Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

~

"Dude! I think the World Conference can convene! Solving all of today's problems by talking excessively!" America starts this meeting off with a loud obnoxious boom. "For today's problem, we'll be talking about this shit called climate change! If we don't do something about it, the Earth is going to, like, blow up or something like that! We need to act before it's too late!"

"Oui, oui (Yes, yes)! Says the country that pulled out of the Paris Climate Agreement!" France brings up a moot point.

Many countries sneer at the American.

He groans, "Come on, dude! That was two years ago! It wasn't my idea!"

Germany scowls. "Despite setting a plan years ago, it seems we need to go over this issue again."

"Suck ball!" China protests. "We already talked about this! Instead, how about we talk about this trade war the American pig started?"

"Stop blaming me! I know for a fact you're screwing me and not in a sexy way!"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have a screwdriver."

"You're cheating me of millions! Don't get me started on the cyber-attacks!"

England sighs, "Can you two settle on something before dragging everyone else into your little war? You're going to ruin Europe's economy if you two don't compromise."

"What a surprise. I thought you didn't consider yourself a part of Europe." Russia smiles creepily.

"Speak for yourself," he huffs. "I swear you're plotting to assassinate me."

"Assassinate you? Why me?" He points to himself in a clueless manner.

"Yes, you! Who else has a murderous aura?!"

"U-Uh... Please calm down, everyone..." Japan mumbles nervously.

Italy stands up with a smile on his face. "Come on, everyone! Make pasta, not war! Don't be upsetti, have some spaghetti!"

"Italy!"

"Eeek!"

"How did you sneak spaghetti into this meeting? You shouldn't be eating during a time like this!"

"Waaaaah! Germany!"

Standing at the back of the room, New York stares at the chaos like it's the end of the world. 'How does Mr. United Nations deal with this every year...?' He watches England and France go after each other's throats. "I can't imagine this getting any worse," he grumbles.

Knock! Knock!

A voice chirps behind the door. "New Yooork! Be a darling, and let me in!"

New York does the opposite, blocking the doorway. "No way, Cali. This is an important meeting among countries. You're not allowed here," he hisses.

"But this is, like, super important! I have a super important announcement to make!"

"No."

"I demand to be let into this room!"

"You can come back once they have their break."

"I don't have time to wait around until lunch!"

"Then, do some shopping. Go get your nails done. I don't care. Just stop annoying me."

"Hell no! I'm coming into that room now, and you can't stop me!"

"I'm warning you."

"California..."

"Don't-"

"SMAAAAAAASH!" She knocks down the doors, sending New York flying across the room.

Everyone turns their attention to the Californian blonde strutting into the spotlight, flashing a dazzling, white smile. "We're back, bitches!" she laughs.

The entire room groans, "Ah shit, here we go again."

☆☆☆☆☆

A young Hispanic man sits on top of the damaged roof of his house, staring up at the baby blue dawn of a warm morning. He laments, "What a terrible year this has been. It's not exactly the worst, but it's difficult, yes." He gives up another sigh. "A couple of famous people got shot in my home. My previous boss said some misogynistic and racist things. America's boss called me a corrupt, broken shit hole on Twitter. Many homes on the island still have no access to water or electricity. I'm still in debt. I'm still living underneath a tarp because I can't afford to fix my roof. And now, another hurricane is coming to my broken home...

... You know. I've been through a lot. Like a palm tree, I'm built to survive the biggest storms. I'm built to be strong. I'm built to live another day and see the sun again. Surely, things will get better... However," he clenches a fist, "I can't hold back my frustration. I've been through mud, rain, and literal shit. This is a tough world. I know that, but... They did me dirty. That I can't forgive. I will never forgive. How could they... How could they..."

He sucks in a deep breath. "HOW COULD THEY CUT ME OUT FROM THE FIRST VOLUME?!" Birds scatter into the sky. "I'm an AMERICAN territory! They had some of Canada's provinces as guests! They introduced some of Mexico's states! They promised me I would get my own episode! I waited! I waited for ten, twenty, thirty... I waited to be introduced in one of their fifty episodes! I waited for FIFTY episodes!

But like always, everyone forgets Puerto Rico! Everyone assumes only fifty states exist, but no! I exist, too! My episode was supposed to spotlight my existence and show I'm not a corrupt, broken shit hole like some people claim me to be. I waited. I waited for the release of that episode to see everyone's reaction. I waited for redemption, for an ounce of respect, for a person or two to understand I'm not a horrible place. Instead, I got a short email, telling me they had to cut me out of the volume due to budget cuts. Budget cuts..."

He slumps in disappointment. "I get it. Fifty states. Fifty episodes. That makes sense. But, where do I fit into all of this? Don't I deserve some recognition? I may have my problems, but everybody does..." He sighs. "What I'm trying to say... 2019 hasn't been a very good year for me..." He slowly gets up on his feet, going back to work to prepare for another hurricane to ruin his life...again.

