and then Gov appeared, and then there was smoke! So we left!”

“AND YOU LEFT HIM IN THERE?!?!”

“He’ll be fine! We don’t know what it’ll do, but it shouldn’t remove him from the world, if that’s what you’re worried about!”

Really, they hadn’t planned for this.

It was agreed that Pennsylvania and Massachusetts would be the ones to retrieve the man from the smoke-filled room, but the air was clear when they opened the door, save for a cloud of dust.

“Gov?” Pennsylvania called, stepping into the room, eyes the walls and surveying the damage as Mass came up beside him. “You here?”

The door shut behind them, all doors in the Statehouse did, but the weight behind it was heavier and different, and Mass jerked his head around to see–

Nothing.

He saw nothing by the door.

Penn looked at him and shrugged a shoulder.

“Guess that one’s heavier than the rest.”

But neither of them believed it.

The room was dark, the lightbulb having burst in the small explosion that had rocked the house and drew everyone that had been home— not very many— to the scene.

The shadows seemed to stretch and warp, making the large room seem massive. They didn’t know why the rooms were so large, anyway, but they were.

They moved slowly, the blast had knocked over furniture and left a bit of it in pieces. Torn pages and lightly sizzling wood littered the ground, and they kept their steps careful as they searched.

What happened to Gov?

Penn feels something brushing in the air against his back, and he whirls in place—

Only to have a face mere inches from his, with burning green eyes and warm brown hair.

The face stares at him for a moment, eyes narrow as Penn sees a flash of recognition in his eyes.

“Congress…?” He whispers, chest suddenly filled with a sharp pain– one he can’t help but reach up to feel, but there were no injuries.

The eyes brighten, and with them the room.

“Pennsylvania?” the man’s head tilts as the eyes trail over to Penn’s companion, “Massachusetts?”

Mass’s eyes are wide, and they both notice the blood on the…younger Gov’s arms and front— he has no coat, simply his black trousers, white shirt, and blue waistcoat.

“Shit—” Mass hisses, pressing forward to gently, yet firmly, pull the boy’s partially mangled arm closer to him, “You got hit with something.”

“It’s fine.” Gov’s– Congress’s– voice is soft and kind, yet dismissive of his injuries as he seems to take in the room, “It will heal.”

Mass snorts, “Not properly if we don’t get ya cleaned up!”

“I assure you, Massachusetts, my body is perfectly capable of—”

“Kiddo.” Penn’s voice is strained as he approaches, grabbing his stupid, stubborn son by the shoulders, “C’mon— ya can’t– can’t walk around the Statehouse with blood all over ya.”

It was too much like when Gov got shot– when his boy got shot and he wasn’t even aware it was his boy.

They had thought Gov to be another personification created after DC went comatose back in 2021, but he had always seemed older. Far too old, Government Personifications don’t appear knowing all that Gov knew when he arrived. He looked too much like Congress— body shape et all. His hair was shorter and his eyes were grey, but even his voice was the same.

Green eyes– they had been grey just an hour ago– soften, just slightly.

Congress sighs, “Alright, then. Lead the way.” and they knew he wasn’t happy about it.

They guide him out of the room, easily shoving others out of the way as they rush to clean off the blood and patch him up, but—

“What the fuck—”

“Language—”

“Shut it, is that—?”

“How—?”

“Stop hoverin’!” Pennsylvania barks angrily, Mass turning his glare over as well, “Can’t ya see he’s got blood all over?!”

Without their full attention on keeping him close– on holding him there so they could administer medical treatment– Congress bolts.

“FUCK–!” Mass yelps as the sudden jerk from his grip.

“CONTINENTAL CONGRESS, GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE—!” Pennsylvania roars, taking off in a sprint to give chase.

———————————————————————

Congress had always been fast, especially when running away from furious, concerned parents or chasing his own stubborn children, but he wasn’t actually trying to avoid them.

No one had seen Georgia sprint like that since the Revolution, or seen him so awake as he carried Congress over his shoulders in a sort of fireman's carry– despite the younger’s protests and the blood soaking into his clothes.

