You Sent In Two, So Theyll All Be Here!!

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

🔴 (Angsty/Sad)

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

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

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

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

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

It hurts more when he looses a pet.

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

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

They’re all someone he lost.

🌑 (Sleep)

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

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

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

The marijuana definitely helps, though.

👔 (Clothes)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🏡 (Home)

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

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

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

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

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

🟣 (Romantic/Sexual/Shippy)

Panromantic Demisexual, not currently in a relationship.

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

🍜 (Food)

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

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

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

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

🧵 (Hobbies)

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

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

He does yoga and other exercises, and likes jigsaws.

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

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

Civil

From the day of her creation to the present day, Robin knows how to be civil.

*Blood and Injury, Implied Murder, Implied Cannibalism, and references to poor mental states*

———————————————————————

Congress had been sick since the end of March.

It was a similar sort to when the Revolution was dying down, when their government was in a rocky and unstable position. Robin doesn’t know what’s causing it, the Senators have been tight-lipped— and she’s much too busy taking care of her husband to interrogate them.

She manages to get him to stay home, but he doesn’t stop working— the infuriating man he is.

The house had been tense the last while, what with the secession of several states already. 7 if she remembered, one of them being Georgia— something that had broken her Adam’s heart— and there were threats of others doing the same.

Several of her children had seceded, and it…hurt. She hadn’t felt that in a while, not since the 1810’s, when their parents left them behind.

She knew the rapid secession was likely a cause of Adam’s illness, and she hoped it would pass.

But on April 12, 1861, she had gone out to the capital early that morning, remaining civil with the politicians even as they grated on her nerves and patience.

The house was silent.

Her children— their States— were nowhere to be found. She knew their Departments were in DC, working as they did every day.

But the States wouldn’t leave without notice.

And she smelled it, a pungent smell that she had grown used to in the Revolution— a smell she never wanted to smell in her own home.

Blood.

There was only one person home.

“Adam!” She calls, setting her groceries on the counters to be put away at a later time, sprinting up the stairs.

The smell was coming from his office.

The door was unlocked, not that it would hold against her if it wasn’t.

She bursts into the office, eyes wild— he wasn’t in his chair, but—

She could see a hand on the floor behind the desk.

“ADAM!” She shrieks, dropping down beside him.

Pale skin, wide eyes, gasping breaths as his hands claw at his midsection— a large wound slowly cutting across his skin, blood pouring from it as his hands dig further into his flesh.

———————————————————————

She managed to get him to bed, having to knock him out to do so— she hopes when he wakes, he won’t be so afraid.

She wrapped the wound, the shape familiar— a four-pointed star stretching across his chest. Horizontal points stretching to his sides, the vertical points going from just below the hollow of his throat to the bottom of his ribs.

…

It hadn’t stopped bleeding, and she's had to change the bandages every hour.

She runs a hand through Adam’s hair, damp with sweat, body moving roughly with gasping breaths. Her free hand holds one of his close to her chest.

The air crackles.

“Mother!” A voice call from downstairs, and soon thundering footsteps reach the bedroom door, the wood scratching the ground as its shoved open.

Her son, Gideon— the Department of State—stares at her with a heaving chest and wide, frightened eyes.

“Did you hear?” He asks breathlessly, helplessly, body freezing at the sight of his Father.

“Hear what?” She whispers, afraid, for the first time in her life. Her hold on Adam’s hand tightens.

Gideon doesn’t take his eyes off the man lying in the bed.

“The Confederates attacked Fort Sumter this morning.” He whispers, frantic and pained, and Robin feels her chest squeeze. “They’ve declared war.”

Adam’s body jerks, and his mouth opens in a blood-curdling scream.

———————————————————————

DC was the one at President Lincoln’s side when he officially declared the start of the War, on April 15.

Her husband, her Adam, couldn’t be left unattended for long.

He had to be restrained, forced the lay in their bed with his arms, legs, and midsection bound.

Else he’d try to tear his body apart with his own hands.

When he grew lucid, few and far between the last several days, she would undo his wrists and loosen around his midsection, allowing him to sit up.

She changed his bandages every hour, the wound still bleeding as it had that first day.

Not a word from the States came, but she sensed their presence closeby several times.

She knew the Confederates would reach their land at some point. But that was fine.

She’s experienced in getting rid of evidence.

———————————————————————

“Please my love, my heart, my Infinity.” He begged, bloodied hands clutching tight to her arms, head buried in her neck as she tied off the bandage and held him close, blood dripping from his lips, “Please, spare me— kill me, please.”

Her hands are soft and gentle as they run down his back and through his hair, wild and untamed in the last few months.

“My love,” she whispers back to him, leaning away slightly and cupping his face— a touch he burrows in, the touch comforting and easing the excruciating pain he’s in, as her own eyes— deep with pain and sorrow as she gazes down at him, it makes him hold her tighter as he feels the lucidity start to leave him, fingers twitching to tear at his own flesh, “My soul, my Eternity…” the next breath she takes is shuddering, “I would ease your pain if I could, take it on my own to bear— but I can’t.” Her voice cracks, but he hardly hears it, eyes glazed as she hastens to rebind his wrists before he can tear into himself. “I’m sorry, my dear Adam.” She whispers in choked breaths, leaning down to rest her forehead on the bandages around his thrashing chest, “I’m so sorry.”

