Hello! This will be my writing blog from here on out. Call me Lost or Aili (Eye-lee). My main blog is @lost-islands and my art blog is @lost-draws.
All my writing can also be found at my Wattpad or my Ao3 Account. Ask any questions you like about my writing through DM or in the notes, I'm always happy to talk.
A lot of my headcanons were inspired by the wonderful @weirdestarrow. Mostly to do with wider world building and a wider range of characters outside my personal interests.
This will hopefully grow in time but I'm happy to finally be here!
I finally finished the first chapter to my webcomic interpretation of @weirdestarrow's The Time Spent in a Gilded Cage, which is about the Territory of Michigan's experiences during the War of 1812.
spent a long time on it and I'm really proud of how it turned out! Hope you give It a shot and say your thoughts
Chapter 2 has been finished & published! If you read please say hi and leave a comment or two, it is hugely appreciated after all the work it's taken to make this. I'm so proud of how it's come out!
Credit for the original story remains with @weirdestarrow/@weirdestbooks
Wisconsin wished she were invisible. She knew she did not have to return home anytime soon, nobody would force her. She could stay and hide here, in her state for as long as she wished to, she was endlessly grateful for that.
But it was worse to be alone, to stay here and let her mind fall back into the terror and waking nightmare she'd lived and died through.
Her father, Pennsylvania, and a few others from the northwest had been her only visitors up until now. They'd told her how worried and scared her other siblings had been, when they'd heard the news.
how terrifying it was for them.
not worried enough. A vicious corner of her mind said. Not scared enough to go looking for me. To wonder if I was safe while I was all alone.
She bit down those ideas, knowing it wasn't fair, that they had no way to know. But it still hurt.
None of this is fair.
She had never been someone to care about appearance, never had the wispy, fairylike looks that people complimented. Always laughing it off when she'd been told to act more sensibly, chuckled when idiots criticized how she presented herself. Compared Wisconsin to her sisters.
It never mattered before, that wasn't who she was, or who she'd needed to be.
"If I am who I am, and if lying is a sin-" Wisconsin used to say in a sing-song voice, "And I am my people. Doesn't that mean that trying to not be like myself is more dishonest?"
Now she couldn't help but be jealous of the naivety of it, the type of person who says that. Being plain and frumpy had been so much better than being disfigured.
Holding onto her dad's hand as they crossed over, Wisconsin's stomach churned uncomfortably, from sickness or just plain hysteria she wasn't sure. But it made her wish to sit down again in order to better fight the rising nausea.
America must've picked up on something, as he looked down at her, concerned.
"We can wait if you want," He said ever so gently, "don't force yourself. You're not alone, okay?"
Wisconsin shook her head and swallowed hard, her throat feeling dry. Clinging to her father's hand like a little child, like it could ground her, keep her tethered to the reality she was stuck in.
She needed to do this.
Massachusetts had been the first one over, standing near the entrance, brows knit with worry,
"Is everything alright?" He'd looked over Wisconsin, and she forced herself not to shrink back from her oldest brother as his eyes widened upon seeing her.
"Oh," He breathed, voice straining, "Connie, I'm so sorry."
Wisconsin had wanted to cry again at that, feeling much too small, shrinking under the weight of everything. Forcing that down, she tried to smile, it felt more like a grimace.
"It's okay. Im-" She tried to say, but her voice came out unnaturally rough. Wisconsin's face heated and she looked down, her eyes stinging with shame.
"Im fine."
Her normal hand, still held by her father's, was squeezed ever so gently. Some sign of comfort that seemed too foreign for her to understand.
It just made her feel worse.
Massachusetts had turned to America, talking in a quick, worried tone, but she couldn't follow the conversation. Every word sounded muted and fuzzy, like she was listening through a pane of glass, stuck on the other side of a wall.
Wisconsin's other hand absentmindedly went to touch the side of her face, under her ear. She stiffened from the feel of her skin. Still thin, fresh, and painful. She couldn't see it but she could picture the warped, ugly flesh, curling and twisted, feel it stretching and climbing up her body, stealing and eating and biting and burning-
None of it is real, she bit the inside of her lip and tried to tell herself. You will wake up and you will be you again.
But the air was still tinged with smoke. Her lungs ached as she felt so, so very dirty. So very wrong.
So very broken.
She inhaled sharply, snapping herself out of the trance, pulling her hand away from America's.
"Dad?" the word sounded distant, weak and barely there, impossible to hear. But the country stopped speaking with her brother and they both looked towards her. The two sets of eyes sparking with equal concern and fear.
"Are you alright?" He asked quickly, "Do you need anything?"
"I-" her throat rasped painfully, Massachusett's neck snapped back towards America,
"I can get paper, she could write. She doesnt-"
"No." Wisconsin said, hoping how ragged her voice was might hide how desperate she felt, "I just want- I want to be alone."
They stared at her.
"Please."
"Connie I don't-" someone started speaking, but she turned away, ignoring it. Biting down her frustration at it all.
Finding a more secluded room, Wisconsin curled up to the best of her ability on a couch, trying not to irritate the scars, trying to forget they were there at all.
What are you supposed to do, she wondered, when you've gone through something life changing alone? How do you pick yourself back up from ash and blood that's only you see?
It was strange being home again. It felt like decades had passed since she'd last been here. Everything from before seemed irreversibly separate from everything that was now.
But nothing had changed.
To everyone other than her, nothing was different, only a few weeks had passed. She had known that, expected that, but it was still jarring to witness.
It felt as if the earth had swallowed her whole, and no one had even seen it happen.
She wished she could go to her own bed, wrap herself in her cool, soft quilts, and lose herself in the comfort. But the idea of going upstairs was too much.
She felt exposed here, like an oddity behind bars. She tried not to look when her siblings stopped by, murmuring words of sympathy and comfort, hands held back as if afraid to damage her more. She tried to ignore the way so many of them wouldn't quite meet her eyes anymore. The stifled gasps and hidden cringing as they saw her again.
The whispers just out of earshot.
Wisconsin closed her eyes and tried not to think at all.
Her skin was burning but the fire was gone.
"It'll get better" Missouri murmured sympathetically, passing over a glass of water, "You've healed well, and you're here now. That's what's important."
The angry part of her wanted to scream at that, protest at how thoroughly unfair it all was, to voice how hollow that sounded.
But they were doing their best, being there, helping when she needed it. She couldn't complain, not when they meant no harm.
She wondered if this is how her damaged siblings felt after that terrible war. Crippled and scarred and burned like she was now. If that was the case Wisconsin felt a thousand times more sympathetic towards them, if this was even a fifth of what they had been through.
Only for her there was no comfort of it having been for a cause, for a reason. There was nothing but the agony of pointless cruelty and charred flesh. Of nature's rage as nothing but random chaos.
Wisconsin just sipped the ashy tasting water, her anger curling into itself like an iron ball in her heart, and tried not to feel ill.
Hawaiʻi had never realized how beautiful fire was before.
It was so beautiful and wild, burning many beautiful colorsâred, yellow, and orange, with the slightest hints of blue. It was wonderful, and surrounding HawaiÊ»i, it was like a warm hug or blanket, comforting her and promising her safety, and, more importantly, it promised her revenge.
Dole burned first, along with all his guards. It was a real shame, but really, Dole made the seal that gave Hawaiʻi her fire.
He should have known better than to chain a phoenix.
The flames licked around HawaiÊ»iâs ankles, parting for her as she walked out of her prison. HawaiÊ»i smiled at the cool night air on her face.
It was a beautiful night indeed.
However, as much as she would love to enjoy the taste of freedom and reunite with her children, Hawaiʻi had one thing left to do.
Get revenge on the man she once called brother.
It wouldnât be hard. Poor little Ê»Amelika was so afraid of fire and so convinced that HawaiÊ»i would just sit down and let herself be annexed.
Killing him would be so easy.Â
Hawaiʻi let a small flame dance on her palm as she smiled, watching it dance with the same grace as a dancer.
Fire really was so beautiful.Â
Sliding into the country world was laughably easy. Finding Ê»Amelikaâs house was much more challenging than HawaiÊ»i expected, but the traitor had to have his flag hanging outside it, so HawaiÊ»i eventually found it. As she walked by the flagpole, she put a single hand on its wooden surface, and her beautiful flames began creeping up it, slowly reaching the flag.
HawaiÊ»i wondered if the flag would be burning as she burned its owner.Â
Hawaiʻi scowled as she walked inside the house. It made sense that an empire like ʻAmelika would have such a large house, and Hawaiʻi took great pleasure in letting the fire that coated her wings slowly set the place alight. As fun as it would be to watch the traitor burn in his own house, he could still escape. Hawaiʻi needed to find him, to make sure he died slowly and painfully.
That wouldnât be a problem. Her fire would ensure he suffered.
The idiot must have smelled the smoke or seen the burning flag because Hawaiʻi watched as he stepped out of his room.
âAloha, Ê»Amelika. Ê»AÊ»ole anei he pĆ maikaÊ»i kÄia a mÄkou e loaÊ»a nei?" HawaiÊ»i asked as she watched his breath hitch as he stepped back, eyes widening in fear. HawaiÊ»i really hoped he didnât run from the fire. It was going to be a beautiful way for him to die.
