Wttt Massachusetts - Tumblr Posts

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!)

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.

there is absolutely no way in creation Massachusetts is allowed in the UK, he tries to get on a plane to the UK and gets kicked out of the airport. Went to France for the olympics tried to take the chunnel just to see if he could didn't even make it onto the train before security was after him. He is allowed in Ireland, so he'll just go to the border of Ireland & Northern Ireland and stand Right There, having a stare off with whichever police officer was sent to watch him. Part of the training for the King's Guard is memorizing this guys face just incase he ever gets in. The Government of the United Kingdom classifies him as a National Security Risk. Despite this he has become a trending meme in the UK & Ireland multiple times because every picture they have of him looks like a Ben Affleck meme. They’re like “this man is a THREAT” and the picture is him like in the act of accidentally spilling his whole large iced coffee on himself.

massachusetts has annoying kinda mean popular boy class clown rizz pass it on

You know that one audio from Danny Motta’s react to Good Omens? Yeah

states I think Massachusetts has hooked up with/dated over the centuries

California

Connecticut

Delaware

Maryland

New Jersey

New York

North Carolina

Pennsylvania

Rhode Island

South Carolina

Virginia

not saying mass is gay or anything, but his call is canonically 'matt damon and ben affleck' WHICH COULD MEAN NOTHING

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⸝⸝⸝)

attempted to actually draw and colour (not fully, i didn't feel like finishing lol) a digital drawing for the first time in as long as i can remember. anyways. digital kitty mass under cut lol (wip)

his eyes are unfinished because i. didn't finish them. idk. sorry lol. i woulda left them blank white but i don't think people like that. the pink is supposed to be scarring because i see people draw him with scars but idk if it comes across as that

Gunshots

This was not part of the plan!

*Mass disassociates, Gov gets shot*

———————————————————————

“Gus said there’s something under his suit.” Massachusetts leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and glaring at the ceiling, “Said it felt like a sheet of metal, said something similar was under his skin— in his shoulders.”

“He was tense as a board, Mass.” Virginia said, the the concern in their eyes countered their dismissal of the accusation. “Louie probably thought he felt something, with how stiff he was.”

“He winced,” New Jersey practically growled, “From falling on the softest things in the house. Not even a wince of surprise, eitha’.”

“He looked in pain.” New York finishes in a grumble.

Georgia broods in his seat, glowering into the distance, and Maryland keeps a hand on the larger mans’ arm— they know that, at this point, the Southerner would simply break down Gov’s door if they let him (He did the same thing when Congress got hurt and didn’t tell them. Would haul him downstairs and they’d fix him up (if he hadn’t already done so) and scold him for his recklessness. He did that often— no matter what they tried to get him to stop).

They’re not at The Table, but it’s one they have for when the 13 of them want to get together, discuss the Younger States and their kids and grandkids. And now they often discuss Gov, and his similarities to their Congress.

“Not much we can do about it, hun.” Maryland says, patting Georgia’s arm a few times, “He ain’t gonna show us, you saw how hard he tried to hide it.”

“So we just have to deal with knowing somethin’s up!?” New Hampshire throws his hands up to his hair, “What if it gets worse!?”

“It’s all we can do without forcin’ it.” North Carolina mutters, head buried in his hands.

“And forcin’ it will drive ‘im away.” South Carolina finishes.

Grumbles of concern, discontent, and frustration fill the room— with a heavy undertone of reluctant acceptance.

They could only wait, and hope they get a chance to see.

———————————————————————

When they said ‘wait and hope to get a chance’, they specifically didn’t want Gov to get shot!

Mass doesn’t know why someone would have a fully-loaded gun in public— scratch that, they’re in America. He couldn’t claim to expect any less, not even from NYC.

He barely remembers seeing Rhode Island, tiny twat that he is, barreling into the gunman’s back like a rabid dog—- the now empty gun falling several feet away. He didn’t pay attention to it, eyes wide and focused on one thing—- just like the rest of the State’s that had come to the City for the day.