———————————————————————

Virginia has split once again, she learns.

It’s when she’s left Adam in the care of their oldest four sons— War, State, Treasury, and Attorney.

She’s making her way down South, eyes open across several miles ahead— searching for the Rebels with the same ferocity she hunted the Redcoats.

And she feels it.

The presence of a State.

A young State.

She knows the Western portion of Virginia didn’t agree with the Eastern side politically. She knew such disagreements often ended with a separate State.

But its 1863 and the Civil War is in full swing.

She never thought Virginia would leave a child out to die.

She veers off her path, into the shadowy underbrush with a crackle— and she re-emerges in a thick part of the forest. The terrain is rough, and she feels young eyes on her.

She kneels down, and two chubby hands reach out of the thickets.

Three years old in body, assigned Statehood on June 20th. West Virginia.

She couldn’t leave him here, but she couldn’t take him with her.

…

She can hunt Rebels another time.

———————————————————————

His name is West Virginia, but the kind lady that takes him from the Outside into an Inside calls him Boe— tells him that’s the name he uses with humans. She tells him that he’ll live with her until he’s grown, with all her other children.

She tells him the Man in the Room is the Government, that he is…West’s Pa, in a way.

He asks if that means she’s his Mama.

She just smiles at him, and pats his head.

“If you want me to be, sweetheart.”

He thinks he does.

———————————————————————

Her Adam’s eyes had always been green. The color of lush forests, of soft grass, the color of a unified nation standing strong against the tyranny that oppressed them.

But she’s noticed that they’ve been growing dull, the green fading into grey as the eyebags under his eyes grow.

Despite her efforts, he can’t sleep through the war, he still needs to eat and such, and even with the special blend of tea she made specifically to help him sleep through the pain, it’s hard for him to return to slumber once he’s woken.

She tries to keep the younger kids away when he’s not lucid, the time they get with him mostly when he’s asleep.

But when he’s awake and aware, even for a short while, he’ll smile and talk with them in a pained, hushed voice that makes her want to cry.

She never cried often before this...this Civil War. But, knowing it's her own family fighting this war— her parents and in-laws and her children—, the same war that’s slowly killing her husband, her best friend from the day they were placed upon the cursed earth to bend at the will of humans who knew nothing but their own greed…

She cries almost every day.

———————————————————————

The War ended almost four years later, almost to the day— April 9th, 1865. They would forever blame the Confederates for the fire she started in Richmond, and no one would ever find the bodies of the boy and girl she tore apart without hesitation— they’d never find Confederacy or his Subordinate.

She makes sure Richmond, the city himself, takes no damage from the fire— forcing every ounce of that pain onto the Rebel Government and his assistant and taking what is left. She cared not that their bodies were young, only that they had taken her children, her family, the States that have always been and will forever be hers.

They had taken them-they chose to leave- and that was something she could not forgive.

Her husband stops thrashing in the middle of the night, just after midnight on the 10th.

He’d been doing so for the last few months, non-stop, so when he finally falls silent and still she’s hit with the most violent surge of ill and fear. She tears out of her bed, a temporary one, they’d always slept together— regardless of the societal norms that dictate otherwise.

But instead of finding her dear Eternity dead— oh what would happen to her and the kids if he died?— she finds exhausted grey eyes staring up at her.

She inhales deep and shocked, frazzled.

“..Ro?” His voice is hoarse and quiet. “Ro, are you alright?”

She can only stare down at him.

“Robin?” He asks again, slightly louder, wrists moving in his restraints. “My Infinity?”

She tears his restraints off without a second thought, clambering into the bed beside him, throwing an arm over his side and burying herself in his embrace.

His hands are clumsy, running up and down her back as her shoulders start to shake.

“I’m alright, my dear.” He whispers against her temple, “I’m alright.”

“You’re not.” She whispers back, a shaky hand trailing along the scar— it finally stopped bleeding. “My dear Eternity, you’re—“

“Alright for now.” His voice is firm in a way she missed, a tone he took when the Senators were being difficult, a tone he took when he was certain of something. “You look exhausted, my love.”

She doesn’t respond, and the vibration of a hum rattles beneath her cheek.

“Sleep, my dear Robin.” He says, “We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“In the morning…” she mumbles, the stress finally leaving for the first time in ages, and she can’t fight the pull of sleep.

———————————————————————

Things had changed.

They all had changed.

Adam didn’t answer to Congress anymore— which was fine, she never called him that anyway. He was more stern and stoic, less merciful to those who wronged him— even despite the fact he was wheel-chair bound.

The wound that had bled for years had healed, but the rest of his body just wasn’t. He could no longer walk on his own, with the state of the Nation. Paralyzed from the waist down.

Robin was just happy he was there, lucid and awake and with her.

Even if none of the other States checked in, they had Minnesota, Oregon, Kansas, and West Virginia, and their newest addition– Nevada.

She’s not doing much on the Government front at the moment— her dear children had staged an intervention when she tried to go back to work.

“You gotta rest, Ma.” Treasury had said, “The last few years have been stressful.”