As the OG 13, as the Original 13 States are often called, haul the man upstairs, the remaining States are told to stay downstairs– and to call the others.

No one needed to be blindsided by their father being alive.

———————————————————————

“It’s really not that bad.” Congress protests as he’s forced to lie still on the bed, Mass’ hands steady as he carefully cuts away the clothes that were starting to clot to his skin, checking to be sure there was no debris left in the wounds before he started to clean and stitch him back together, “I’ve had plenty worse.” The last part is muttered, possibly not meant to be heard or even spoken– but blood-loss often loosens the tongue.

“Kid—” Rhode Island’s voice is strained, eyes wide like the others as they can only gape and stare, “You’re practically disemboweled, your left arm is shredded, and you nearly lost your jugular— what could possibly be worse?”

Congress blinks, “Oh,” he mutters, “Did I say that out loud?”

“Ya sure did, hun.” Maryland carefully pats his shoulder, handing the disinfectant to Mass when the other State reaches out for it, “Ya mind explainin’?”

“It’s nothing.” the younger dismisses with a wave, before his hand is shoved back down, “Simply a slip of the tongue. A new State was just inducted, you see, and is rather easily frightened…it’s been a rough month for sleep, indeed.”

A new State hadn’t been inducted since the 1950’s, but Gov was wearing something closer to what they remember him wearing in the 1850’s.

“Congress…” It’s New Hampshire who thinks to ask, “What year is it for you.”

Green eyes blink slowly, tiredly– but he can’t sleep yet, not until his wounds are patched and he’s stable.

“Not this year.” Congress grins, wide with teeth— Congress never grinned with teeth— showing off long canines that reminded them of snake’s fangs, with a slight curve. “You look…close enough, yes– but far too different—”

“What year, Adam.”

The man finally seems to relax at his human name— and they suddenly feel terrible. For years, Congress and Assistant referred to them by their names in meetings and they did the same, and the two continued to do so even after the States stopped (The Ultimatum fresh on their minds and forming a habit they couldn’t break), until they just…stopped. Con— Adam, hums, a pleased purr-like sound.

“It’s nice to know you remember my name…” he mutters, voice growing quieter and quieter, “Only my Ro calls me that anymore, besides the humans…”

“Adam!” Virginia’s voice is loud as the younger man starts to doze.

“It’s February…” he says, blinks growing slower and longer, “1846…”

Massachusetts taps his face roughly, “Stay awake, kid. Stay awake!”

But Adam doesn’t seem to hear him, doesn’t even seem to process the tapping, and his eyes fall closed.

“ADAM!”

———————————————————————

When Adam wakes up, he’s in a bed– a bed not his own. He’s dressed in clothes he doesn’t recognize, bandages wound tight around his midsection and one of his arms.

The room he was in was a deep blue-green, with dark wooden furniture and bookshelves lining one wall. A desk sits between the bookshelves, covered in books and papers and pens. An old recliner, one he faintly remembered sending his Pa Pennsylvania as a gift several years ago. Like all the other gifts he sent the States, it did not elicit a response, but he had gotten used to that particular heartbreak no he didn’t, he never did.

He shifts, finding himself unable to move.

He’s lying in the middle of a large bed, with two people on either side. He listens, allowing his eyes to turn back and forth to study the ones that had brought him here. Not his wife, not his children…

His parents.

On his right, Virginia slept pressed against his side, face buried in Congress’ hair. Pennsylvania was next to them, arm reaching across the Old Dominion to hold onto Congress’ arm. On his left, Maryland lay just a few inches away from his injured arm, one of his legs tossed over Congress’. Georgia on his other side, hand reached across to rest on Congress’ bandaged torso.

The way they positioned themselves was to discourage any movement for whoever they held onto, and would allow them to wake up if there was any attempt to get out of the bed. A perfect position, and it would work…

If he wasn’t Congress.