Blood on the ground— continuing to drip drip drip even as he sprinted as fast as he possibly could in the direction of his injured fellow soldier— red red red spraying from their lips—

One of the bullets struck straight through Gov’s throat, barely missing everything important but with enough force to nearly tear his head off— and Mass can faintly see vocal cords beneath shredded skin.

Four struck his chest, around his lungs, though the one that went for his spinal cord didn’t seem to have an exit wound from what he could see.

The final bullet, the first one shot, had skimmed the side of his head, blood pouring down Gov’s face as he held a hand to his throat and chest, dripping from his lips as his lungs tried to stitch themselves back together inside— but it’d be awhile before he’d cough up all the blood. His eyes are half-lidded and dull, as if this is a normal situation as Penn tears off his Eagles jersey and shoos Gov’s hand from his neck, his own taking its place even as the fabric grows soaked with blood in mere minutes.

Mass skids to a stop in front of them, shoving Gov’s hand away from his chest to get a better look, other hand pressed against the side of the man’s head. There’s shouting, people are yelling and there are sirens in the distance. He vaguely hears the Carolina’s hauling Rhode Island off the bastard over the rushing in his own ears. He can hear his voice, barking something at Virginia and Maryland—

“Go get a place ready at the House! He’s losing too much blood!”

And it feels like he’s hearing the news of Congress’ death all over again— but this time, he’s watching it. He’s watching the boy’s eyes go dull by the second as blood spills over his hands.

So when he feels the tug, he goes— dragging the boy and Pennsylvania with him.

They land on a bed, one of the medical cots they usually keep in storage— soft and of the highest quality materials, made for comfort and ease of cleaning.

Gov’s eyes go wide and he lets out a silent pained gasp at the jostling, blood pouring from his mouth, covering his face even more with red red red.

He wonders faintly if this is what Robin, his daughter, had to see as her husband— his nephew, Continental Congress— ripped himself apart.

“Hold still,” he says sharply when Gov jerks in place, shifting to sit over top the man— he needs to see the wounds, needs to get the bullets out.

There’s a knife in his hand, his own pocket-knife, and sees himself cutting through Gov’s sweater, struggling to get the remains of it and his suit jacket off without moving him too much and risking further injury.

He sees a white undershirt, a compression top, sleeveless. It’s a thick fabric, made for support. He cuts through that, too.

He sees a scar, a four-pointed star across Gov’s entire chest.

He sees something black, reaching from his hip bones up to just under his rib cage. It’s thick and solid, with cotton padding. He’s used to such things being elastic, but this one seems solid, similar to the corsets all his daughters once wore. Beneath the fabric, between the padding, is a stiff weight— boning, he thinks. It’s custom-made. He doesn’t touch it.

“When did you get a facking back brace?” He hears himself hiss down at the man, blood roaring in his ears making everything dim. He hears intakes of breath, and hears Virginia trying to shoo away the States crowding at the door— the commotion drawing ears and eyes.

Gov looks too much like Congress for Mass’ grandkids to see him like this, and the man’s own children don’t need to see him like this either.

“Shut the damn door!” Pennsylvania shouts, sounding like he’s underwater as he tugs the cart of medical supplies closer, easier for Mass to reach. “John, JOHNNY! Help me out here!”

Gov was thrashing beneath them, as much as his own body and Mass’ weight would allow— but he was moving too much, eyes too afraid, he’s looking straight through them, at something far off.

Massachusetts hears the door close roughly, notices several of his fellow Original Colonies not in the room, likely keeping the younger States from coming inside.

Georgia presses his weight carefully on Gov’s shoulders, just enough to keep him from moving his upper half— one hand resting on the man’s forehead to keep his head still as well. Maryland’s state merch, specifically the flag he wears and his hat, is thrown across the room as the Old Line State starts to stitch the wound on his head, before moving onto his throat as Penn carefully pulls the ruined jersey away.

Mass can see his hands, steady despite how detached he feels as he pulls out a pair of tweezers to dig for the only bullet that lodged in Gov’s body.

Millimeters from his spine.