âHawaii.â He said, fear in his voice, âWhat are you doing?â
HawaiÊ»i only smiled, flames curling up her arms, wrapping her in warm comfort and fiery vengeance. Ê»Amelika took another step back, his breath coming in short little gasps. He looked like he couldnât decide whether to fight or run. He just stood there, breaths coming in short little bursts.
âHaâHawâplease.â The betrayer eventually got out, his legs seemingly giving out on him as his eyes glazed over in fear.
The old Hawaiʻi would have felt something for him. Unfortunately for ʻAmelika, that Hawaiʻi was long dead, and ʻAmelika had been the one to strike the final blow against her.
Hawaiʻi walked closer until finally, she was standing in front of him.
âRemember that favor you owe me? I finally figured out what I wanted. For you to die.â HawaiÊ»i said before she grabbed Ê»Amelikaâs arm, channeling as much fire as possible into her hands. Ê»Amelika was screaming so loudly, but HawaiÊ»i pressed on, determined to make him suffer the way she had.
She still held onto his arm with one hand but slowly moved her other hand to his face, taking great care to burn as much as possible as pained screams turned into pathetic sobbing and begging.
âPlease, please, please, please, it hurts, it burns, please, Iâll do anything, please,â Ê»Amelika begged, but HawaiÊ»i was immune to his pain. It was only a tiny taste of the decades of suffering, resentment, and demeaning behavior she had received from him and the other empires.
Hawaiʻi had ʻAmelika beginning for her mercy, and she was never going to give it to him.
âThe only thing I want you to do, Lika, is die. In pain, alone, and to me, the little kingdom you thought would love to become your little colony.â HawaiÊ»i told him as his consciousness and life slowly drained out of him.
Hawaiʻi smiled, but suddenly, she spotted someone on the other end of the hallway, in the side that she had yet to burn.
âDAD!â the figure screamed, rushing forward but pausing as he got closer. He stared at HawaiÊ»i with tears in his eyes. HawaiÊ»i, in her shock at Ê»Amelikaâs son, had dropped said nation to the ground, where he lay curled up and whimpering faintly with what remained of his consciousness.Â
His face was red and blistered, and his arm had been burnt to the bone. HawaiÊ»i didnât care.
âYOU BASTARD WHAT DID YOU DO?â The person yelled, tears falling faster.
âWho are you?â HawaiÊ»i asked.Â
âMassââ but the personification never finished his name, for a very familiar voice cut him off.
âMass, you idiot, we have to get out ofââ Alaska stopped as he caught sight of HawaiÊ»i, whose flames died the second she saw her old friend standing there. âMass,â spotting the opening, ran forward to his father, sobbing over his body, begging for him to live.
âAlaska?â She asked, her voice a quiet whisper, taking a step forward. Alaskaâs hands were shaking.
âHawaii? WhatâŠwhat did you do?â Alaska asked, his voice panicked.
âDonât worry KÄmona. Iâm taking care of things.â HawaiÊ»i said before a thought came to her, âKÄmona, Iâm freeing you from him. He canât hurt you anymore. Iâll protect you now. My fire will help you be free.â
HawaiÊ»i took another step forward and reached out to grab Alaskaâs hands, to hold them, and to hug him. Alaska pulled away, some strange fear in his eye, obviously afraid he might get burned.
âDonât worry, KÄmona. My fire is under control. I wonât burn you.â HawaiÊ»i said a fond smile on her face.
But Alaska just looked horrified and scared.
âYou hurtâŠyou hurtâŠâÂ
HawaiÊ»i nodded, âYes, I hurt that traitor, for me and for you, now that I know youâre alive.âÂ
Alaska just shook his head, tears in his eyes, but before HawaiÊ»i could even begin to process what that meant because surely Alaska didnât love this monster, something hard and heavy hit the back of her head, and she was falling.
Tornedal POV
I didn't know what to make of my guest. The young man sitting on my porch seemed out of place here, like he'd stepped out of some american film and found himself in the wrong movie set. I could see him trying to hide the way his eyes darted back and forth, like he was attempting to memorize everything he saw.
It felt wrong, having a stranger here, I'd gotten too used to knowing the families that lived locally, having seen most of them grow up from children themselves.
But yet, here he was, sticking out like a sore thumb against old red walls and shaking up the normalcy of my life.
"Coffee?" I offered, holding out one of the white ceramic mugs I'd brought out.
Delaware nodded, taking and holding it between his hands.
"Did you find anything?"
I shook my head, "Sorry, no. I know I've got something somewhere, but I'm not sure where it's gone. I'll look for the album later if you come back some other time."
"Oh," Delaware said sheepishly, "I'm supposed to go south again. I've already spent more time here than I said I would as it is. Besides, I- really should return home."
"Tracking down dead ends takes longer than I thought." he sipped his coffee carefully. Avoiding eye contact, "I'm sorry for barging in on you like this."
"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."
A slight smile appeared, "You did more than enough. But I'm not looking forward to it, I barely convinced anyone this was a good idea as it is." he gave a snort of laughter, "Not that their approval matters, I would've come regardless."
Delaware looked up at the sky, "I'm sick of people deciding for me which of my memories aren't real. I had to know, this is the closest I've ever gotten."
He was quiet for another moment before asking, "Could I have a family tree?"
I looked over at him, a bit startled.
"If Forest Finns-Otso, Is actually my- New Sweden's- IsÀ. Could I take some sort of list home? I... don't want to forget any of this. I want some sort of proof that I was here."
"Sure, I can write something out." I shrugged, standing up to go into my house, "No promises on how much I'll remember though."
"Are you and Finland-? " Delaware started once I'd returned, "You two look a lot alike."
"Related? Finland is my half brother, yes. Same mother," I gave a little huff of amusement, "He's young compared to the rest of us though. Only two hundred. Being born the same year Russian Empire took over that land, So he's got that as a father."
"One of my adoptive siblings was his son as well." Delaware noted, fiddling with his finger for a moment as his expression darkened, "I've heard what he was like."
He sipped his coffee, then set it down as he thought of something, "So if you are, he'd be my great uncle as well! Who else am I related to that I didn't know about?"
I straightened out the sheet of paper I'd grabbed and sat down on the chair opposite him,
"Do you want the full thing or just the basics?"
"I came here to learn." Delaware leaned forward, eyes shining again and barely holding back a smile, "Please, I'd like to know."
"I'll start where you're concerned." I quickly wrote out Forest Finns on the paper and underlined it.
"From what I know," Roughly sketching out a mine and a few other names on the paper, I continued, "Otso had some siblings, I don't think he knew them well and they never traveled this far north. Can't say I remember what they called themselves either, sadly. I think Savakot was one of them. All Savonia's kids."
"Savonia?"
I nodded, writing out my mother's name onto the paper, along with a blank circle, "She was my full sister, but we didn't grow up together. I only spoke with her a few times. Tavastia was our mother. We had another parent, but I don't remember who."
He seemed startled by that, and sat up straighter, "You don't remember?"
"Was never around. Never mattered much to me. I think they were from the east though. Tavastia didn't like talking about it. Lots of wars happened back then, so they must not have gotten along." I said, shrugging.
"I can't imagine," Delaware said quietly, looking down at the crossed-out names, "Wouldn't you want to know? How do you bear it? Don't you miss anyone?"
"You'd understand it if you'd lived a life like mine," I said, sipping from my coffee mug and setting it down, "There's nobody left from when I was young. You get used to not having a full story. Sure I miss people, but what else is there but to go on."
"Otso- he was the most recent." I twisted the ring on my finger, "Besides I wasn't close to most of them. Like I said I barely knew Savonia and she was closest related to me other than Muuna."
"That's Kvens, right? Your daughter?" Delaware grinned, "It's odd to me how you're so free with names. I'm not used to it."
I wrote her name before adding Finland's to the list next to Savonia's and my own, drawing another line and circle for the Russian empire, before adding on below.
"Finland's got kids himself, Ă land Islands is one of the older ones I think, but he's mentioned others so I might be wrong there. The Arctic Council is one of his I know, as well as Baltic Marine Commission."
"Am I related to Estonia at all?" he asked, tilting his head to one side.
"Not that I'm aware of. Very well could be distant, but I would assume that's a lot further back. I don't even really know what the Karelian's family is like, much less what went on in Estonia."
"I'm sorry if this isn't what you were hoping for. There's not a lot of us left, I'm afraid. Doubtful my memory's what it used to be as well." I stood up and stretched, handing over the list and trying to give him a sympathetic look.
Delaware stayed still for a moment after taking it, eyes still fixed on the paper like the names would disappear if he looked away, "No I love it. Thank you, I- I needed this."
I finally finished the first chapter to my webcomic interpretation of @weirdestarrow's The Time Spent in a Gilded Cage, which is about the Territory of Michigan's experiences during the War of 1812.
spent a long time on it and I'm really proud of how it turned out! Hope you give It a shot and say your thoughts
This isn't the most well put together, but I had to try after @aloha-from-angel's wonderful recent chapter in her series about Hawai'i, Born of Fire. This wouldn't make sense to anyone who hasn't read the book, but I had to try my hand at giving this scene another perspective.
"Oh, hello, Miss Hawaii," Missouri said, turning away from our conversation. Curious, I looked over to see what was going on.
My brother was speaking to the new territory sounding genuine as he added, "it's nice to see you up and about."
The territory looked startled, as if someone had slapped her. Seeming to struggle over if she should respond or not, I bit down a prickle of irritation as a faint scowl passed over her face.
Least you could do is be polite. The way she acts you'd think she was afraid we'd lock her up somewhere.