“The Meetings—“ she had tried, but West Virginia— with his chubby face and sweet, worried eyes (they put him up to this, they know she can’t argue with a baby), had stopped her.

“You’re gonna get hurt, Mama.” He had said, so soft and sad, his little lip quivering as he tugged on her skirts, “Like Papa did.”

She had folded easily under the gaze of her children, her Departments and her States, but she had refused to let DC go into the Meetings unprepared.

But it helped.

She could focus on herself, her husband, and her family without the stress of being a Government.

It helped when more States came, and she could focus on being their mother, on making sure they wouldn’t want to kill them secede like the others had. What did they do wrong? why did her babies want to leave her and kill their father? Didn’t their parents know what would happen? Did they not care?

And it only got better in the 1920’s.

Adam was no longer wheelchair bound, the economic boom allowing his body the strengthen, and the new advances in medicine allowing surgery and a cane— and he could finally walk again!

They danced across the country— and oh how she had missed dancing with him like they used to!

A lot of their time was spent in New York City, and she fully embraced the name her Poppa had created for himself— Thomas Jones was a frightening man and no one ever told them what Thomas threatened to do if they hurt his Baby Bird.

They may the Government Personifications, but Adam and Robin Jones were some of the top Mafia Couples of the age— never once getting caught.

Even those who had been in direct interaction with Mr. and Mrs. Jones couldn’t say what they looked like, they were never found.

It was one of the best times of Robin's life, and she knows her dear Eternity, her Adam, enjoyed it as well. Even as the depression came and it made his already injured body ill… it was nothing she couldn’t handle.

And then World War 2 began, and they let the other nations fight. They stayed out of it. For a while, at least.

Hawai’i…she had been young. One of the few territory personifications they willed into being, simply due to the fact Hawai’i was so far from everything else that it was harder to keep protected without the personification. She wasn’t even truly theirs, but she’s their daughter in all the ways that matter.

And that...that Imperial had taken their kindness- their negotiations- and stomped all over it. It left her seething, her teeth itching for the taste of blood and flesh- humans had never been delicious as a fellow fragment, she hasn’t had a taste in so long-

But her Adam had taken her hands, and whispered so softly to her before she could burn Japan to the ground and feast.

“Let me do this, my dear.” He says so sweetly, smiles so softly, but his eyes burn with a fury and it's a combination he wore often in the Revolution. “You took care of the Rebel, allow me to take care of the Imperial.”

And she lets him, watching with glee— helping Mikala recover as the bombs drop.

She feels no guilt towards the civilians, nor to the Cities themselves. They aren’t hers, they mean nothing to her.

She feels nothing but a hatred for Imperial Japan, and nothing but joy as her Adam comes back with one less bullet and a bloodied guntō.

They always liked taking trophies, the many items of the Redcoats they have in their basement trophy room— the one room only they are allowed inside— are proof of that fact.

The blood makes it an eye-catching feature of the room, no?

By the year 2000, more trophies were taken. USSR and Nazi Germany’s Personifications shattered like glass beneath their bloodthirst.

The Iron Crosses, scorched and melted together to make a sort of screaming face, are an interesting art piece.

And the brown, bullet-ridden jacket is one her sweet Alaska had nightmares of before they took it.

And that’s not to mention the skulls! She’s sure they rival Frances’ Catacombs by now. It’s a lovely thing they've made over the years.

———————————————————————

It’s 2023, the first Meeting she’ll be part of in over a hundred years.

She feels no nervousness, she’s an expert after all.

She hears her Adam’s voice through the door, a rough barking sound that makes her giggle.

“Sit down! Sit down— Ian, I will ground you from the alligator ponds for a month if you don’t sit down! We have an important someone joining us today, and she’ll be very cross if you don’t behave!”

She hears the shuffling of feet, the scratching of chairs, and— finally— silence.

Her Adam sighs.

“Alright, good, good.” He mutters, and she feels a tug.

She follows it, allowing the air to crackle until she’s standing next to him in the meeting room.

———————————————————————

Her smile is still gentle and kind, they notice, posture perfect and suit without a mark or crease.

Most can’t believe their eyes, though there are several who aren’t surprised to see her, the ones who came after the Civil War visited her often.

Stormy blue-grey eyes they remember so fondly, as they ran amuck across the Pennsylvania property. Who tended to their injuries, no matter how small, and held them when they were frightened. The woman they call Mother.

The sweet face they remember so carefully handling the birds. The smile they had seen grow so wide and bright on her wedding day. The girl they call Daughter.

“Everyone.” Gov says loudly, firmly, rising from his seat to stand beside her. He makes a small gesture, to show her off with a barely concealed pride. “Robin Jones, the Executive Assistant, will be joining us from now on.”

“Hello.” She greets, smile never once dropping, a practiced ease, “It’s a pleasure to see all of you.”

And it is, despite how her chest still aches some nights— just as she knows Adam’s does. How they left so easily and simply never came back.

But, perhaps— she thinks, as she notices several sets of eyes grow wet with an emotion she can’t help but name ‘relief’— they could start to heal.

She could be civil, at least, until then.