By 1846, Congress has so far raised 20 children, with his 21st arriving little more than a month ago. They all still live in his house, and his bed is often overrun by the younger ones when they grow afraid– be it nightmares or storms or their own memories of their past lives. Congress and his dear Assistant have many decades of practice of getting out of much heavier holds without waking anyone up.

He moves slowly, gentle nudges here and there and subtle shifts of his body. Even when they grumble and twist and move closer, he stays patient, and soon he’s standing at the edge of the bed, feet on the rug, and looking down at his sleeping parents.

Georgia (Pop), Virginia (Mapa), Maryland (Papa), and Pennsylvania (Pa).

It’s…a strange feeling. He hasn’t slept in the same bed as his parents since he was still young, sick with the Government’s ups and downs during the revolution. Always so sick yet so busy. They had to hold him down so he’d actually rest, because Robin was busy as well, taking over his responsibilities until the Revolution ended and so did his illnesses. It left a mark, though, and now when he gets sick, he gets sick. His immune system never quite recovered all the way.

He shakes his head, looking down at the clothes they had managed to put on him; a pair of long, soft trousers in a dark plaid pattern, with a white shirt several sizes too large for him– likely Georgia’s.

He moves carefully, making sure he doesn’t step too loudly or on any creaky floorboards. He turns the doorknob slowly, sliding through the thin opening and closing it all the way before releasing the knob– he didn’t need the click of a door shutting, possibly waking them up.

He gazes into the dark hallway, an incredibly dim glow from his eyes— unnoticeable to the naked eye at a casual glance. He sees perfectly well, no matter the light, and he makes his way to the banister he sees in the middle of the hall. It leads to a staircase, one he walks down gingerly– if he made too much noise, he’d wake someone. They deserved to sleep.

He finds himself in a sort of sitting room, filled with long couches and end tables, with a massive, flat, black slab hanging on the wall. He studies the area, wandering through connected rooms– a large kitchen, dining room with a long table, several more hallways leading to rooms he’d explore later– before he finds himself in the sitting room once more.

He’s about to head off down another hall, when a sharp gasp cuts him off. His head snaps to the sound, and the person jumps with a near-silent, “Shit—”

“Language.” he says nearly automatically, voice still quiet as he studies the other.

The man in the doorway is tall and broad, leaning against the doorframe with a hand to his chest in surprise. He’s dressed in dark red pants and shirt, a set– Congress thinks. He has a wide-brimmed hat that couldn’t be comfortable to sleep in, and familiar grey-blue eyes, though in a slightly lighter shade than his wife’s own. His hair is brown, and reminds him of Georgia’s own hair color, if a little lighter. He has a short beard, slightly rounding out a sharp jaw.

“You must be another State.” Congress observes, entire body turning to face the other.

“Yeah–yeah, I’m—” the man cuts himself off, clearing his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “Uh, nevermind– what’re you doin’ down here?”

Congress smiles at him as the man takes a few steps closer, “I woke up.”

The man looks to be expecting Congress to continue, but he just smiles.

The man sighs, “Christ. Well– ya shouldn’t be down here. If the old men up there wake up and you aren’t there? They’re gonna freak on ya, Pa–” he cuts himself off suddenly, but Congress heard.

Ah.

“You’re one of my States, then.” he observes, words slow on his tongue as the large man seems to shrink. He recognizes him, now. The State of Texas, the Lone Star State. The same face that would hide in his wife’s skirts or in Congress’ coats. “One of my sons…”

Texas. Gabriel Jones.

“Dunno what yer talking about.” Texas grumbles, looking away, “My Pa is dead. Don’ know why ya look like ‘im now, but— but ya ain’t him. Yer too different now, ya can’t be him.” he crosses his arms, a scowl on his face. He doesn’t look like he believes his own words.

Congress steps in front of him, frowning. a hand coming up to the taller man’s shoulder, and the other– his injured arm– raised to touch the opposite wrist.

“I recognize you.” he mutters, and Texas’ turns his gaze down to meet his own, “You’re quite different now.” The State’s brows scrunch up, lips pressed thin, but Congress smiles, “I’m proud to see you all grown up, Gabriel.”