I kept the thought to myself, as Wisconsin had chimed in instead, "You know, those wings look awfully normal, aside from the color. Not phoenix-y at all."
Hawaii looked startled, her mouth gaping like she'd heard someone had spat on her dead mother's grave. "What?"
Iowa chirped up, humor sparking in her eyes, "they look more like pheasant wings to me!" She looked over to Indiana, who'd been mostly quiet since Hawaii had shown up, "Reminds me, I've still got to give you that recipe sometime."
Indiana gave a sideways grin, "Don't worry about it, Not a big deal."
"I wonder if phoenix would taste anything like pheasant." Wisconsin mused, twirling a strand of white-and-black hair around her finger, "Do you think phoenix would even be good eating?"
"Probably not." I laughed, "Even if that were somehow possible I wouldn't trust you to cook it."
She stood a little straighter, looking offended, "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"What doesn't it mean, I've seen you burn every dish under the sun." I said dryly, "Don't pretend you'd know what to do with a phoenix, much less how to make one edible."
"Besides,would that even work? I mean they'd be magical, right? Who's to say you could even cook one." I glanced over to Missouri, curious whose side he'd take in the debate, but he was watching Hawaii nervously, while the girl herself seemed to be alternating between expressions of nausea and pure confusion.
I felt a little bad for her, but was distracted when Iowa spoke again, rolling her eyes "I'm not arguing over if you can or can't cook phoenix, all I know is I'm saying those look a lot more like pheasant wings, and pheasant wings can be cooked!"
"Well if it's meant to be a phoenix," I pointed out, "it wouldn't work like a pheasant, so it also wouldn't cook like a Phoenix. It's probably fire resistant too."
"Guys, I think we're freaking the poor thing out." Missouri said nervously, trying to speak up over the conversation. "She's looking a little green."
"Do you think the magic in them would affect the taste? Like, would the wings taste like a bird? Or would they taste ashy? Smoky?"
"I bet they'd taste like you'd burnt a bird. Or like an oven exploded."
"I wonder what glazes would go best with that." Wisconsin hummed thoughtfully, before sighing, "this is making me realize I haven't eaten."
Indiana patted her shoulder, looking sympathetic. "I've got some food at my house, I'll bring it over, provided it's just us. We can share!"
Wisconsin immediately brightened and the two began an idle conversation of their own, with Iowa joining in to ask if she could have some.
A small stifled voice reminded me Hawaii was also here. She still looked ill. With panic, mistrust, and fear swirling in her eyes,
"I... I have to go."
her words were strangled and scared, as she edged away from us, making for an exit. I blinked, startled by how afraid she seemed, surely we hadn't been that bad, had we?
Feeling suddenly sorry I spoke up, "Miss Hawaii, that's not what we-" but she'd already rounded a corner and disappeared from view. I frowned, confused and turned to Missouri, who was staring at me, clearly annoyed.
"What do you suppose that was-" I started to say before he swatted me lightly,
"You idiot," He scolded. "She's not used to us and you all talked about eating her wings."
My eyes widened, "That wasn't me! I was just trying to ask valid scienti-"
"When were you ever scientific in your life?" Indiana said loudly, and Wisconsin laughed.
"Well I didn't think she'd be sensitive!" I frowned. and watched where the territory had left, feeling guilty and hoping she'd come back.
She'd had a bad impression of us before, and now it probably hadn't improved any. I sighed and went back to talking with my siblings. Deciding it was probably best not to go after her.
General Grant had asked Michigan to fly up and figure out where the cannons should be aimed. They needed this siege to end. Once Vicksburg fell, they could finally cut the Confederacy in half and achieve the second goal of the Anaconda Plan. He was just as eager to end the siege as the others, and not firing blindly would help.
So now Michigan was about ten feet above the Mississippi, examining the city and debating whether he would be safe flying over it.
âOn the bright side, it would give us an advantage. On the bad side, I would definitely get hurt flying directly over it. Maybe I can try flying around the outskirts?â Michigan muttered to himself, tilting his head to the side as he tried to figure out what to do.
Michigan heard another gunshot but didnât take much notice of it until blinding pain erupted in his right wing. He screamed as he began to plummet like a stone.
Michigan quickly stretched out his wings, trying to slow the fall, ignoring how that made the pain worse. As his fall slowed, Michigan began to feel lightheaded and dizzy and was starting to have trouble moving his wings.
âMake it to shore, make it to shore,â he muttered as he tried to turn toward the shore of the Mississippi so he could land and get medical treatment.
Michigan was too far to make it, not with how high he was above the water. He flapped his wings once, trying to gain more height, but it just made the pain overwhelming. His muscles seized up, and Michigan fell as everything began fading away. He closed his eyes and fell into unconsciousness, not even feeling his body hit the water.
The next thing Michigan was aware of was a hand running through his hair. Michigan tried to peel his eyes open, but it took too much energy, energy he didnât seem to have. His head was so fuzzy, and he wasnât sure what was happening. Michigan thinks people were talking.Â
Michigan then groaned as pain began to hit him, centered around his wing. The hand running through his hair stopped, and Michigan let out a little whine, not wanting to lose the comfort.
ââŠâŠ.â Had someone spoken? Michigan couldnât tell. His awareness slowly faded, and Michigan felt like someone had tied weights to his limbs. They were so heavy and hard to move.
Not that he wanted to move.Â
ââŠ..ampuâŠ.â
The hand was beginning to run through his hair again, and Michigan let out a small sigh as he fell again into unconsciousness.
âââââââ
Michigan had been going in and out of consciousness and never managed to stay awake for longer than what felt like a couple of seconds. This time, however, he was able to stay awake for much longer, although he hadnât moved since waking up.
Michigan was just so lightheaded and hot, and his limbs felt so heavy. There were also voices talking around him, but he didnât care enough to focus on what they were saying.Â
Michigan finally opened his eyes and tried to focus them on the source of the voices. While his vision was initially fuzzy, he finally realized who it was.
âMes..mis..â Michigan was cut off from his attempt at speaking as he began coughing, loud, grating coughs that hurt his throat. It didnât help the lightheadedness.
âHey hey hey, Michigan, donât speak,â Missouri said, putting his hand on Michiganâs forehead. His hand was cold and felt so lovely, especially since Michigan was so hot. Against his will, Michiganâs eyes began slipping shut.Â
âMichiganâŠ.?â Michigan heard Missouri ask, but everything was already fading away again, and he couldnât make out the rest of the sentence. Michigan slowly opened his eyes and tried to focus his blurry vision on Missouri.
Michigan tried to respond, but his mouth seemed unable to cooperate, and Michigan thought he just ended up making random, incomprehensible muttered noises. Missouri moved his hand from Michiganâs forehead and began running it through Michiganâs hair.
ââŠstâŠe?â Michigan couldn't tell what Missouri was saying. Everything was too fuzzy and hot. Michigan whimpered, breathing heavily as the uncomfortableness mixed with the growing pain in his wing.
Michigan let out more incomprehensible noises, trying to convey that he was hot, and it hurt and burned, and he wanted to go away. Tears began to slide down Michiganâs face.
It hurt so badly.
Darkness began creeping into his vision as his head spun, and his lightheadedness grew. Michigan shut his eyes and felt the heaviness in his limbs grow as well.
The pain was fading, the sounds were fading, everything was fading. Michigan welcomed the darkness, as it was pain-free, and didnât fight as it took him into unconsciousness.Â
âââââââ
Michigan groaned as consciousness and pain returned to him. He slowly opened his eyes, faintly noticing that his vision was less blurry than it had been. Looking around, he noticed he was in a church, most likely a makeshift hospital, if the pain in his wing and foggy memories were anything to go by.
âMichi?â Michigan heard Missouriâs familiar voice ask. He looked over to see his brother standing there, his face worried. And next to him, lying on a cot that had been pulled next to the one Michigan was lying on, was his wing, tightly bound in bandages, although smaller than Michigan remembered it being.
ââLlo âSouri,â Michigan said, his tongue finally managing to get out some of the first words he had spoken inâŠinâŠhow long had he been unconscious? Before Michigan could ask that question, Missouri practically leaped on top of him, pulling him into a tight hug.
âThank god youâre awake! And talking! Youâve been half-conscious and barely speaking when you were, and I thought you had died! Mitch, I thought you were going to die!â Missouri said before he pulled away from the hug. He had small tears rolling down his face, which he quickly wiped away.Â
Michigan was a bit stunned by that declaration. His condition was so bad that Missouri thought he was going to die. He could have died? Well, at least Michigan could take comfort in the fact that it wasnât a country that caused the injury, so itâs not like it would have been a permanent death.
âWhat happened? IâŠI remember getting shot..and falling towards the river, but what happened after that?â Michigan asked, pressing a hand to his forehead as he tried to pull himself into more of a sitting position. Missouri sighed and began rubbing his arm.
âWhen you started falling, I got two soldiers who could swim to get into the river with me to help me rescue you. We got to you and pulled you to shore. YouâŠyou were so cold I feared you were already dead. You were also bleeding badly. We got you to the hospital tent, and the doctors clipped your feathers so they could see the injury andâŠand had to amputate part of your wing. Youâve been pretty much out since then.â
Michigan froze, and horror flooded through him.
âIâŠnoâŠamputate?â Michigan asked, looking back at the bandaged wing and seeing now that part of it was gone.