Family Ties AU Human Names

Gov = Adam Jones

Exec = Robin “Ro” Jones

IDC = Abigail “Abby” Jones

DC = Daniel Jones

USDA = Elizabeth “Liz” Jones

DOC = Mary Jones

DOD = Robert Jones

ED = Rebecca Jones

DOE = Christopher Jones

DHHS = Barbara Jones

DHS = Zachary “Zach” Jones

HUD = Mark Jones

DOI = Emma Jones

DOJ = Jack Jones

DOL = Jason Jones

DOS = Gideon Jones

Treasury = Oliver Jones

DOT = Timothy “Tim” Jones

VA = Matthew “Matt” Jones

Alabama = Lucas Jones

Alaska = Ivan Jones

Arizona = Eric Jones

Arkansas = Theodore “Theo” Jones

California = Brooklyn “Brooke” Jones

Colorado = Joshua Jones

Connecticut = Henry Jones

Delaware = David Jones

Florida = Ian Jones

Georgia = John Jones

Hawaii = Mikala Kameāloha

Idaho = Noah Jones

Illinois = Walter Jones

Indiana = August Jones

Iowa = Caleb Jones

Kansas = Evan Jones

Kentucky = Elias “Eli” Jones

Louisiana = Gustave “Gus” Jones

Maine = Jackson Jones

Maryland = James Jones

Massachusetts = Edward Jones

Michigan = Samuel “Sam” Jones

Minnesota = Jasper Jones

Mississippi = Rylee Jones

Missouri = Owen Jones

Montana = Felix Jones

Nebraska = Maxwell “Max” Jones

Nevada = Cassian “Cassie” Jones

New Hampshire = William Jones

New Jersey = Jacob Jones

New Mexico = Camilo Jones

New York = Thomas Jones

North Carolina = Anthony Jones

North Dakota = Andrew Jones

Ohio = Arthur Jones

Oklahoma = Eugene Jones

Oregon = Miles Jones

Pennsylvania = Patrick “Pat” Jones

Rhode Island = Stephen Jones

South Carolina = Benedict Jones

South Dakota = Aiden Jones

Tennessee = Richard “Rickie” Jones

Texas = Gabriel Jones

Utah = Micah Jones

Vermont = Isaac Jones

Virginia = Laurence “Lauri” Jones

Washington = Sebastian Jones

West Virginia = Boe Jones

Wisconsin = Chester Jones

Wyoming = Dexter Jones

Puerto Rico = Mateo Rivera

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few more little extras about him!;

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doors

The States try and open the door. Gov starts to have a breakdown.

———————————————————————

Florida stares hard at the front door of the Statehouse, expression serious.

Louisiana side-eyed him with concern, and everyone else stayed a few feet away.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout, sha?” Louie asks, but Florida doesn’t turn away.

“Papi’s here, right?”

They know it’s him, know that Gov is the Father and son they thought they lost, but they’re not ready— they’re not prepared to bring it up. Not yet.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“He does this weird thing, watch.” Florida springs up, approaching the front door with sure, confident steps.

Before he can grab the door handle, another hand appears to pull the door open. A body blocking the entryway, but he hadn’t come in from outside, had simply stepped in the way.

Gov hadn’t been there a second ago.

“Where are you off to?” The man asks, raising a brow as he opens the door.

“Nowhere!” Florida grins, “Just wanted to go out!”

“Hm.” Gov studies him for a moment, scrutinizing. Florida can feel himself start to sweat, before the man turns away. “Alright, don’t cause any trouble.”

And the man’s gone, as if he was never there, leaving the door wide open.

Florida turns back to them all with a grin.

“See?”

“Has he always done that?” Montana asks with a furrowed brow.

“Come to think of it, I don’t think we’ve ever opened the front or back door.” Iowa reclines on a couch, staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded over his stomach. “Pa’s always shown up to open the doors, but only when we’re going out? He never opens it coming inside unless it’s a building other than the Statehouse? It’s kinda weird.”

“I think we’ve gotten used to it. I mean, I know I’ve started waiting for him to open other doors too.”

A few moments of contemplating silence.

“First to open the front or back door before Papi shows up wins.”

And that sealed it.

.1.

Florida, of course, was the first to try it. Multiple times in the span of several hours, in fact.

He’d reach for one door handle, wait for it to twist and wait for the Static to fill the air as Gov starts to teleport, before he bolts to the other side of the house to the other door.

It doesn’t work, and Gov looks more tired each time.

Gov snatches him up in the middle of one of his sprints, hand holding the back of the Southerner’s shirt to look him in the face.

Amber meets grey, and Florida grins- somewhat nervously- at the blank expression on the man's face.

“Stop that.” Is all the man says, lowering him to his feet, and patting his shoulder twice, “It’s late. Go to bed.”

Florida scurries off, feeling very much like the young Ian Jones who stayed up past bedtime.

That doesn’t mean he stops though.

.2.

Idaho and Iowa thought they’d be the ones to win, being two of the most often forgotten States.

Idaho had gone to the back door, and Iowa to the front. They were going to try and open them at the same time, or as close to the same time as possible.

When Iowa heard the back door swing open, he reached for the door handle— only for the front door to swing open from the outside, revealing Gov— Pops— with a disoriented Idaho held under his arm.