The boy breaks.

He leans into Congress, and the man holds his weight easily, uncaring of his injured arm even as his son tries to be mindful as he buries his face in the shorter’s shoulder.

“Most of ‘em don’t like me.” Gabriels’ voice cracks and Congress is reminded of the chubby-cheeked boy that this man once was. “Think I agree with what my politicians do an’ say– wouldn’t believe me if I said I didn’t. I know they wouldn’t, no matter what the 13 Papa’s say— cause we’re supposed to agree with ‘em.” The state burrows closer, and Congress is hit with the urge to hold him.

So he does. Picks him up like he does all his children, no matter how old or big they get. One wouldn't think Congress could pick someone Gabriels’ size up, despite the Government’s own bulk and height, but he does– ignoring the sharp pangs in his arm. His son needs comfort, his body can wait.

Gabriel curls tighter as Congress sits on the couch, sat sideways on the mans legs and pressed close to his chest.

“If I don’ agree wit’ ‘em, they get angry.” Gabriel admits, “I– I can’t handle angry.”

Gabriel had always been afraid of loud outbursts of emotion, especially when the were upset outbursts.

Especially when they were violent outbursts.

Congress lifts the boys hat off his head, setting it on one of the nearby tables, and hums– hand reaching to pet through the boys hair.

“I’ve learned,” he starts slowly, “That as a Personification, you don’t always need to agree with your Politicians. You agree with your People, and your politicians don’t always reflect the views of the public.” he presses a kiss to Gabriel’s temple, and the boy starts to relax, Congress’ shoulder already soaked wet, but he pays no mind, “We’re still our own entities, even with all the changing views and points of populations. We don’t need to agree with everything.” Congress purses his lips, “They made it illegal for me to openly disagree in public settings, but in the halls of Government Buildings I was allowed free reign of my opinions– and they knew it. They held their tongues because in those buildings, on those properties, I have all the power, and I am unafraid to confront them about their incorrect views— especially their views of my children and wife.” He holds Gabriel tighter, “I made it so they could never force any of you in such a box, unable to voice what you believe, like they did to me. So make no mistake, if they’re trying to do such things– force you to hold your tongue, force you to hide what you believe, tell me. I may not be able to do much as I am, but I’m sure the me that belongs to this time won’t let it stand.”

Gabriel is quiet.

“...You don’t love us anymore.” he admits, and Congress’ heart goes cold.

“I’ll always love you.” he whispers fiercely, eyes narrow as he stares down at his boy, “I don’t care what happens between us, because it hasn’t happened yet.” he hisses, but his grip remains soft and comforting, “And if you try to tell me that I don’t love you again, I’ll have your hide, young man.”

“Ya’ sure?”

“Yes.” Congress says with confidence and finality, as if it’s the only possible truth, and Texas– Gabriel– can’t help but believe him.

The man shifts until they’re lying down, Gabriel’s head on his chest– and the weight is heavy on his injuries, but he doesn’t care in the slightest.

“Go to sleep,” he says gently, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

———————————————————————

He wakes to snickering, to the weight atop him tense and feels the heat of embarrassment from his son’s face through his shirt. He feels the weight, Gabriel, start to move, but he holds him tight. He won’t let his son be embarrassed by wanting affection from his Pa. He knows its a human social norm, but really– humans are so stupid most of the time. He senses three others to the side of the couch, watching them. Ohio, Indiana, and Alabama.

He knows it’s still dark, and thus none of the children should be awake.

He doesn’t even open his eyes when he speaks.

“Be nice to Gabriel.” he mutters, “You all do the same thing, even when I’m from.”

“Yeah– when we were kids.”

“You’re 42 when I’m from, Arthur. I do not want to hear the words ‘when we were kids’ in regards to something you still do.” he runs a hand through Gabriels’ hair, and feels the tension leave his son, “There’s no shame in it. So go back to your rooms or situate yourselves down here. You’re mother will be disappointed to find you awake at this hour.”