âIâm sorry, Mitch,â Missouri said, his voice thick with emotion, âI tried to get them to hold off on the decision, butâŠeven if you had been able to keep it, it wasâŠbadâŠshredded almost. But youâre alive, and thatâs what matters!â
âBut Iâll never be able to fly again,â Michigan said, closing his eyes and biting back tears.
âYeahâŠyou wonât. Hopefully, Dad punishes Mississippi for this.â Missouri said. Mississippi? What did Mississippi have to do with this? Sure, the siege was in her state, but that doesnât give her the blame. Missouri must have noticed Michiganâs confused expression because he clarified what he meant.
âMississippi was the one that shot you.â He said. Michigan began to feel lightheaded again. MississippiâŠsheâŠheâŠhe could have actually died! Mississippi shot me!
Mississippi took his wing from him.
âWhy?â Michigan asked as Missouri put his hands on his shoulder. Itâs then Michigan realized he was shaking.Â
âI donât know. This war has done so much damage. Maybe she just doesnât care about her family anymore. I honestly have no clue as to what her motives were with shooting you.â Missouri said, pulling Michigan into a quick hug. Michigan returned it the best he could, but his limbs were weak.
âAt least I have you. Thank you for saving me.â Michigan said. Missouri tightened the hug.
âYouâre welcome. But donât scare me like that again.â
In my time as a Grand Duchy of the Russian Empire, I had always known my time and how I chose to spend it was important. That was what I had always known and always been taught. Now as a newly formed country- fresh from the hell of civil war and a still recovering government to match- this fact was abundantly clear to me.
That was part of why I found this entire trip so exhausting, the vague nature of the request for me and itâs out of the way location made me wonder why i'd even chose to respond.
I gave an exhausted sigh, feeling tired after what had already been a long day. Shaking my head slightly from frustration and fighting to keep a scowl off my face.
"Why have I been brought here again?" I tried to hide my annoyance, "My time is not to be wasted. I have other, more important matters to oversee than-" I gestured to the village and landscape around us,
"-A backwater village that's already been secured."
"Yes, Apologies, Sir. and we thank you for traveling all the way out here. We won't keep you long."
"You've kept me long enough as it is" I scowled, narrowing my eyes, "Now what is it you wanted to tell me, Lieutenant Rokka? You said that was your name?"
"Yes sir." He grimaced, "We were doing as asked- when we ran into a problem."
Like I don't have a hundred other I need to attend.
I stared pointedly at the human, trying to keep my tone even, "What sort of problem? And what makes you think it's at all appropriate to waste my time on it?"
"You see- Well- it's best if you just meet him yourself." Rokka sighed, rubbing his hands anxiously, "We didn't know who else to contact about this."
"Him?" I muttered under my breath, feeling more and more impatient, "This is getting better by the second."
"He should be just over one of the houses- I'll be right back. It'll be easier if you see it yourself" The young man explained quickly, and speed walked off towards one of the larger, slightly more important looking buildings in the village.
At least what could pass as important looking in this place.
From a distance I could see a large, older woman open the door, the two talked quickly, whatever it was they were saying, it couldn't have been good news. I just barely caught the words 'Missing.' and 'gone,' when the young lieutenant's posture stiffened, suddenly seeming panicked, before entering the house.
I watched the door for any sign of movement a little longer before sighing and looking towards the overcast sky, not sure what to feel, but deciding to let the moment sink in. It was a rare bit of peace after all the turbulent past few years, and whatever was coming next likely wouldn't be good news. Few things seemed to be.
The ground in this place felt strange, both welcoming and wary. I tried to think back to remember if I'd ever heard of any sort of country or state in this area, but disregarded the thought just as quickly, the world since Otets' death had been strange- land occupied and unoccupied by personifications mingled and mixed- changing so rapidly it felt like swift currents threatening to tug at your sanity.
Easier to block any and all of that out before it overwhelmed you.
Still though, the uneasiness that had been a near constant in my recent life only seemed to get worse from being here, only serving to make me more on edge.
My moment of peace was disturbed by a small sound somewhere to my right, upon looking to where it came from I was met with a strange scene. a boy, young, by the look of it, partially hidden behind one of the houses, who had evidently been staring at me before ducking away when I'd turned to look in that direction.
"I see you there." I called lazily when he peeked around the corner a second time, to which he responded by hiding again, though not before It caught my attention that he was no regular person.
I wasn't well acquainted with human children but I knew none of them were blue.
"Who are you?" I frowned and muttered to myself, focusing on the ally he'd hidden himself in.
"I know you're back there." I said, a little more firmly this time, "There's no use in hiding. This is my land now, It belongs to the Republic of Finland. Whoever you are, you have no business being here without discussing it with me."
I heard the faint shuffling of movement, before the boy stepped out and my breath caught in my throat.
He was young, roughly that of a human seven year old. Stars dotted his skin as if they were mimicking freckles. His short, fluffy blonde hair covered his eyes a little. I took in the sight of him, the pieces of the story starting to fall together in my mind, this explained the odd feeling I'd been suppressing ever since I'd arrived.
A personification, but not that of a country. He seemed to be that of a territory or colony, with how young he looked. That only concerned me more. A rival country I could deal with, but not this.
This was something else entirely. My mind buzzed frustratingly as I tried to keep my thoughts collected.
Why him, why here? I cursed myself out in my head, as well as damning whoever had recklessly given orders when designating this area's government. To be born in the middle of a contested warzone was bad luck- Only God Himself could know how old this boy would live to be.
The child in question hesitated, his eyes darting nervously around.
I took a small step forward and crouched down, closer to his height and hopefully appearing less threatening, switching my tone from harsh to something softer.
"Hello," I said, letting out a breath along with it, "I won't hurt you, you're safe. You're Uht-"
"There you are!" Lieutenant Rokka cried, swiftly marching over and past me to the boy before taking him by the arm, scolding, "Paha poika! Sneaking off like that. You nearly gave poor Palaga a heart attack!"
The boy cried out in alarm, scrambling to get his hand off of him and protesting against the accusations.
stiffening, I stood abruptly, glaring coldly at the man for interrupting my conversation. I cleared my throat to catch his attention, feeling some satisfaction as he froze in place and released the child.
"If you value your career, explain your behavior this instant."
"I'm deeply sorry sir! But he is-"
"The reason you summoned me, yes, I understood that much." I said dryly. "He's the personification of this village- no? From its localized government."
"Yes sir," He said sheepishly, "he was born a few days ago we believe, we weren't-"
"You did the right thing bringing it to my attention. Thank you for your contribution, I will deal with this personally." I said, cutting him off and looking down toward the boy, who was listening to the conversation with wide eyes, "You can come with me now."
"You wont-" the officer looked nervous, putting a protective hand over my child's shoulder, "You won't hurt him, will you?" I stared hard at him and he stiffened, muttering a quick "Sorry sir, my deepest apologies sir," and making a quick bow.
"No." I said firmly, "I will not be hurting my son. He will be safe with me."
"Son!? uh-" The officer looked down towards the boy, before he started speaking quickly, I frowned, unable to understand everything that was said through their thick accent.
"Uhtua do you want this?"
"He says it will be safe."
"He's my IsÀ- I trust him."
The boy- Uhtua, looked up and gave me a bright smile, nodding cheerfully and speaking directly to me this time- still in a strong dialect- he'd have to be taught otherwise later- "Where are we going?"
"To my home." I frowned, realizing a problem and looking back to the officer, "We'll need some form of transportation, I assume your regiment has been provided with horse and carts? We'll be returning with a pair."
"Yes. of- of course, Sir." Rokka said quickly, giving a small curt nod and leaving to fulfill my request. I turned my attention back to my son, who was fidgeting and looking around at the surrounding houses, seeming agitated. I frowned at that, not sure of what to say to make him stop.
Finally, he spoke in a small voice, seeming suddenly nervous, "Could I please talk to Palaga please?"
"Who?" I frowned, recognizing the name, "The one from earlier?"
He gave a small nod.
"What for?"
"I- I want to say goodbye."
"You will survive without." I said, "It's a long journey by wagon- I- we don't want to waste any time."
"Oh," he said softly, his posture slumping and suddenly seeming disappointed. His reaction puzzled me, why would he act that way? She was only a human- right? What had she done to warrant that feeling from him?
I discarded the thought, trying to say to myself that there would be bigger things to worry about than if my new possession was happy and content all the time. That I had other duties to attend to, and that my son's safety was the first of them.
Which meant leaving, soon as possible. There wasn't time for distractions, not as minor as that.
·đ„žÂ·
Upon trying to actually leave my decision started to waver.
"Uhtua, come along." I insisted again, confusion at the boy's dragging feet undoubtedly clear in my voice.
He looked mournfully behind him, where a small crowd of villagers had gathered, just far enough away to not interrupt the business of my military, but still in sight.
"You shouldn't let yourself be distracted. That's no way for-" I started to scold, feeling pressured to keep him under control. If he was already disobeying me with such a small thing, how would he ever learn to listen to me?
I stopped before I could finish the sentence, my voice catching. Uhtua seemed to take notice of that and focused on me again. I straightened in response, clearing my throat.
"Right, The cart has been prepared, as I've told you already we need to go, I expect for-" my voice trailed off as he seemed to wilt again at my words.
I frowned, not understanding his reaction but not liking it. Something was wrong, that much was clear, and I should probably be doing something about that.