“You were both planning on tending the crops today.” The Statehouse properties are expansive , a lot of it used for things to keep the States entertained; such as farming or animal care. “They are next to each other, you do not need to leave out two separate doors.”

Iowa shuffles his feet as Idaho is straightened to stand on xir own once xe was put down.

Xir face flushed, “Papa!” Xe says, slightly whiny, “What was that for?!”

Gov merely raised a brow.

“Makes it easier,” he says, leaning to press the side of his head against Idaho’s hair— the younger personification squirming slightly— “Call if you need anything, Gem, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Xe mutters, squirming out of the smug man’s grasp and hauling Iowa out the door.

The Hawkeye State felt…jealous. That Noah could have what Caleb himself craved.

.3.

West Virginia and Nevada, Boe and Cassian, were quite the odd pair of friends; a retired coal miner and a ex-mobster-turned-showgirl.

But they were formed little more than a year apart, and stuck together through thick and thin.

Sure, their plan may involve Boe taking off his prosthetic leg– but, really, it was his idea.

Nevada sets the prosthetic against the porch rails before he trots back inside, shutting the door behind her. West Virginia leans against the back of the couch, and the Silver state nods. They lean against the front door carefully, not making any noise.

“Pops!” the man yells, and the air fills with static, a sign that the man’s listening, “Left mah leg out on the back porch earlier, mind grabbin’ it for me?”

It happened more often than one would think. He usually took the leg off later in the day, but it wasn’t unusual for him to take it off and leave it somewhere without thinking– someone always around to assist without a second thought in grabbing it or helping him get to it.

He’d forgotten to take it off last night, and that’s what birthed this plan. The need to let his nub breathe.

The static shifts to the back as Nevada carefully reaches to the front door handle…

It turns in his grasp, and the door opens behind her. They stumble back, their shoulders falling against the person behind them, who holds them up with one arm.

She looks back, spying his father looking at them both with a raised brow— Boe’s prosthetic leg in his hand.

Nevada smiles nervously, “Hi, daddy…”

“Hello, Cassi,” Gov returns the greeting as the Silver State shifts to stand back up. “Boe is still in the sitting room, yes?”

“‘M here, old man.”

“Good, then. Help me with him, Cassi?”

“Yeah— sure.”

Their father looks…tired. More so than usual as he helps strap the prosthetic back in place— Boe’s fond of the older models— patting the Mountain State’s shoulder as he heaves himself up.

“Please behave,” he sounds so tired, “and please remember to grab your leg before you leave it in the middle of a street.”

Boe snorts as his Pops strong hand ruffles his hair, and Cassian grins.

They’re fine with losing.

.4.

To be completely honest, Connecticut hadn’t wanted to be involved in it. He saw how tired Gov looked, and how he only seemed to grow more haggard as each day passed with several States trying to open the doors.

But he had been a pirate, once. Mischief and the want for chaos carved in his bones.

“Davie.” he whispers with a grin, leaning over his husband's desk chair. “Davie, let’s go open the door.”

“Henry…” Delaware plucks his glasses off his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know it won’t work.”

“If it doesn't, we can get Johnny or someone to hold him still while we open it.” The Constitution State shrugs.

Delaware sighs again, “Fine.”

Connecticut gives a small ‘yesss’, hauling Delaware up and tugging him down the stairs.

There was no plan, they were banking on Gov being too busy with…anything. They were just going to try and open it, no special plans or strategies involved.

And, of course, it didn’t work.

The handle twists from their grip and a body shifts to block their path as the door opens outwards.

Once again, Gov blocks their way. He stares at them a moment, back straight despite how utterly exhausted he looks.

“Please…” his voice is quiet and gravely, and both Northeasterners cringe inwardly at the sound. “Please, stop trying to open the doors…”

“Gov,” Delaware's voice is careful, “When’s the last time you slept?”

The man twitched, “Last night.”

“Did you sleep…well?”

“No- no.” The man sways a bit, “Too focused. Ia— Florida tried to open the door fifteen times in the span of two hours.”

They notice the slip, it makes their chests ache, but they have something more important to worry about. They’re uncles, after all, and their stupid, self-sacrificing nephew needs to go to sleep.

“C’mon, buddy,” Connecticut comes up to the man's side, carefully closing the door with one hand, the other going across the man’s shoulders, “We gotta spare room you can have for the night. Davie’ll message Ro for ya.”

As the First State pulls out his phone, they guide Gov to one of the guest rooms. They watch him fall onto the bed with a slightly pained grunt, and watch as he near immediately passes out.

They look at each other once the door is shut.

“Intervention?”

“Intervention.”

They need to show Gov that nothing will happen if someone else opens the door.

And what better place to do that than at the Legislative building? Where security is tight and no one there will hurt any of them?

..5..

Gov’s has one office in Washington, DC. Much like their home in Pennsylvania, the door can open to any of the government buildings.

The office itself is lined with bookshelves that go up and up until you can’t see the top. A hand drawn map of every state and territory on the wall behind the grand, mahogany desk.

On either side of the desk were two archways, leading further and further into the maze of bookshelves that never seemed to end. The space was larger than it had any right to be, and stretched further than the buildings themselves seemed to. It was never the same when you looked back, the pathways always changing.