He’s careful, but then the tweezers pinch something solid and smooth — not bone — and Gov throws his head back and arches with a warbled, pained — pained cries, pained words, pain pain pain — scream.

“Masshole!” New York snarls,— he’s afraid, Mass can hear it in his voice, he’s lashing out because they’re all terrified of the scene they’re dealing with—climbing up to put pressure on thrashing legs, “Careful!”

“He’s got metal in his spine.” He hears his own voice hiss, finally getting hold of the bullet and pulling it out. It’s practically thrown across the room and he drops the tweezers, hands reaching for something he can’t see, coming back with a needle and thread. Virginia finishes with the disinfectant, each of their movements swift and purposeful.

He starts stitching.

Pennsylvania crouches down next to the bed, close to Gov’s head, and he’s whispering to him, muttering something— Gov looks so much like Congress, Pennsylvania can’t help but comfort the same way he does his kids.

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay. Just hang tight, Mass’ll be done soon, I promise.” There are more words, ones Mass can’t hear, ones Gov can’t seem to hear either.

Grey eyes are wild and flickering from side to side, hazy focus on each of them as they crowd. His lips are moving, like he wants to say something, like he’s repeating himself over and over again— and once Maryland finishes stitching his throat, setting to work on cleaning the remaining blood off his face when raspy words finally leave him—

“You’re killing me— why are you killing me?” The words are nearly silent, Mass can barely hear anything outside his own head, but he feels how they all suddenly tense at the phrases, “Was the War not enough— why’d you have to come here? Wanted to make sure I would die— that’s why— why else—“ Gov still has that far off look in his eyes, but the fear that radiates from him permeates the air like a thousand pound fog, and he continues mumbling.

Mumbling thimgs Congress— Adam— had written in his last few letters to them.

And Mass hears more voices, three joining Pennsylvania’s muttered comforts as Georgia starts running a hand through the mans— the boys— hair, and Gov finally goes limp, eyes sliding shut.

For a few minutes, all that’s left is having them lift the man so he can stitch up the exit wounds.

Once Mass hears himself give the all-clear, Gov is lifted, whisked away into the adjoining bathroom— they’d long claimed this room as their medical facility, and the bathroom reflected that.

He hears the shower start, faintly, realizing Georgia and Virginia had been the ones to take Gov away.

They have to clean him properly before they can bandage him. Maryland reappeared outside the bathroom door— another compression top and other clothes in his arms— they didn’t own any of those, he either found where Gov lives or just swiped them from the store or one of the younger States. He sees the clothes belong to Pennsylvania, the Eagles green that would normally piss him off just another thing his brain struggles to process as he stares down at his hands and the medical cot.

Red red red, so much red, so much blood— is he going to die? Did Mass not do enough?

Hands settle over his wrists, and he looks up.

New York and New Jersey look at him, brows furrowed in the exact same pinched expression.

Mass can only blink.

And he’s out of the cot, standing on two feet and feels two other hands scrubbing at his own under hot water, hears another person cleaning up the medical cot. He can’t tell which is which, but the grumbling from behind him tells him it’s New York cleaning the cot.

Soon, they’re all in new clothes, staring down at the sleeping Gov where he lies still in one of the beds in the room. They hooked him up to a few machines, they need to be able to know if something goes wrong.

Gov’s phone, thrown to the floor but undamaged, starts to ring.

The sound makes them jump, and they all turn to stare at it.

Virginia’s the one to pick it up, going pale at the name on the screen, “It’s Assistant.” They croak, before they click accept and hold the phone to their ear. “Hello.”

Mass doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation, but he sees Virginia speaking, reassuring, but he also sees the defeated look when the Old Dominion knows it’s a lost cause.

The air sizzles and crackles, and suddenly she’s there— eyes wide and near feral as Assistant shoves her phone back in her pocket.

She stares down at Gov, and they see her shoulder start to shake.

Mass can’t move— he hasn’t seen his daughter in over a hundred years, he wants to hold and comfort her because she’s— but New York does it for him.