"I- Uhtua?" my words were surprisingly hesitant, "Do you want to talk to your people?"
He brightened immediately, grabbing my hand and holding it tightly. I stiffened at the touch but he only beamed with joy and rambled about how happy he was, before turning and running off to talk to the crowd of onlookers.
I stood in shock for a moment, trying to process his reaction and what it meant, before watching my son happily talk with people he presumably barely knew. The woman in front, whom I'd seen earlier at the house's door, threw something over my boy's shoulders and seemed to press her head to his in some form of gesture.
I watched in quiet amazement as he greeted and said goodbye to most of the villagers, clearly receiving plenty of well wishes and gifts himself before he was able to turn and walk back to me.
"Sir?" The voice of Rokka came close to startling me in my distraction.
"What?" I snapped, not liking to be caught off guard.
He seemed more comfortable now, at least compared to before. The light expression on his face made him seem a lot younger and much more cheery. It was strange.
"Apologies. But the horses are ready. The weather should be good for traveling to the south."
Relaxing, I nodded in response, just in time for Uhtua to return and start speaking happily to the young lieutenant, thanking him and wishing him his own luck.
Rokka laughed at something he said, and ruffled my son's hair in an affectionate sort of way.
"Try not to get into too much trouble." I barely managed to make out, just as he nodded toward me, "don't think your new pa's going to be as forgiving as us when it comes to your mischief. But I don't think he's too bad."
I cleared my throat, breaking their conversation, "I think that's enough, we really should be going." Uhtua nodded and ran past me. It struck me how wildly different than it had been just minutes before.
Watching him climb up into the prepared cart and wrap his new blanket tighter around his shoulders, I started wondering if everything about him was going to be this strange, and how I could handle that if it were the case.
He beamed at me from his spot and I tried to make a hesitant smile back, before turning back and discussing a few last minute details with Rokka and the other officers in charge that had gathered for the departure.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw my son yawn and settle into place. Seeming perfectly content to go off and start a new life, not even a day after meeting me. He was so young, he probably didn't even realize that most would find such an action odd.
Part of me asked whether or not I was doing the right thing, taking him away from his home before he even knew any better actions. His life would no doubt be difficult,
Born to gunfire and smoke- it was hard to see any good ending for him. I couldn't help but feel afraid of that, afraid for him. He was just a boy, MY boy.
My son, I thought, the truth of that finally sinking in.
Letting out a shaky breath, still reeling everything that had happened in the last few hours, I steeled my decision. I didn't have anything else, I had no family besides him now.
As long as I am able, I decided, seeing him sit there, happy and carefree. As long as you are mine, I will protect you.
In preparation for the 1 year celebratory Draw-this-in-your-style for My webcomic, The Lost Republic. I've made a Google Forum questionaire in order for you guys to pick the character.
This should be the link to it, if it doesn't work please say something.
I'd like to get as many responses as possible, every vote counts. there's only one question and It'd be amazing if you could take the time to answer it.
It will be open until December 4th, after which I'll make the drawing you have decided on. Additional information and rules about the Dtiys will be shared when I am finished
In preparation for the 1 year celebratory Draw-this-in-your-style for My webcomic, The Lost Republic. I've made a Google Forum questionaire in order for you guys to pick the character.
This should be the link to it, if it doesn't work please say something.
I'd like to get as many responses as possible, every vote counts. there's only one question and It'd be amazing if you could take the time to answer it.
It will be open until December 4th, after which I'll make the drawing you have decided on. Additional information and rules about the Dtiys will be shared when I am finished
This is a little different from my other posts, but considering I don't believe i'll ever move this to Tumblr, I still wanted to give it a shout out here.
For the past few years I've been working on an ongoing webcomic titled The Lost Republic. Which is my take on the existence of the Republic of Uhtua (also known as the Republic of East Karelia) that existed between the borders of Finland and Russia roughly between 1918-1920.
I don't plan on publishing it outside of Wattpad but I wanted to list it alongside my other work.
Read A Quick Note: from the story The Lost Republic by NewLostIslands (Aili) with 134 reads. republic-of-uhtua, countr...
Part of me hated being here again, at the house. Ever since the start of the civil war it seemed like a different place. Any sense of connection and warmth it had once fostered had been whisked away and shattered, leaving it feeling like a ghost of its former life.
Even now, walking through our home it felt cold and empty, As if the building itself had turned hostile during the years of war, and refused to heal now it was over.
'I need to get out of here.'Â I thought urgently, taking a sharp turn and heading in another direction the moment I heard voices nearby, Arguing, someone crying.
It only added to the miserable feeling that clung to the air.
Taking a shortcut through a different door, I cursed, having incidentally wound up at the portrait hall, Starting at the end with the most recent additions to the Union, and continuing down the hall in order of admission.
Walking quickly, I avoided looking at the paintings, but it still felt as if the shadowed faces were watching me somehow.
I stopped momentarily upon reaching the spot where my own portrait hung, and stared, meeting the gaze of the younger version of myself. Struggling to fight down a strangled feeling of grief and loss on seeing it.
I'd been so proud when that had been made, so proud to see it hung here, as a new state, nearly thirty years ago.
I could barely remember what that was like.
I doubted my life could ever go back to that way, too much had changed, too much was broken.
It hurt to see laid out so plainly, an image of happy days that would never return, frozen in time. A version of myself I would never be again. My breath sharpened and I tried to force myself to be calm, blocking out the thoughts that always seemed to resurface.
There was a little guilt in taking it off the wall. Portraits took a long time to make, and were something to be displayed with pride and respect. A work of art that deserved to be admired by many.
But I really couldn't bring myself to care.
In a second I'd decided It needed to be gone, off the wall and away. Seeing it there made me feel something, whether it was anger, grief, or jealousy, it was too many emotions to deal with right now.
Better to ignore it all, while I could.
I followed the portrait hall until it opened to its larger connected room, scanning the area for a closet where I could hide the painting, at least until I felt a little better about seeing it on the wall.
Thankfully, there was the perfect place, a small storage room, already packed full of old sentimental objects, photographs, and random assortments of dusty heirlooms.
It wouldn't make a dent in the clutter that was already there.
I was about to put the painting down when my eyes drifted instead to the fireplace. The fire was still lit, starting to die now, but the embers still burned hot.
Looking down at the painting again, I tried to grapple with my thoughts.
It seemed like centuries ago I was that young, that naive. No clue of what would come next or how painful life would be only a little while later.
Maybe if I'd known that before, I wouldn't have tried so hard, just to be hurt in the end.
That it really wouldn't be worth it.
I hastily grabbed a pile of photographs that lay on a shelf, not really thinking of what I'd do with them, before closing the closet's door and changing course yet again.
There was a numb bit of satisfaction seeing the fire light up again, eating at the bottom of the portrait and slowly turning it to ash. Splitting through the middle and crumbling to nothing.
I slumped, letting myself sit down on the ground, suddenly feeling exhausted. Leaving most of the photos stacked beside me, I started sorting through some of the cards in my hand, inspecting them.
Coming across an old picture of Mississippi, there was a stab of hatred and I threw it into the flames as well.
I felt a little better watching it burn. A small bit of payback for the hurt she'd caused, for what she'd done to me.
For what they had done to all of us.
Finding some photographs of myself, I hesitated before they faced the same fate. I tried to glean some satisfaction from watching them curl up and turn to ash, but it just made me feel more sick than ever.
I winced as the slight pain increased in my wing, prickling at the point where it had been destroyed.
Cursing, I stood up and walked away from the fireplace, trying to stamp down the fresh feelings of hurt and anger. Half thinking of finding something else to throw in the fire, in case that helped.
My heart jumped on hearing another voice, "Michigan-? What are you-" Missouri was standing in the doorway, his eyes drifted to the fire where some of the photographs were still burning, and he fell silent, eyes widening in shock.
I felt a pang of guilt, and moved to block his view but it was too late, he'd seen. Now Missouri was going to worry more, think there was something wrong with me.
"Souri- I- I can explain" I tried to say, but he didn't let me finish.
"What are you doing?" He asked, rushing over to the fire, panic and fear in his hushed voice, "Those- those are- Michi, Why."
My mind felt blank, everything was wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen, he shouldn't be here. Tears were forming at the edges of my eyes, but I couldn't cry and my voice didn't seem to work anymore.
Words seemed to echo over and over in my head, growing louder by the second, my breath coming in sharper. I wanted to hide I needed to get away from the panic that was creeping in again, but I couldn't move. Everything felt too big and suffocating but blank at the same time.
'I'm supposed to be better now damnit why am I still like this.'
A wave of shame hit me and I took a step back, away from my younger brother.
"Michigan- what happened?" he said, eyes still wide with fear and concern, "Are you hurt?"
I tried to relax my breathing, force myself to calm down, distract myself from whatever was going on in my head, for some inconceivable reason, it wasn't working.
"Should I get Mass?" he asked tentatively, I barely heard him.
"No!" I snapped, not really processing my own words, "I'm fine. Please- he's- that's one of the last people I want to talk to right now. Would only make things worse."
"Is there anything else I can do-?" he said, "if you need something-"
"I said I'm good. Missouri." my words were harsher than I meant them to be, "I'm going home now."
He grabbed my wrist before I could fully turn away, startling me out of my thoughts.
"WAIT!"
"You can't keep me here." I said coldly, regaining my posture and staring him in the eye, I pulled my arm out of his grip.