Only Gov and Assistant were allowed in the labyrinth unattended, as they were the only ones who could find their way out again without trouble. Anyone else had to accompany one of them, or they’d never return. There were things in there no one should see, and only the presence of one of the government personifications would keep those things away.

From the noises that sometimes echoed from within the bookshelves on occasion, not everyone heeded the warning.

But it was a familiar, safe space; perfect for them to intervene in Gov’s ridiculous habit of opening the doors of their own home.

Only three of them had shown up for this, they know that anymore and Gov would possibly grow defensive; just the three of them would be enough to make him suspicious.

Georgia and Maryland, there to hold him back, and Kentucky, the one to open the door.

They knock on the door to the office, always so obvious that it leads to Gov’s office with the aura it gives off and the ornate gold details on dark wood.

They don’t wait for a response, as usual, and simply shove the door open. Gov had always said his office is open whenever they need him, after all.

The man jolts in his seat, blinking at them as they enter.

“Hello,” he greets, body relaxing when he sees who it is, but he furrows his brow when he sees the serious look on Georgia’s face, “I wasn’t expecting you today, has something happened?”

“Nothin’s happened, hon.” Maryland says as he rounds the desk, Georgia coming around the other side, “Just wanted to visit ya for a bit.”

Gov purses his lips.

He’s suspicious.

Georgia settles his hands on the man’s shoulders from behind the chair as Maryland holds onto one of his arms.

Gov looks to Kentucky, who’s stayed resolutely by the door. He wants to reach out and call his son to his side— no, no. Not his son, they don’t want to be his children, they don’t want any relation to him. It’s why they only call him Gov.

He sees the southerners’ hand reach for the door handle, and he shifts to stand– he needs to get the door– but the hands on his shoulders go firm, and he finds he can’t move.

Panic grips his chest, as Kentucky turns the doorknob. Everything tunes out– the hands on his shoulders, the weight on his arm, the voices of Georgia and Maryland trying to soothe him. All he can hear, all he can sense, is the presence of a loaded gun behind the door–

He pulls himself out of their grip, faster than they can stop him, the jerking motion pulling his shoulder– and the metal that holds it– out of place. He grits his teeth at the feeling, tugging Kentucky out of the way as the door falls open–

BANG!

The bullet strikes him in his dislocated shoulder, and he grimaces silently, staring the politician, who now eyes the States behind him with fear.

He never often cared if they shot him, it’s been happening for centuries– less so now than in the age of dueling, but humans rarely change– but they never got away with it when any of his States were present.

He moves to do what he always does, close the door and handle it– but there’s a pair of hands on his arm, another body coming around to his front as a third tears into the hallway with a loud bellow– like a bear mauling those foolish to get too close to its cubs.

“Sit down– sit down.” Maryland hisses as Kentucky flutters next to them.

In this office, Gov has several loveseats and armchairs in front of his desk, and he soon gets pushed into one. He grunts at the jostling in his arm, confused for a moment, before he waves their hands off.

“Drawer– bottom left.” he mutters, “Gotta medkit in there.”

Maryland freezes for a moment, but Kentucky scurries off to grab the kit as told.

“I’m sorry, hon,” Maryland says, too sweetly, as Georgia hauls the bloodied politician into the office and chucks them a few ways down into the labyrinth. “Did you just say, ‘I have a medkit for things like this’? As in, this is a normal occurrence.”

Gov can feel Georgia glowering from behind him as he shifts, preparing to pop his arm back in its socket.

“Ignore that.” Gov says as Kentucky props the medkit open at his side, “Eli– Kentucky,” the man says, muttering under his breath, “Nein, nein. Kentucky, get the tweezers ready, alright?”

“Put your hands down.” Maryland shoves the younger entity’s hands to his sides, “You stay focused on telling me why you’re acting as if this is normal! Elias, Eli! Put those down and go get your Gigi and your Grandad. Now!”

The younger State pops away, and Georgia immediately takes his place.

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Gov tries to shift away from their hands, “I’ll call Robin and it’ll be fine. It’s not the first, nor the last time, a politician has shot me.”

“Gonna need you to explain that, boy.” Georgia rumbles angrily, “You should be gettin’ shot never, preferably.”

“It happens,” he keeps trying to brush them away, barely grimacing when Georgia’s hands pop his shoulder and the metal plates back into place, “They can’t shoot each other, so they shoot me. They’re always behind the door waiting for me to open it, but it’s not every time.” he chokes on his breath when Maryland checks the wound, digging out the bullet with the tweezers, “Nearly shot Daniel once– just started opening the doors. Rather be me than the kids.”

“Jesus,” another voice speaks up, a new set of hands lifting his face to meet theirs. Pennsylvania, “Fuck, kid–”

“He says this is normal!” Maryland hisses as his suit coat is removed by Virginia, “He says it’s been happening for centuries!”

His sweater is pulled up over his shoulder so the bullet hole can be cleaned and wrapped.

Gov feels four sets of protective, furious eyes on himself, and he’s even more confused.

“It’s fine,” he assures, exasperated, “I’ve been shot far worse than this over things so minor I wasn’t even informed of it. At least I know this time it was over a legal dispute.”