He hears shuffling of feet and grumbling, not reacting as a blanket is thrown over he and Gabriel.

He ignores the pain his body is in and falls back asleep.

———————————————————————

When he wakes up, he finds several more presences in the room, scattered around him.

But he can hardly tell who they are, not with the four affectionate, exasperated, concerned, and furious faces staring down at him.

“Nearly gave us a heart attack, boy.” Pennsylvania growls quietly, so as not to wake the other states in the room, “Waking up to find our injured kid not in bed, where he should be.”

Congress blinks up at him, “I got distracted.”

Virginia snorts, and Pennsylvania throws his arms up in the air, storming to the kitchen. Georgia settles in a nearby chair, and Maryland follows Pennsylvania into the kitchen.

Virginia crouches down, a little bit closer, running a hand through Congress’ hair.

“Ya alright, kiddo?” they ask, “You look kinda stuck. ‘M sure yer Pop wouldn’t mind—”

“I’m fine.” he replies, arms closing tighter around the State in his arms, Gabriel still fast asleep, “He’s fine where he is.”

Virginia and Georgia look at each other, before the Old Dominion State shrugs his shoulders, joining the others in making breakfast for the household.

“Lemme know if ya need up, kiddo.” Georgia drawls, “I know he can be heavy, and ya still injured.”

“I’ll live.” it’d been so long since his parents acted like his parents, how does he act like a son?

Georgia just shakes his head, “Not the point, kiddo.”

“My son needs comfort and I am providing it. My body can wait.”

“Yeah– well, my son is grievously injured and snuck out of bed.” Georgia raises a tired brow, “And now he’s barely 200 pounds with over 300 pounds of full-grown man on top of him despite that. Let us worry.”

Congress scoffs, “My children are babies. I don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘full-grown man’. Nonsense.” he dismisses.

Georgia seems amused. Congress had always been quick to confront when he just woke up.

“And my son is also a baby, I’ll have ya know.” he leans over the arm to poke at Congress’ forehead, “A soft, squishy kiddo. Cutest kid, I tell ya.”

“Impossible, my children are angels. No one’s cuter than they are.”

“I dunno, buddy. My kid’s pretty cute…”

“I will continue to ignore your declaration, as you are incorrect.”

Congress feels a shift in his arms, looking down to find Gabriel starting up at him with a red face.

“‘M full grown, Pa.” the southerner mutters, but Congress just hums.

“Lies. You are but a boy.”

“Shuddap.”

“A sweet little boy—”

“Pa.”

“—one I love so dearly—”

“Stop.”

“—one who deserves the world.”

Gabriel relents, simply burying his burning face back into his Pa’s torso, mumbling disagreements Congress doesn’t mind.

———————————————————————

Congress enjoys the looks on his children's faces, as that morning’s conversation led to him refusing to call any of them adults.

“I’m an adult, Pops! I’m allowed to use the ‘big kid words’, as you put it!”

“No. My babies don’t need such vulgar language.”

“We ain’t babies!”

And it annoys them to no end.

He loves it.

———————————————————————

Betrayed by his own parents and uncles , he finds that none of them listen when he protests being forced back to bed upstairs. He avoids their grasp as best the can– but then, they do something unforgivable.

They sic his children on him!

“Please, Papa?” Illinois says, hands held together and eyes wide.

“Papere?” Louisiana has a soft grip on his uninjured arm, eyes furrowed— always too grown, always too worried for his age.

“Papá!” Florida tugs on his shirt, just like he did when he was a smaller boy.

Several sets of wide, worried eyes— and he knows some of them are being dramatic for the effect it has on him. His dear Infinity taught their children the Art of Emotional Manipulation in order to get him to care about himself more. He hates it.

But he loves his children and he’s the one meant to be worrying about them, goddammit.

So he lets himself be herded upstairs by the firm hands of his Uncle Will New Hampshire, and lets Uncle Eddie Massachusetts check his injuries and rebandage them. He will never admit being grateful for no weight on the injuries, because he was more so grateful to hold his children.