"I know that I just-"
I broke his sentence off halfway, anger flaring up, "Why do you even care so much? It's not like this matters to you."
Tears formed in Missouri's eyes and I took a nervous step back.
"You're my BROTHER, of course I care!" he nearly yelled, wings spread out, "Besides this is my fault! You're like this now because of me. I chose to- and I could've-" His breath grew choked and raspy, I didn't know what to do.
"No!" I- You didn't-" I stuttered, fear rising up again, making it hard to think.
He took a deep breath and managed to regain himself a little, "Mitch, it's my fault." He said miserably, "you're stuck with the wing because of me, If I'd just- I could've done something different! And then you wouldn't have ended up with that!"
I tried to smile, "You just gestured to all of me."
Missouri crumpled onto the couch, face buried in his arms, "I didn't mean for-" he whispered, "I just don't- seeing you like this. It's all my fault."
"Wait- you think-" I said, caught off guard again, "'Souri- you saved my life."
"No I didn't." he mumbled into his sleeve, not looking towards me, "I ruined it."
I stared at my little brother, "Missouri I nearly- I'd be dead if it weren't for you."
He didn't say anything to that, only shrinking deeper into the couch as if he wanted to disappear, covering himself under his wings.
I went to sit next to him, not knowing what else to do, and followed his gaze into the fire. The frame of the painting was nothing but charcoal and ash now.
"Why did you do that?" he said after a moment's pause, looking over to me, "that was your portrait. Right? I would've understood if it was Mississi-"
"Don't say her name."
Missouri nodded and looked down at his hands.
"But why you." he said in a small voice, "That's- it's worrying, Mitch. I don't like it."
"I don't know." I said, suddenly feeling hollow, "I don't know why. It just- it didn't look like me anymore."
We sat in silence a minute longer before I sighed,
"IÂ didn't look like me anymore, I guess."
"You still look like you to me." Missouri said quietly, and let out a deep breath, "I don't like what you're doing, You keep avoiding us and I don't want to lose you as well, not after everything. I- I can't. Not now."
"Since when did you start acting so grown up?" I said halfheartedly, trying to change the subject, "I thought I was supposed to be the older one here."
He gave a soft smile at that, but it faded back to regret a second later.
"I'm sorry, Mitch. I'm so sorry it turned out this way. I wish- I wish I'd had other options, other choices, I just-"
"You didn't, though." I said softly, picking at some of the feathers on my good wing, feeling numb, "There wasn't- I don't blame you, Missouri."
He wiped his face with his arm, I pretended not to notice. but looked over when Missouri said my name, and he pulled me into a hug.
"Don't leave again, okay?" he said into my shoulder, "I don't know how but can't- I didn't want to lose- I don't want to lose you. Promise me, okay?"
[Archives Entry] Michigan's experiences of 1812 (Wattpad|Ao3)
Dedicated to @weirdestarrow and @aloha-from-angel for creating the Countryhumans Research Archival Project! This also heavily references Weird's oneshot of The Time Spent in a Gilded Cage. Which I highly recommend.
PS. this is Michigan's retelling, so its biased to his perspective.
ââââââââ â ââââââââ
Interview with Michigan State, 15th December, 2023. Transcribed by Alexa Woodbridge.
Interviewer: December 15th, 2023. Interview with The State of Michigan, on the subject of...
[Interviewer pauses]
Michigan: Britain being a /censored/.
[Interviewer laughs nervously]
Interviewer: I'm sorry I don't think we can write that down as the reason.
Michigan: Fine, How about 'Events of 1812 to 1814.' That sound better?
Interviewer: Yes that will do.
[Interviewer clears her throat]
Interviewer: Interview with The State of Michigan on the subject of events from 1812 to 1815. Would you prefer to start or are you more comfortable with prompted questions?
Michigan: Either, whatever you want to do. I'm fine with anything.
Interviewer: All right, You mentioned Britain a minute ago? I wasn't aware you had history.
Michigan: Not exactly common knowledge. Too embarrassing, I think.
Interviewer: How come?
[Michigan gives a dry laugh]
Michigan: Not exactly a great look for a country to lose so much land due to one person's mistake. Everyone wanted to move on after it went back to normal, but i'm not sure what good that did.
Interviewer [sounding confused]: Wait- So what exactly happened? Just to clarify for the record.
[silence for a minute]
Michigan: As a territory I was surrendered to the British at the start of what you call now the war of 1812. I was seven at the time.
Interviewer: So you mean-[cut off]
Michigan: Wait, you guys have customized pens?
Interviewer: Yes, we order them online- but we should really get back on topic. Did you just say that-
[Faint pen clicking]
Michigan: ...Is it okay if I keep this?
[loud sigh]
Interviewer: Sure, why not.
[faint pen clicking resumes in the background]
Interviewer: Are you done now? You are the one who asked for an interview.
Michigan: Yes- sorry, just hard to think about it.
Interviewer: Take your time, honestly I wasn't expecting this. How did you end up under British control?
Michigan: General William Hull, he was in command at Fort Detroit at the time- governor of the territory as well. I don't think they had much warning beforehand that war was declared. So when the enemy showed up, he didn't do anything.
Michigan: Within three days a Union Jack was flying over the settlement. Not so much as a shot fired.
Interviewer: where were you during this?
Michigan [sarcastically]: I was lucky enough to have been ripped away from everyone else, one second nothing was wrong and I was safe, the next I was looking up at the sky, woke up on a hill between the town and fort.
Interviewer: Didn't anyone- your father- come looking for you?
Michigan: Doubt they even knew I was gone at that point. You guys know about Dad's DID right? It gets complicated, but probably didn't realize anything until they got the news themselves,
[A small sound is heard, almost like a choked laugh]
Michigan: Can only imagine how well that went over with them. What with how overprotective Dad is.
Interviewer: Then you were captured?
Michigan: Yep! Stayed that way until 1814, when the Treaty of Ghent was signed.
Interviewer: So where were you taken? Were you a prisoner?
Michigan: I don't think prisoner is the right word, but I went to a house, I'm not sure where, but it was somewhere in Upper- er- sorry, Ontario. Out of the way of the war.
Interviewer: Was anyone else there with you? How long did you stay there?
Michigan: Upper Canada also lived there with me. Soldiers were also positioned around the property- I guess to keep me from leaving. I'm not sure how long I was there for, over two years not counting the trips, but i'm not sure. Time seemed to move slower somehow, at a different pace. It could've been that I was a kid, sure, or that I wasn't actually allowed to know any dates-
Interviewer: You weren't?!
Michigan: nope, anything about the war was forbidden. Didn't know what was happening to my family either. Kept me completely separated from the outside world.
Interviewer[weakly]: Ah- well, You mentioned you knew Upper Canada, what was he like?
Michigan: He was... good to me, like a brother. He was always the part of living there that felt bearable. He's the one who taught me what I needed to know. I think he was also part of convincing Canada to adopt me, said it was so we could be real brothers, not just through America.
Interviewer: did you have to agree to that?!
Michigan: ...yes. I don't think I was in the right state of mind to have ever said no by that point. Britain- he has a way of getting into your head, making you think things you normally wouldn't. Its-
[pen clicking fully stops]
Michigan [voice venomous]: -there was a time that I would have believed anything that came out of that bastard's mouth. He got me to disown my family, tried to make me forget about them, and I hate it but it worked.
Interviewer: Do you think there's any reason why Britain did that? Why he wanted you adopted by Canada?
Michigan: To get back at my Dad. What better way to twist the knife a little deeper than to harm his son? Send him back completely different and changed. I doubt he cared about me beyond a sick way to make a statement and prove a point to him.
Interviewer: We've all heard stories of harsh treatment to Britain's colonies before- did that, did he do anything to you?
[sharp intake of breath]
Michigan: From what I remember- yes. He visited the house often, It was always a punishment for something I'd done wrong, for not following the ridiculous rules he'd made. Though to be fair, at the start I usually made a point not to follow them when I could.
[silence for several minutes]
Interviewer: ...That sounds terrible.
Michigan: Could I have a drink of water real quick?
[recording is paused.]
[resume recording.]
Interviewer: We don't have to continue if you don't want to.
Michigan: No, It's fine. I want to talk, besides it's not exactly easy discussing this with my family, too much emotion wrapped up there, it gets complicated. This is better.
Interviewer: Do they know about this?
Michigan: Yes, They're aware of some things, never really tried to get the whole story out at once, so this is new. I think we all just wanted to forget what happened afterwards, and life just moved on.
Interviewer: Have you ever tried therapy before?
Michigan: Well I punched Britain in the face a few months ago. Broke his nose. Does that count? There's not really many options for us.
Interviewer [shocked]: WAIT THAT WAS YOU?
[Michigan laughs]
Michigan: Yeah. I'm still getting thank you cards from his former colonies. Very worth it.
Interviewer [sounding exhausted]: Okay well- getting back on topic- you said you were returned after the treaty of Ghent?
Michigan: During it, yeah. Don't know what would've happened to me if they'd decided to do something else. With how I was at the time I actually wanted to stay British.
Interviewer: How were you able to adjust back to being with your family again?
Michigan: It took time, more time than I care to admit. I'm still so grateful for the patience they gave me. With how much of an ass I'd been acting like at the time- I really shouldn't have deserved it. They'd only wanted me back and safe while I- I'd pushed them away. I helped hurt them, was glad when they were hurt, tried to sell them out without even realizing how wrong it was.