He tugs his sweater back down over his arm, but leaves the suit coat off for the time being.

“They shoot you over things that don’t EVEN CONCERN YOU?!” Virginia near shrieks, and Gov flinches at the sound, “Why are we just now learning this information?!”

“It’s not important,” Gov stresses, but they just don’t seem to understand, “It has not and has never been important. It’s just something that happens.” he shoves himself up off the couch and past Pennsylvania, nearly stumbling– he’s so tired. “Thank you for your help, but it is incredibly unnecessary to take on such a chore–”

He’s tugged back by a hand on the back of his shirt, a snarl building up behind him.

“A chore?” An enraged voice asks as he’s pushed back into his seat, the four of them glaring at him, “You think patching up our son, after he’s been shot, is a chore?”

There’s a sudden tugging on his ear, and he flinches at the feeling.

“Young man, if you ain’t have metal in yer spine and just got a bullet put in ya, you’d’ve just earned yerself a whoopin’!” Virginia snaps, their thumb and index finger holding firm on the man’s ear for a moment before they let go, hands going to their hips.

The brunette rubs away the stinging feeling, grimacing as he glares straight back at them.

“I said it’s fine, how many times do I have to repeat that?” He snaps in response, baring his teeth in a snarl. “None of you are listening.”

“We ain’t gonna listen when you tell us gettin’ shot is fine.” Georgia growls.

“Because it is fine, when it’s me.” he goes to stand back, “Let me go, I have work to finish–”

“Adam Jones, if you take even one step close to that desk, yer age won’t stop me from dragging you down to the southern house.” Pennsylvania barks, crossing his arms as he speaks, “See if you can ‘get back to work’ after I kick yer ass.”

Gov freezes in place the moment he started speaking. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak– just stares straight ahead.

He stands there for so long that the anger starts to fade, replaced by a growing concern as the man doesn’t even twitch.

Georgia is the first one to step around to look at the man’s face, orange-brown eyes going wide when he sees the wetness in Gov’s grey ones.

“Oh, kiddo.” The large man brings the other close to him, pressing his face to Gov’s hair and letting the other hide in his windbreaker as the other three crowd around them, a flurry of concerned movement as Georgia feels a wet spot growing on his shirt. “What’s wrong, Adam?”

Gov’s shoulders are hitching, he doesn’t appear to be breathing properly, Georgia runs a hand through his hair in hopes to calm him down enough to get him to speak.

“You called me Adam…” the man says in heaving breaths, “You called me son.”

And suddenly, it made sense.

They haven’t called him either since 1814.

“Oh, baby…” Maryland runs his own hand across Gov’s shoulders, “It’s okay, hon, it’s okay…”

“You didn’t want me as your son–”

“No, no.” Virginia soothes, “You’ve always been our son, sweetie, it’s okay.”

“You left–”

“And it was the worst mistake we’ve ever made.” Pennsylvania snarls quietly from where he leans on Georgia’s arm, “And we’re so, so fucking sorry, kiddo.”

“My kids—”

“Miss you so much.” Georgia rasps, “They want nothing more than for their papa to come back.”

Gov makes a strangled sound, before he goes completely silent.

“Kiddo?” Pennsylvania whispers, “What’s up?”

“Please,” is the only response, “...just stop trying to open the doors… I can’t sleep with them always trying to…”

“Okay, okay.” Georgia kisses the top of his head, “We’ll stop, we’ll stop the kids too. Don’t worry buddy.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Virginia hums, “Just rest now, baby.”

Gov mumbles something, in response, before he goes limp with exhaustion.

The four of them look at each other over the top of his head.

They had to talk to the other States.

Not Congress

He looks like Congress. He acts like Congress.

But he’s not Congress.

———————————————————————

The Meetings in the years following the Civil War were tense and few in amount.

But the ones they did have involved every State, and thus everyone knew something was wrong.

Because, yes— he looked a lot like Congress.

But they knew he wasn’t.

His voice was higher in pitch, he was a few inches shorter and a little bit thinner.

Congress had a kind, tired expression— this man had a bright and optimistic one.

They still called him Congress, and he answered to it. He did everything Congress had done, work-wise.

He was similar, but it was the little things that Congress did and he didn’t that made them feel…concerned? Worried? Uneased?

They never brought it up, though, perhaps Congress was busy.

They could wait a few months.

———————————————————————

There were new States, 3 of them: West Virginia, Nevada, and Nebraska.

They and the Not-Congress, along with Minnesota, Oregon, and Kansas, seemed to have an unspoken agreement; if the three’s confused glances and the Not-Congress’ stern and imploring gaze were anything to go by– whenever one of the others referred to him as Congress through pinched teeth.

It wasn’t until 1874, nine years after the Civil War ended, that someone brought it up.

“Who’re you?” The voice is stern, but few remember who brought it up— though the general consensus is that Connecticut was the one to speak up.

Not-Congress looked up from the paperwork he always had spread across his section of the Table, looking as if he’d been expecting the question— Kansas, West, Nevada, and Nebraska suddenly looking nervous.

But they’d asked this question, and he told them his name was Continental Congress— they knew he’d answer the same, so Connecticut continued before he could.