Nor will he admit to falling asleep when Mapa Virginia runs their hand through his hair, the Old Dominion humming something Congress didn’t recognize.

“It was on one winter day from my home I went away

Far away from friends and home I longed to roam

But tonight I’m lone and sad just a little homesick lad

And I’m longing for my old Virginia home…”

And he’s asleep before the first verse is over.

———————————————————————

He awakes back in the room with blue-green walls and dark wood furniture. White curtains shut, letting in little light. The clock on the wall tells him it’s 1:00 p.m. The bed has deep brown sheets and a white quilt, with a pale green/brown/white plaid comforter and two pillows of the same color. A chair had been moved to the bedside,

He sits up, throwing the fabric off his legs and shifts to stand—

“Congress, no!” Pennsylvania’s stern snap makes him pause, looking up to the door where the man steps into view, carrying a metal tray with a steaming ceramic bowl, glass cup, and a small bottle of…something Congress doesn’t recognize.

The Keystone State sets the tray on the side table, herding Congress back into the bed and fixing the comforters.

“You’re staying right here for a while, boy! Gave us a heart attack this morning, and ya still injured! Yer not leaving this bed until Eddie says so!”

“I’m not— it’s unnecessary—” he tries to reassure, but raises his hands placatingly and clamps his mouth shut when Pennsylvania glares.

“You stay right here,” The State demands, an accusing finger pointed directly at him, “Until I get back, alright?”

Congress nods his head dutifully, and tension eases from Pennsylvania's shoulders.

“Good,” he says, voice soft in a way Congress hadn’t heard in years– hadn’t heard since he was so often ill— as his hand comes up to ruffle his hair. “Alright, kiddo, yer Mapa made ya soup and sent up some painkillers.” he takes two small tablets out of the unfamiliar bottle and holds them out, “Take em with the water and eat ya food, I’ll be right back.”

The tray is settled over his lap, but Pennsylvania doesn’t leave the bottle of small tablets.

Congress swallows them as he was told, drinks a bit of the water, and stares at the soup.

…

He…never eats much. They only ever go to the market twice a month, and can only purchase so much so the humans don’t get suspicious. He and his wife often go without during food shortages so the children can eat as much as they need.

Most of their food comes from hunting in proper seasons, but it’s dead of winter and the temperatures have caused many of his more Southern children to grow sick. It’s all hands on deck, in his time. There’s no period he can go out, nor would he send his children out in the freezing temperatures.

Just a moment later, the door creaking open snaps him out of his staring contest with the broth.

He looks up, spotting three faces peeking into the room.

Maine, Vermont, and a face he doesn’t recognize.

“Hello.” he greets, carefully moving the tray with the uneaten soup back to the bedside.

“Hey…” Maine’s the one to speak, shuffling his feet as they step into the room, “You busy?”

“Of course not.” Nothing could stop him if his family needed him, not work, not the humans, not even God himself. “Is something wrong?”

Maine shakes his head, but Vermont and the Other are far too quiet– gazes not looking at him and scuffing their feet on the floor.

He knows that look.

It’s the same look Gabriel had last night.

“Jackson.” he says firmly, eyes focusing on the other State, “What’s wrong?”

Maine’s shoulder scrunch up, and there’s a shuddering breath.

“...We’ve missed you..” he says, “Even those of us you haven’t met yet– it’s just…” he chokes off, “It’s been a long time…”

Congress relaxes a bit, brows still furrowed in worry as he stares at them a moment. They stare back, half-hearted and concerned.

He smiles, and opens his arms.

———————————————————————

Pennsylvania comes back not even five minutes later, staring at the scene in his room.

Congress running hands through Vermont and Maine’s hair, with California practically buried in his abdomen.

His son just smiles at him, unrepentant.

“I stayed, didn’t I?” he says.

Pennsylvania’s eyes narrow when he catches sight of the untouched bowl, resting innocently on the side-table.

“I’m gettin’ yer Pops…” he says, “and yer gonna eat the fucking soup, boy.”

