Wttt Utah - Tumblr Posts

Love ships where its like some guy with autism and his special interest is his wife

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

Jealousy

They shouldn’t be jealous, but they are.

———————————————————————

“You’re sure about this?”

“Why would we lie about it?”

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

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

“W-what?! We could never hate Papa!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one responded.

———————————————————————

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

“Papa! We’re out of ranch!”

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

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

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

“Papaaa…”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

“Papa.”

“Papa…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The others watch in a mix of jealousy and grief.

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

They just can’t have it.

———————————————————————

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

Utah’s human kids are the cutest.

Gov and Assistant agree as well.

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

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

“Dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You bought my baby a car.”

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

“Dad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Utah sighs, smiling, “Thanks, Dad.”

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

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

———————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Be careful, then.”

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

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

They shouldn’t be jealous over it.

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

———————————————————————

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

…

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

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

…

Could Gigi be right?

Under My Protection

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

*gun violence, implied cannabalism*

———————————————————————

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

But sometimes, they were inexplicably human in their reactions.

Especially when it came to bullet wounds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t stop humans from attacking them.

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

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

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

And that would be bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something out of their sight rumbles.

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

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

The heavy Static grows heavier.

But the lighter Static shifts, focusing on one area.

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

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

Their father.

“Papá-“

“Dad-“

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

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

They obey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hurts.”

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

Arizona whines.

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

The heavy static returns.

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

Gov squints.

“You’ve been shot.”

“I’ll live.”

“Hn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gov and Assistant share a look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you got shot too?”

“It’s fine.” She says, “It’ll heal.”

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

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

“Sit down! Jesus fack Robin—“

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

The bed is even larger than they remember it being.

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

“Are you staying here as well?”

“Yes.”

“Please.”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

Gov hums, waving a hand to the bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoo

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

Something movie night based maybe?

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

Movie Nights

The Four Corners have weekly movie nights.

———————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

———————————————————————

“Jooooooshhh.”

“Huh?”

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

“Nah. Not feelin’ it Cam.”

“Oh you maldito bastardo, te mataré–”

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

“For once, I agree with Micah.”

“Hush, you!”

———————————————————————

And the night always ends the same way.

———————————————————————

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

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

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

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

———————————————————————

They always sleep the best on Movie Nights.

Hello again. Which state do you think would hurt themselves in a really dumb way but not in a dumb and stupid enough way that there’s no disappointment

Hmmmmmmmmmm. There are. Many ways. I will only give three right now, tho.

Utah, Alaska, and Hawai’i.

Utah: would likely get hurt doing something normal, to be honest. Maybe he falls off his riding lawn mower— we all know he has one— because he didn’t take proper precautions. Not really dumb, but also? Kinda dumb.

Alaska: Poor boy would walk right into a wall at full speed and break his nose😔 he didn’t notice it, honest.

Hawai’i: She’s a smart girl, she’s very independent and capable. She also regularly swims with tiger sharks (well-known for attacking lone swimmers, along with eating anything) and shakes coconut trees until they fall (coconuts kill 150 people on average annually)