The Empire State rests a hand on the woman’s— she had been a girl last they saw her— shoulder. She shakes more, and Mass can finally— finally— move.

He turns her, she can still look at Gov resting on the bed but it’s not the focus of her attention, and holds her to his chest. She’s taller than he remembers, but that doesn’t stop him from tucking her close like he had when her birds— her first birds— had died from age. New York and New Jersey are by her shoulders, and it’s just the four of them. They pay no mind to everyone else in the room, just as the rest ignore them.

She’s shaking, but she doesn’t cry. She simply stares down at the man lying in the bed and says, quietly,

“Thank you.”

And his chest erupts with a pain so sharp, he can only hold her tighter.

———————————————————————

Gov and Robin are gone the next day, not a single trace of them anywhere beyond a message from Gov, in the same style he always wrote in.

‘Thank you for the assistance, though unnecessary to burden yourselves. The next Meeting is set for 2 p.m on Monday, list of required attendees attached.’

Mass can hear Penn’s threats to ‘beat that stupid, reckless man’s ass’. He snickers to himself when he hears Georgia’s quiet agreement, and it feels almost like back then when their kids would vanish for hours on end, only to return injured.

Robin was perfectly fine to let Mass properly tend the injuries, but Adam always had to be held down by someone, no matter how small or grievous the injury.

The ache in his chest hasn’t gone away.

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.

@sleepdeprivedsimp234 it’s back

Prettier

Mass finds New York, with four of their children.

———————————————————————

Massachusetts couldn’t find New York.

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

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

But Mass still couldn’t find him anywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Robin perks up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

New York just turns to look at him.

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

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

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

She barrels into Grayson first.

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

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

“But I want to!”

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

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

…

They’d figure that out later.

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

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

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

Mass grins, “So pretty, Tomcat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s…nice. He likes it.

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

Pool Side

Gov watches his family have fun at the pool, glad there are no injuries — this time, at least.

Idea from @fl0w3rg0at! Thank you, Lovely!

———————————————————————

The Statehouse is massive, that much is known. Not as large or as strange as The Jones Residence, but massive and strange in its own right.

The properties expand for miles, more than enough space for everyone to have their own thing, their own hobbies, without encroaching on others’ space.

Sometimes there are disagreements on times and places, usually solved within a few hours, but there is one thing they never disagree on.

The pool on the back patio.

Absolutely massive, large enough for all of them times three, with plenty of deck chairs and grills and tables to satisfy all of them and more.

It’s a beautiful day, not too hot nor too cold, the perfect temperature for them all to be happy with it; spending the afternoon and evening by the pool.

Some spend most of the time actually in the water, others amongst the grills and tables.

Gov reclined on a deck chair, in buckled sandals– often called his ‘Dad Shoes’, but little Kayleigh had been teaching Paisley to paint nails, so Gov was going to show off their work (he was more than happy to be their test subject, and they did great [do not say anything to the contrary]) – and deep blue, knee-length swim trunks with a black waistband. A white, thin, short sleeve button down rested open over his chest, his compression top and his brace underneath it. DC, one of his eldest children- Daniel-, passed out asleep in the chair next to him, in cargo shorts and a similar shirt with far too many colors for Gov’s eyes. The boy’s crutch settled on the deck table between them. He’s been healing well, after waking up from his comatose state but a few months ago.

Sunglasses rest firmly on Gov’s nose, eyes too sensitive to the bright daylight as he watches his family.

Robin dives and glides through the water like she was meant to be there, dressed in a baby blue two-piece with a white, sheer wrap-skirt that ends a bit above her knees. Popping up every once in a while to splash lightly at the children– and even her own fathers, Massachusetts immediately diving into the water to enact his revenge.

Some of the cities were there, Nicki being all too willing to let his little sister climb his shoulders to avoid their father, while Grayson and Phillip - Philadelphia- gleefully charge at Mass through the water.

There’s yelling and laughter as more of the swimmers join in on the fight.