They end up having to force him to eat it, with Pennsylvania and Georgia holding him still so Maryland can feed it to him. Virginia in charge of herding the three younger States out of the room.

He’s hungry, yes, but he’s not used to eating when he’s hungry!

Sure, he feels better once the bowl is empty— if tired— but still!

———————————————————————

The day continued much the same after that, being cornered by States– even ones he didn’t recognize— with tears in their eyes. Tears he would wipe away and soothe with soft words and strong hugs that made some of them cry more.

And by 10 p.m, his children are all sent to bed— despite protesting their grandparents.

“Sleep is important.” Congress had said, silencing their protests, “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Even if not in this body, but the one they know now.

“If I’m simply de-aged, does that mean my Ro is still here as normal?” he hums his question as his parents start to settle in.

All bodies, save for his, go tense.

“Shit.”

Virginia scrambles out of the bed, pulling a small, thin slab from the table– the front of it lights up like the large slab in the sitting room!– and tapping their fingers on the light.

They presse another button, and a ringing fills the room.

It only rings for a moment, before it stops.

“Hello, Virginia.” Congress perks up, even through the thin static device, his wife’s voice was one he would always recognize, “Is there something you need?”

“Um– no,” the State chuckles nervously, “But—there’s been an…accident.”

Silence.

“What sort of accident?”

“Well, Florida and Louie were messing with Voodoo—and, well…Gov got caught in the middle of it.”

“...These children will be the death of me…” is a near silent mutter, before she clears her throat, “Do you require aid?”

“No– no! We have it handled! It just…de-aged him…a little bit…”

“How old is he?”

“Well, uh— from what he says, it’s February, 1846 for him.”

Assistant hums through the device.

“I was wondering why he wasn’t answering my calls… Alright, just after Gabriel then. Make sure he sleeps, make sure he eats— knowing him, he’ll forget both— and call if you require help. I’m currently on a trip for business, but I can cut it short or send one of the boys if need be.”

“I’m alright, Ro.” Congress says, “Everyone here seems sad, though. We’ll have to work on that.”

“Of course we will, Adam.” Robin’s voice is softer now, “Behave, would you? Let me know when it wears off.”

“Of course.” he agrees easily, not even thinking. His Ro asked it of him, he’ll find a way to do it.

The static ends with a click.

“That was nice,” he mutters, “I miss her.”

It’s quiet as Virginia crawls back into place.

“Just a few more days, Kiddo.” Pennsylvania says, ruffling his hair soothingly, “You’ll see her soon.”

And Congress is asleep.

———————————————————————

On the third day, they wake up to an empty space.

“Why does he keep doing that?” Georgia groans.

“Kid wouldn’t stay down if he was bolted to the floor.” Penn rolls off the bed.

Virginia mutters something into the sheets as Maryland stretches his arms with a groan.

The house is silent.

Not a single noise beyond their footsteps.

The last few days, the house has been a cacophony of noise– a joyous kind of noise, one that reminds them of children at the park with their parents. Congress was all too willing to indulge what his States want from him.

Something’s wrong.

Georgia takes the lead after a silent near-physical brawl to keep Pennsylvania behind him, as they take a glance over the railing.

The sofas are full, and through the archway they see more States in the dining room. They’re all staring at someone in the kitchen, muttering amongst themselves. Some of them spot them, putting fingers to their lips in a shushing motion.

Gov stands in the kitchen staring blearily up at the tallest cabinet, one near everyone needed a stepstool to reach. It was where they kept their energy drinks, to avoid the States that shouldn’t be drinking them from getting them.

“Ivan.” Gov calls, voice loose and tired, and Alaska shifts to face him, “Why are they on the top-shelf?”

“Aakaq said you’re not allowed to have those anymore, Aata.” Alaska says easily.

Gov just humphs.

“I will climb the darn counter, then.” he says, and they know he will, even with the full coffee pot they hadn’t noticed in his hand.

Congress had appeared in clothes from the time he was from, but it seems the clothes Gov had been wearing didn’t return– still dressed in the pants and shirt they had given him. But, even through the loose fabric, they could see the faint outline of his brace.