[inaudible sound]
Interview: Is- is that all you wanted to say? Or would there be anything else you'd like to commit to the archive records.
[Michigan is silent again, then sighs]
Michigan: no, I think that's it. Thank you, sorry again for the short notice.
Part of me hated being here again, at the house. Ever since the start of the civil war it seemed like a different place. Any sense of connection and warmth it had once fostered had been whisked away and shattered, leaving it feeling like a ghost of its former life.
Even now, walking through our home it felt cold and empty, As if the building itself had turned hostile during the years of war, and refused to heal now it was over.
'I need to get out of here.'Â I thought urgently, taking a sharp turn and heading in another direction the moment I heard voices nearby, Arguing, someone crying.
It only added to the miserable feeling that clung to the air.
Taking a shortcut through a different door, I cursed, having incidentally wound up at the portrait hall, Starting at the end with the most recent additions to the Union, and continuing down the hall in order of admission.
Walking quickly, I avoided looking at the paintings, but it still felt as if the shadowed faces were watching me somehow.
I stopped momentarily upon reaching the spot where my own portrait hung, and stared, meeting the gaze of the younger version of myself. Struggling to fight down a strangled feeling of grief and loss on seeing it.
I'd been so proud when that had been made, so proud to see it hung here, as a new state, nearly thirty years ago.
I could barely remember what that was like.
I doubted my life could ever go back to that way, too much had changed, too much was broken.
It hurt to see laid out so plainly, an image of happy days that would never return, frozen in time. A version of myself I would never be again. My breath sharpened and I tried to force myself to be calm, blocking out the thoughts that always seemed to resurface.
There was a little guilt in taking it off the wall. Portraits took a long time to make, and were something to be displayed with pride and respect. A work of art that deserved to be admired by many.
But I really couldn't bring myself to care.
In a second I'd decided It needed to be gone, off the wall and away. Seeing it there made me feel something, whether it was anger, grief, or jealousy, it was too many emotions to deal with right now.
Better to ignore it all, while I could.
I followed the portrait hall until it opened to its larger connected room, scanning the area for a closet where I could hide the painting, at least until I felt a little better about seeing it on the wall.
Thankfully, there was the perfect place, a small storage room, already packed full of old sentimental objects, photographs, and random assortments of dusty heirlooms.
It wouldn't make a dent in the clutter that was already there.
I was about to put the painting down when my eyes drifted instead to the fireplace. The fire was still lit, starting to die now, but the embers still burned hot.
Looking down at the painting again, I tried to grapple with my thoughts.
It seemed like centuries ago I was that young, that naive. No clue of what would come next or how painful life would be only a little while later.
Maybe if I'd known that before, I wouldn't have tried so hard, just to be hurt in the end.
That it really wouldn't be worth it.
I hastily grabbed a pile of photographs that lay on a shelf, not really thinking of what I'd do with them, before closing the closet's door and changing course yet again.
There was a numb bit of satisfaction seeing the fire light up again, eating at the bottom of the portrait and slowly turning it to ash. Splitting through the middle and crumbling to nothing.
I slumped, letting myself sit down on the ground, suddenly feeling exhausted. Leaving most of the photos stacked beside me, I started sorting through some of the cards in my hand, inspecting them.
Coming across an old picture of Mississippi, there was a stab of hatred and I threw it into the flames as well.
I felt a little better watching it burn. A small bit of payback for the hurt she'd caused, for what she'd done to me.
For what they had done to all of us.
Finding some photographs of myself, I hesitated before they faced the same fate. I tried to glean some satisfaction from watching them curl up and turn to ash, but it just made me feel more sick than ever.
I winced as the slight pain increased in my wing, prickling at the point where it had been destroyed.
Cursing, I stood up and walked away from the fireplace, trying to stamp down the fresh feelings of hurt and anger. Half thinking of finding something else to throw in the fire, in case that helped.
My heart jumped on hearing another voice, "Michigan-? What are you-" Missouri was standing in the doorway, his eyes drifted to the fire where some of the photographs were still burning, and he fell silent, eyes widening in shock.
I felt a pang of guilt, and moved to block his view but it was too late, he'd seen. Now Missouri was going to worry more, think there was something wrong with me.
"Souri- I- I can explain" I tried to say, but he didn't let me finish.
"What are you doing?" He asked, rushing over to the fire, panic and fear in his hushed voice, "Those- those are- Michi, Why."
My mind felt blank, everything was wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen, he shouldn't be here. Tears were forming at the edges of my eyes, but I couldn't cry and my voice didn't seem to work anymore.
Words seemed to echo over and over in my head, growing louder by the second, my breath coming in sharper. I wanted to hide I needed to get away from the panic that was creeping in again, but I couldn't move. Everything felt too big and suffocating but blank at the same time.
'I'm supposed to be better now damnit why am I still like this.'
A wave of shame hit me and I took a step back, away from my older brother.
"Michigan- what happened?" he said, eyes still wide with fear and concern, "Are you hurt?"
I tried to relax my breathing, force myself to calm down, distract myself from whatever was going on in my head, for some inconceivable reason, it wasn't working.
"Should I get Mass?" he asked tentatively, I barely heard him.
"No!" I snapped, not really processing my own words, "I'm fine. Please- he's- that's one of the last people I want to talk to right now. Would only make things worse."
"Is there anything else I can do-?" he said, "if you need something-"
"I said I'm good. Missouri." my words were harsher than I meant them to be, "I'm going home now."
He grabbed my wrist before I could fully turn away, startling me out of my thoughts.
"WAIT!"
"You can't keep me here." I said coldly, regaining my posture and staring him in the eye, I pulled my arm out of his grip.
"I know that I just-"
I broke his sentence off halfway, anger flaring up, "Why do you even care so much? It's not like this matters to you."
Tears formed in Missouri's eyes and I took a nervous step back.
"You're my BROTHER, of course I care!" he nearly yelled, wings spread out, "Besides this is my fault! You're like this now because of me. I chose to- and I could've-" His breath grew choked and raspy, I didn't know what to do.
"No!" I- You didn't-" I stuttered, fear rising up again, making it hard to think.
He took a deep breath and managed to regain himself a little, "Mitch, it's my fault." He said miserably, "you're stuck with the wing because of me, If I'd just- I could've done something different! And then you wouldn't have ended up with that!"
I tried to smile, "You just gestured to all of me."
Missouri crumpled onto the couch, face buried in his arms, "I didn't mean for-" he whispered, "I just don't- seeing you like this. It's all my fault."
"Wait- you think-" I said, caught off guard again, "'Souri- you saved my life."
"No I didn't." he mumbled into his sleeve, not looking towards me, "I ruined it."
I stared at him, "Missouri I nearly- I'd be dead if it weren't for you."
He didn't say anything to that, only shrinking deeper into the couch as if he wanted to disappear, covering himself under his wings.
I went to sit next to him, not knowing what else to do, and followed his gaze into the fire. The frame of the painting was nothing but charcoal and ash now.
"Why did you do that?" he said after a moment's pause, looking over to me, "that was your portrait. Right? I would've understood if it was Mississi-"
"Don't say her name."
Missouri nodded and looked down at his hands.
"But why you." he said in a small voice, "That's- it's worrying, Mitch. I don't like it."
"I don't know." I said, suddenly feeling hollow, "I don't know why. It just- it didn't look like me anymore."
We sat in silence a minute longer before I sighed,
"IÂ didn't look like me anymore, I guess."
"You still look like you to me." Missouri said quietly, and let out a deep breath, "I don't like what you're doing, You keep avoiding us and I don't want to lose you as well, not after everything. I- I can't. Not now."
"Since when did you start acting so grown up?" I said halfheartedly, trying to change the subject.
He gave a soft smile at that, but it faded back to regret a second later.
"I'm sorry, Mitch. I'm so sorry it turned out this way. I wish- I wish I'd had other options, other choices, I just-"
"You didn't, though." I said softly, picking at some of the feathers on my good wing, feeling numb, "There wasn't- I don't blame you, Missouri."
He wiped his face with his arm, I pretended not to notice. but looked over when Missouri said my name, and he pulled me into a hug.
"Don't leave again, okay?" he said into my shoulder, "I don't know how but can't- I didn't want to lose- I don't want to lose you. Promise me, okay?"
"Your trees are dead." Hawai'i said, stopping on the path and staring into the forest, "Come to think of it, It's all dead. Are you sure your plants are okay?"
I let out a little laugh, rolling my eyes at the question, "I know for a fact you know what fall is."
"That doesn't change the fact the trees are dead." She shrugged, then shivered in her winter jacket, wrapping it a little tighter around her, "And how cold it is right now, honestly I can't understand you or 'Laska or any of the northern states."
"I can't believe you," I grinned at her, "not having normal seasons."
"Wet and dry is all you need." She said with an edge of pretentiousness, walking quickly and passing me up on the trail, then laughed, "Except school time. Then seasons absolutely do matter, because then you need to know when the keiki get out."
"You really shouldn't be complaining about the weather this much, you're getting exactly what you wanted." I shook my head, still amused, "You were the one who asked me if there's any good surfing on the great lakes, and the best waves are at the end of the year."
"Hey I did a tiny bit of research, I just didn't think I'd be walking in a freezer for thirty minutes." she huffed indignantly, "But Mack-in-ack island seems pretty nice so far. Except for the fact those people back in town were staring at me." Hawai'i looked back at me blankly, "Why were they staring at me?"