But Robin is a stone-cold woman, and it’s with that grin he knows and loves– not the same one she wore when dealing with… certain people but one she wore when being an Annoyance On Purpose, very similar but not the same, closer to the she wore when she was being Feral On Purpose– she wraps herself around Nicki’s torso and lets her weight fall back.

The city yells out in betrayal, but is cut off the moment they breach the water, Robin unwinding herself and darting off under the reflective surface.

“YOU LITTLE SHIT–!” Nicki gasps as he burts back up into the air, water dripping down his face as he pushes his hair back. “GET BACK HERE–!”

Ivan stands closer to the edge of the pool, and Robin would never betray her baby the way she would her siblings or parents. The largest State, and the largest of them there, aids his mother by standing in front of her.

“ROBIN!-”

“You touch mah baby boy, Nicki, and Imma turn yer knee caps intah chowdah!” she points threateningly at the City, who scowls at her. She’s grinning, still, looking around Ivan straight at her brother.

“Get ovah here and fight me, coward!”

“I’ll give ya a right scrap, ya mutt–!”

Gov snorts as Robin dives into Nicki with a screech, sending them both back under the water and splashing several onlookers.

He snorts as more people dive into the water, devolving into splash fights and playful yelling as he watches from his seat. He watches it go on for nearly 30 minutes, enjoying the time he has to simply observe and relax.

He’s so caught up in the watching, the adoration he feels for his loved ones filling his heart completely and utterly, that he hardly notices when someone makes their way closer to him. It’s not until something– someone– presses into his side with a muffled murmur that he notices.

Ivan had climbed out of the water, likely that the amount of people had grown distressing. It’s moments like this that Gov is glad to have thought to order custom chairs, the regular deck chairs most humans buy would not have held the weight of both him and his son.

He settles, placing an arm around the boy's shoulders as Ivan buries his face into Gov’s side. It’s not uncommon for any one of his children to grow distressed or overstimulated by their environment, but Ivan had always been one with the lowest tolerance. Gov thinks it must be from the sheer isolation the lands of Alaska have, but it could simply be Ivan himself.

The splashing dies down, the yelling quiets into normal outside volume, but the jumping and dragging under water does not cease, though most grow content to simply saddle up at the pool sides or allow themselves to float among the expanse of water.

He spies Robin climbing out of the pool, grinning wide and smug at Nicki. He doesn’t entirely know what the goal of their impromptu brawl was, but it was clear she had won something.

What that something was, he had no idea, and doubted he ever would. His dear Infinity’s relationship with her siblings was different from Gov’s relationship with his own; not by much, but enough for both of them to be a bit confused by each others interactions with their family members. His relations with his parents cities, his siblings, had been morphed by how ill and weak he was when he finally became Congress. His Robin’s relations had been changed from how feral and how she unapologetically caused trouble for anyone who annoyed her– or himself, for that matter, she’s always been the protective sort.

But that was alright, they rarely needed to know; but they would always explain it to each other if asked.

He has no idea why humans divorce or leave their partners so regularly, unless it’s physically or mentally harmful. They really should learn to communicate with their partners. And their children, for that matter– though he hardly has a leg to stand on in that matter, he’s been working on it.

“You look a little lost, dear.” his wifes’ voice is amused as she stands next to his seat, hands on her hips, “Have you wandered far?”

“Not at all,” he hums, curling his arm tighter around the largest, yet one of his youngest, of his children. “Simply observing, love.”

She just hums, still amused, taking up residence in the chair on his other side, and it isn’t long before another State, either overwhelmed or simply too tired to find anywhere else– not that either of them would complain– finds their way into her lap. Sebastian had never done well with warm weather.

Or cold weather.

Or any weather different from his States usual rainy days, to be fair.

They sit for a moment— the grilling should be done soon. Then they could all eat before the sun set entirely. Gov doesn’t know how long the States and Cities would continue to party, but he, Robin, and the few Departments that could make it had to wake up early.

But for now, they watch their family enjoy themselves, almost all together for the first time in decades.

He’s…missed it. Missed being around his kids and his parents and his uncles.