Climbing that counter was a no-go for his health, and they all knew it.

Just as he gets a knee on the counter, North Carolina appears behind him, hands under his arms and lifting the Government clean off his feet.

Gov lets himself dangle, not seeming to process the situation.

“No.” is all the Southerner says, taking a few steps back from the cabinet.

Gov processes, huffs, and chugs the entire contents of the coffee pot still in his hand in mere seconds.

“GOV?!” Virginia appears in front of him, hands hovering, “WHY?!”

“Ro’s not here to regulate my caffeine.” is all he says as North Caroline slowly sets him down, the shock and horror on their faces not on his mind, “This is the third pot I’ve had today.”

“IT’S EIGHT IN THE MORNING?!”

There’s a sigh from the doorway, before the coffee pot is carefully taken from Gov by a very unimpressed Assistant.

“I regulate your caffeine because your body doesn’t process it properly.”

Gov mumbles something, leaning into her as she sets the pot on the counter.

Robin sighs again, turning to face them with a smile.

“Sorry about him,” she says, “He’s never been a morning person when sick or injured.”

“I’m fine.” he protests, but Robin just pats his shoulder.

“Yer really not.” Michigan crosses his arms with a huff, but Gov waves a hand at him.

“Quiet, Sam.” he mutters, and the State goes tense– Gov never called them by their human names, only Congress did—

But Gov was Congress, wasn’t he? Before the war.

“Be nice to the kids.” Robin huffs, shifting his weight, “They’re just worried.”

“Kids shouldn’t be worried about their parents.”

“Well, it’s a long way from that.” she raises a brow, despite the fact that he can’t see it, “The departments have been worried for years, and don’t get me started on the agencies.”

“Ugh.” is the only response.

Robin smiles, gaze focusing on Virginia, “I’ll take him back home.” she says, “I’ll send updates on his recovery, he’s not going back to work like this.” she makes a vague motion to his bandaged arm.

“I can work…”

“But you won’t.”

Gov sighs, “But I won’t…” he relents.

“Good.” she hums, “I would hate to have to call the children to keep you in bed.”

She gives them another smile, before a soft sizzle and pop marks their disappearance.

It’s silent.

———————————————————————

“Gov is Congress.” is the blank observation. “He’s…he’s not dead.”

“But how?”

“DC never outright said he died. We just assumed based on the information he gave us…”

“And then we never tried to check.”

“Christ, no wonder he’s so closed off— we nearly killed him and never checked up.”

“And we never talked about Congress, so he never knew we thought he was dead.”

“Fuck.”

The OG13 Table is full, confused and concerned and angry faces in every seat.

“And we weren’t exactly receptive in 2021…”

“How did we not see it? He looks the same.”

“It was more than a hundred years by then, there were some changes…”

“Hair style changes for everyone–”

“‘Cept Jersey.”

“HEY!”

“–‘Cept Jersey. And his eyes were a different color.”

“He was paler too, sicker when he showed up.”

“Still, he was our boy and we didn’t recognize him. We were downright hostile at times!”

…

“What do we do now?”

“We gotta figure out what happened to our baby. Talk to him, figure it out.”

“But the Ultimatum—”

“No longer matters. Because I guarantee Ro and Adam would kill them if they tried that shit. Our kids got hurt because we were too afraid to go against the humans back then. But there were only thirteen of us then, and there’s more than 50 of us now—”

“There’s only 50 States—”

“—And the territories are counted. Don’t forget the Departments, Agencies, or Cities either.”

…

“You’re right.” a sigh, “The Ultimatum had an expiration but we were still too afraid of losing them to do anything about it after.”

“And now we gotta make up for it!”

They would figure out what happened to their Kiddo and Birdie, if it killed them or not.

---

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?

---

Gov: today I realised I'm old

Maine: what happen???

Gov: I fell in the kitchen and instead of laughing, Florida came running to see if I was okay.

Maine:

Gov: I saw the fear in his eyes

---