I raised my eyebrows, surprised she even had to ask, "Have you taken a look at yourself? Anyone that bundled up at the beginning of September is gonna get some attention. Probably wondering why you're here. You look dressed for the arctic, and it's only 60 degrees out."
"57. I checked this morning." she said stubbornly, "it's not my fault I wasn't built for this climate." she thought an extra moment and a look of dawning disgust crossed her face.
"Oh no,"
"What's wrong?"
She looked back at me, seeming a little Ill, "I just realized I'm a tourist."
I couldn't help but break into an open laugh at that, "That's a bit hypocritical, after you've complained about tourism so much."
"Hey! I-" She paused again, thinking, then sighed in a melancholy way, looking down at her feet, "Thinking of it now- I really haven't done much traveling since the 1880's, so this is a bit... interesting."
"Getting nostalgic, are we?" I grinned, then switched to a frown, "But It's pronounced Mack-in-aw, not "Mack-in-ack. You said it wrong earlier, And before you look at me, it was the French and Brits that shortened a native name."
"Of course they did." Hawai'i rolled her eyes, "Ah France, my arch nemesis, how I long to strangle the crap out of you when we meet again."
"Drama queen."
"Perhaps." She sighed dramatically, "But back in my day..."
I cut her off, "How about we save it for later. I already know you're old, no need to bring attention to that." Then pointed through the trees, Lake Huron peeking through the orange and gold leaves, "We're here. Are you ready to try lake surfing?"
She snorted, amused, "I could surf before you were born. This will be a breeze."
"You can turn back if it's too cold for you." I called to Hawai'i, who was frozen in place knee deep into the water. She looked stiffer than a dead fish in an ice chest.
"F**k off, Michigan." She glared over her shoulder, then waded a little deeper and grimaced,
"AUE, IT'S SO COLD."
She was clearly struggling, letting out gasps of shock whenever a wave hit her, I felt a little bad, Hawai'i with her wetsuit and surfboard seemed so out of place here. I made a mental note to watch her for signs of hypothermia, and set my bag down safely on shore after taking out the camera.
Walking over to the shoreline to test the temperature, I dipped my feet in to see if it was really as bad as she said.
While I am fully aware that Hawai'i was a tropical island and all- wow. She really was a drama queen. The water was surprisingly warm for this time of year, far better than it usually was.
I heard a loud splash and yelp of surprise from Hawai'i and looked up to see her fall straight into the water.
Her head bobbed to the surface and I couldn't control myself, cackling with laughter as I snagged a few photos of her. I could think of a few siblings who would appreciate having these.
"Are you..." She yelled, outraged, "I AM FREEZING MY ASS OFF AND YOU ARE LAUGHING."
"Too cold? I thought you could surf!" I shouted back at her, and snapped a few more photos, just for good measure.
"MICHIGAN I AM GOING TO BEAT YOUR ASS WHEN I GET THERE."
Another wave crashed over her and she went under, sputtering out curse words in languages I did and didn't recognize, sadly paddling back to shore in a shivering heap once she gained control of herself again.
"You're lucky I am nice to you and don't go back to burn all of your stuff right now." she sneezed and shivered some more, "If I get hypothermia or something and die, I'll kill you when I get back."
I smiled, passing her a large beach towel as she left the water, "Fun. Now I'm getting death threats."
"Your turn." she said, wringing out her hair, an edge of revenge in her voice.
Suddenly I felt a lot less sure of this, "I don't know if..."
"What, are you telling me now that you can't surf?" She smiled smugly, "C'mon, can you stand on a boat?"
"Of course, but-"
She nodded encouragingly, "It's exactly like that. Don't overthink it. As soon as you lose sight of what you're doing, you'll immediately wipe out."
It took a while, but I was eventually convinced to bite the bullet and try it out.
Which went about as well as you might expect.
"See! I told you the water was freezing!" she laughed after I resurfaced.
I shook the water out of my hair, and gave a pained smile, "I don't think I'm very good at this."
"Give it another try, just don't stress about it too much." She gave a light smile, "and hey, You know the lakes, I know the board. We can figure it out."
"Sure, Sandy-" I rolled my eyes, attempting a second time to balance on the surfboard, but was interrupted by Hawai'i pushing me off.
I hadn't expected the day to go like this, it was unusual, but fun. Better than I'd been hoping this would be. But if hanging out with Hawai'i meant doing things like this regularly-
Yeah- no, I'd just stick with my own region. At least they didn't complain about the weather this much.
I really loved my new dog. It had only been a little while since I got her, not even a week ago, but suddenly the fuzzy little thing was the highlight of my days.
I'd owned countless dogs over the years of course, as well as other types of pets, but I'd always forgotten just how fun it was to have a new puppy around the house. It wouldn't be long before she grew up of course, but that just made this all the more adorable.
So of course I had to show her off to my family.
"She's really cute Michigan." Wisconsin said, smiling watching the puppy clumsily run around, "Where'd you get her?"
The puppy stopped suddenly, and sat to scratch its little ear, nearly losing balance from the effort. I gave her a soft pat on the head, and she looked up at me, confused, then barked an adorably squeaky bark.
"Just saw an ad of Springer Spaniel puppies for sale," I shrugged, "Figured it's been a while since I had a dog, and I've got enough time to take care of her, so why not."
She nodded, then tilted her head as if thinking.
"How much."
"You're not buying my dog, Connie." I laughed nervously, "Besides, don't you have two dogs already?"
She shrugged, "Brooks is getting older now, and Rollo's still pretty young. I think he could use a new friend."
"Wisconsin, No." I sighed, picking my puppy up protectively, who proceeded to lick my face, "I'll bring her over when she's a bit older, but stop teasing I haven't had a dog in years, I'm not about to give her up."
"Alright fine I'll drop it, but the offer still stands." she smiled, and I relaxed enough to put her down again.
The little dog toddled over towards a rubber ball I'd brought and started sniffing it curiously, eventually attempting to bite it, which failed considering it was only a little smaller than her head.
"Hey- who was your last dog again?" Wisconsin asked, startling the small spaniel out of her investigation of the toy to start play-fighting with her fingers.
"Uhhhhh-" I thought back, "I had two, I think they passed away around '92? Chevy and Sunny, you remember them, right?"
"OOooohhhhh! Right! The beagle boys!"
"Sunny was a girl." I laughed, "but yes."
My ears caught the sound of footsteps I recognized coming from down the hall, and I turned to look toward the door, "Hey Ohio," I said, a moment before he rounded the corner, "What brings you here?"
He scowled at me, "I hate it when you do that. Its creepy,"
"Well I'm sorry for being polite then" I scoffed, "not my fault I've got better hearing than you."
He rolled his eyes, "Sure sure, either of you seen my-" his voice died in his throat before he could finish his sentence,
"Is that a puppy?" he asked incredulously. Watching as she stumbled over her own feet.
"Brilliant detective skills Ohio!" I smiled, "Yep! Nine weeks on the dot! Just got her last Saturday."
"Oh," He thought for a moment, looking at the little brown and white animal, who was turning around in circles clearly unaware that they were all talking about her, "Well I feel sorry for her then, having you as an owner."
"Hey!" I frowned, and Wisconsin laughed.
The puppy wandered over and smelled his shoe, then looked up and wagged her tail.
Ohio's stoicism broke and he started laughing,
"Mitch, I think your dog likes me."
I gasped, pretending to be offended, "You little traitor! Everything I do for you and this is how you repay me," I walked over and scooped her up, "I gotta teach you the Michigander Mindset, Ohio is not our friend."
In response she gave a little whine and fight to escape my hold on her.
"Good luck with that." Ohio said, still chuckling, and reached out to pet her, managing to avoid her open mouth and sharp teeth.
His eyes widened, "Whoa she's really soft,"
I smiled, "I know, right?" and tried to pet her myself, but she just bit onto my jacket's sleeve. I tugged it free as she struggled desperately to hold on.
"Have any of the others seen her?" Ohio asked, but I shook my head.
"You, Connie, plus Indiana are the first. Told dad but he's busy right now, and Noi's off on a trip somewhere." I looked down at the puppy in my arms, who was now nibbling one of my hands. "Didn't want to overwhelm her with everyone at once."
"Ah, fair enough." Ohio nodded thoughtfully.
She leaned back in my arms and yawned, I couldn't blame her, it had been a big day for her.
"Any ideas of what you're going to name her?" Connie said as I turned and walked back over to the couch, still stroking her little floppy ears, and shook my head.
"No, not yet. Been thinking a lot about it. Want something that matches her personality."
"How about Abby?"
"No, Don't want a human name." I shrugged, "Thinking maybe something to do with food? Like a candy? But I don't know about that."
"Maybe Tucker?" Ohio suggested, leaning against the wall, "or Bella, or Piper, Luna,"
"Star sounds nice!" Wisconsin chimed in, "She's got that little white star on her head."
"No, doesn't sound right, besides I'm pretty sure those names have been used before."
"Don't see why that matters." Ohio shrugged, "Every name's been recycled at least twice at this point."
"Hmm," I looked down at the puppy on my lap, who was starting to give into exhaustion and fall asleep, "She's got spots on her back."
I tilted my head, still looking at her, "Kinda like seasoning on something. Like pepper."
Scratching her sleepy little face, I finalized my decision. "Pepper, that sounds nice. A perfect name for a perfect little dog."