Sure, they’ve been around each other near constantly— but he’s always working. He’s missed just being there, watching them all have their fun and keeping them safe.

He feels a hand rest on his arm, but he doesn’t jump. He shifts his gaze to his dear Robin, who had plucked a set of sunglasses that match his own from thin air, and he knows her eyes are curious and concerned beneath the tinted lenses. One of her eyebrows raised as she runs her other hand through Sebastian’s hair.

He can hear, can feel the silent question.

Are you okay?

He smiles back at her, and it seems to appease her, as she settles back into the cushioning of the deck chair.

Gov settled back into his own seat as well, taking a glance at the still sleeping Daniel, the boy easily grows exhausted, much like he did for a while after the Civil War— hell, even for a while during and after the Revolution.

He hums, clutching Ivan closer to himself as his gaze finally returns to the chaos in the pool and the patio surrounding it.

He hasn’t had a chance to properly relax like this in…he doesn’t remember how long. Even in the 20’s they were still working, just not on Government work. The only times he’s been completely free of work had been times he was bedridden.

…

It’s nice.

When you were talking about Loui headcannons you said one of the more magically inclined states, I think that implies there are more with magic

If so, who are these states?

Of course! I’ll have to explain what the States’/Personifications’ magic really is, first!

All Personifications have a little bit of magic, usually focused on their Do-Not-Notice-Me thing and their immediate environment (Emotions affecting temperature and overall mood of surrounding humans, things like that). Some of them have more magic, some have less, and no one really knows why.

The magic is stored partially within their blood, and they have a second ‘heart’ that stores and pumps the magick through their bloodstream. This ‘heart’ does not show up in X-Rays, nor when a State is cut open, and leaves no residue when a personification dies.

Loui is one of the States that is more magically inclined…though I suppose it’s better to say he’s one of the States with the most practice.

All States can do small things, like bringing a cup or the remote to them without getting up, several use it to help along with paperwork by filling their mugs or fetching a pen.

Loui has enough practice to do other things, such as spell casting, voodoo, and speaking to spirits.

Other States that are similar include:

Massachusetts, being the most practiced of all States. He can do a little bit of everything but enjoys doing things to inconvenience his enemies the most.

Oklahoma, just because I feel like it. His focus is on herbs and naturally grown remedies. So if you don’t want to take actual medicine, he’s got ya!

Oregon, he uses those healing/protection crystals and natural oils but they actually work. They work really well.

Nevada, she uses tarot cards and all the fun stuff people charge $30 for at carnivals or in back alleys. He’s the family psychic.

Robin and Adam. They change the land around them to better suit their needs (They don’t do it often and usually its minor. They don’t want to hurt the States!) They can move things around in their environment, either subtlety or really noticeable if they want to. They can turn something, like a pencil, into something else, a knife.

They see spirits if they actually focus on them (they’ve gotten used to them, honestly), and are living wards against evil, supernatural entities. They’ve also brought humans back from the dead on occasion!

Other personifications could do this sort of stuff too if they practiced, but most either don’t want to or don’t care all that much, while some want to learn but are afraid or don’t know where to start.

All in all, personifications are weird and Very Fun to think about. I want to squish them all like stress balls.

Hello 👋 have the rest of the OG’s

Apparently when I say Massachusetts my speech impediment becomes visible???

I love this but I did read marymass as Marymack and now I have miss Marymack playing in my head on loop

i genuinely think marymass is one of the silliest and funniest ships for mary. like. this guy wants to fist fight her, but i'm afraid the beef is entirely one-sided. it's okay, he gets a pass he's way too muscle-brained. they just kind of Are? honestly. like i think they just vibe with each other 99% of the time, cuddling on the couch with snacks while mass rants about something stupid.

like mass is chaotic, but the vibe shifts a bit when he's around mary. she likes seeing him try to pick fights with others, but when it's just them two? it's cooldown time. he'll still rant about stuff, and you can tell that the thought of american loyalty/revolution driven violence has not left his mind, but mary adores it in a weird way. it shows mass doesn't change, and he probably never will.