“We know you’re not Congress, so don’ bother with that. Who are ya?”

Not-Congress stares at him for a moment, before he sighs, reclining further in his chair and setting his pen down.

“I suppose it was foolish of us to think you’d never notice.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck, a small popping sound coming from his joints as he shifts. “My name is Washington, District of Columbia: you may call me DC, or Daniel. I was left in charge of these meetings for…the foreseeable future.”

“Where is Congress?” Virginia’s voice is stern, like none of the newer States- those formed after the Revolution- had heard, - like a concerned, furious parent– “Why isn’t he here?”

DC’s gaze goes far off, ceasing all motion until he’s so still he looks as if he were stone, his voice is soft, but able to be heard in the silence of the room.

“A Civil War is one of the worst things that can happen to a Government, especially the personification.” He says, “They often tear their own bodies apart with their bare hands, until nothing is left behind– most cases end with a new Personification, no matter the outcome of the War.”

Bodies tense and breathing stops, and all attention is on the Not-Congress, on DC.

“What about…Assistant?” Mass’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, “What about our girl?”

“My mother is still around.” DC replies, “She has decided to remain behind the scenes, however. Due to my Pa’s…condition, she had to take on his work as well. My mother may be a miracle worker, but there is only so much she can do before she breaks as well.” DC’s fingers are tapping on the wooden table, “My siblings and I decided that she will be taking a break, both to recover from the War and to deal with..familial affairs. Her responsibilities are taken care of by others for the foreseeable future.”

“Y…you said ‘most cases’, right?” Maryland’s voice is shaky, his eyes wide and slowly growing wet, “So there’s a chance…?”

“I watched my Pa, Continental Congress, tear himself apart for four years. Watched as his body split down the middle in a scar; a scar shaped like the border between the Union and Confederacy” the voice is dead, monotone, no longer soft and quiet but just…there, and several flinch at the tone, “I have seen him do many things, fight in wars and take fires onto his own body to prevent it from harming others, surviving injuries no one else could and still manage to keep that smile on his face for everyone he met, no matter how exhausted he was.

“I watched as, in his rare lucid moments, he burned and destroyed every map and flag he came across, in the few times he was accompanied out of house. This map is the only survivor of any place he’d visited; the edits made by my mother.” the massive, hand-drawn map on the wall taunts them- something they knew Congress had drawn out with all the love he had freely given them.

There’s a pause, a shuddering breath, “...I suppose he simply couldn’t do it anymore...”

There’s silence as everyone takes a moment to process.

———————————————————————

“Mary–!”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Maryland shrieks from where he’d fallen to the floor, kicking and scrambling away from Virginia’s outreached hands, Georgia crouched just over his shoulder, “WE KILLED OUR BABY!”

Pennsylvania is kneeling on the floor next to him, holding the Old Line State and glaring, eyes suspiciously wet but no one points it out.

Not only had they killed their son, but they had grandchildren— grandchildren they forgot.

———————————————————————

“What do we do? What do we do–”

“What did we do–?”

“We can’t do anything anymore–”

“We killed our Pa–”

“We forgot the others—“

———————————————————————

…

…

DC had never been fond of lying to family members.

But his mother had asked him to, and his Pa was in no position to face the States in any capacity.

Besides, it wasn’t really a lie…

His Pa refused to answer to the name Congress anymore, and he wasn’t the same as DC knew him as, though he was still his Pa and remained the same in most of his parental abilities– it was luck, then, that they had enough older siblings when the New States came around during and after.

Minnesota is the only one of them that remembered Pa as Congress.

Oregon, Kansas, West Virginia and Nevada never really knew Congress besides the man who had to be restrained in bed to protect himself and others; they knew he was their Pa, but being in the same room as a man trying to rip himself apart wasn’t good for them, and so their mother limited their visits to his bedside for more peaceful moments.

Nebraska hadn’t known anything besides the Angry-man-in-the-Wheelchair his Pa had become, a change that had been so wrong– their Pa had rarely been an angry man; confrontational, sure, but hardly angry– but one they had grown used to.

Besides, in the privacy of their home- their Pa was only really angry when he drank, which he only did when all but he and their mother had gone to bed.

And he was never angry at them, would never raise hand at them– though sometimes he had to yell to be heard over them all, he never spoke in anger– only ever at himself and his perceived failure. At the states involved in the War.

He was more stoic and stern the rest of the time, but was still glad to read them, especially the three Young States’– most of them had grown out of it by now–, stories and play the piano for them, teaching them to dance from the sidelines so that their mother could still dance as she pleased, but DC knows it pains his parents both that they can’t dance together as they used to.

The piano is played a lot more, though.

So yes, his Pa may be alive still- but he’s not Continental Congress anymore.

So was he really lying when he said Congress was no longer with them?

DC sighs heavily as he exits the meeting room, the three States following close behind.

“You aight, D?” West asks, “We know ya don’t like talkin’ ‘bout it.”

DC smiles at the three of them, a sad, strained thing.

“I am fine.” he reassures, though he knows it won’t soothe them entirely. “Let’s go, then, Ma wanted us back immediately after the Meeting.”

Six nervous glances, shuffling feet, before,

“Ok.”

Pop!