~ Hetalia... ~

The news anchor on screen gives a summarized report of today's news. "Congratulations, Puerto Rico. You'll only suffer some major flooding to a couple of small islands. Otherwise, Category 1 Hurricane Dorian has spared you from major harm."

Puerto stares at the screen with bright eyes, breathing a sigh of relief. "Whew! Thank God." He's about to sit back on the sofa when his phone starts ringing. He picks up the call. "¿Hola (Hello)? ¿Quién es éste (Who is this)?"

"This is the creator of the show," says the caller. "Once again, I want to apologize for cutting your episode out of the first volume. I-"

"It's okay. I understand." He nods his head through that lie.

"I have some good news to tell you. You're going to appear in the second volume."

His eyes grow wide. "Really? No joke? How do I know you're not gonna do a Puerto Rican pullout on me?"

"Well, you're currently in an episode right now, so..."

"I am?" He turns to the audience. "I am!" He smiles and waves. "It's me! I'm Puerto Rico! I'm an American territory, and I exist! ¡Gracias! ¡Gracias! ¡Gracias! Thank you for noticing me!" He jumps up and down in glee.

The news anchor on TV continues their report in the background of Puerto Rico's celebration. "So, it looks like Dorian is heading to Disney World as a Category 4 hurricane. So, yeah. Nothing new."

~ Meanwhile in Florida... ~

"Get yourself a hurricane themed cake, folks! Get one to party with Dorian when they come knocking on your door!" Florida sells colorful cakes at a bakery despite these stressful times.

Georgia storms into the bakery, glaring daggers at the Floridan. "There you are!"

The Floridan waves at her neighbor. "Heard about this sweet deal, huh?"

She scowls unimpressed. "What are you doing? You should be preparing for Hurricane Dorian, not idling around making cookies in a bakery!"

"Relax, Princess Peach. I got things under control."

"Do you? When I search inside your house, will I find plenty of food and enough water to last a month?"

"No... But I have plenty of cake! Want some?" She shows her a frosted cake with a picture of Hurricane Dorian decorated in rainbow frosting.

She facepalms. "There's a tree stump in a Louisiana swamp with a higher IQ than you..."

"Aw, don't be so down. Have some cake!"

"Haven't you learned by now? This is no time for cake! Hurricane Dorian is heading straight toward you right as we speak! You need to prepare or die!"

"Hey, now. I'm not the only one dealing with the hurricane."

She cocks her head. "Are you pulling my leg?"

"Nope." Florida turns on the nearby TV.

The local weatherman appears on the screen. "This just in: Hurricane Dorian decides it wants to take a road trip across the Eastern coast of America. From Florida, it'll curve northward through the coastlines of Georgia and the Carolinas. To the people from those states, I recommend you get yourself a hurricane cake today!" He proceeds to eat a slice of cake on live television.

Georgia can't believe her eyes. "What the Hell?! You're supposed to be the only one getting hit! What did I do to get dragged into this?!"

"Want some cake now?" Florida leans over with a cake and a shit-eating grin.

"Ugh!" She slaps the cake out of her hands. "You dumb, gator-loving beach bum! I pray to God Dorian hits some sense into that dense skull! Otherwise, it better be the thickest palm tree on Earth!" She storms out of the bakery in a pissy mood.

Florida scratches the back of her head. "Geez. She ruined a perfectly good cake." She frowns at the broken cake on the floor. All of a sudden, she gets a phone call. "¿Hola?"

"Yeah... We like to order a couple of hurricane themed cakes please," North Carolina grumbles at the other end of the line.

"We?"

"Ah shit, here we go again!" South Carolina groans in the background. "We already made an episode on this already!"

North Carolina sighs, "Can you do delivery?"

"Sure thing!"

~ Hetalia! ~

¡Oye, oye, papi, give me OJ!
¡Oye, oye, mami, oye, oye, mami!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Key lime pie I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
¡Oye, I'm Florida!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Sunshine State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The gators have their own theme park!
I'm Florida!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

The prestigious school that turns out many heroes, AU Academy. Enrolled in their hero course, a group of students run toward their dream, stand up to any difficulties, and save people with a smile...in order to become the greatest Hero!

Students of Class 1-A walk down a street to the training area, wearing their Hero costumes for the first time since enrolling in this school.

One of the students named Delaware is the first to speak. "Isn't this the practice city that was used for the entrance exam?" He scans the area.

Another student named Missouri asks, "Where's the teacher?"

"I'm right here!" shouts a booming voice.

All the students look to the sky. Up in front of the sun, a patriotic Hero in red, white, and blue flashes a vigorous smile, taking a moment to impress his students with a heroic pose before gliding down to meet them on the ground.

"Whoa! It's All Murica!" Colorado can't believe his stoned eyes.

"That's right!" He makes his signature salute to freedom. "As the greatest American Hero since Captain America, I'll be your teacher throughout your time as students of AU Academy."

A couple of students awe, "Wow! So cool!"

A student named New Hampshire raises their hand. "Pardon me, All Murica. May I ask what we'll be doing today for today's training?"

"Good question, young student!" He gives him a thumbs up. "Today, everyone will experience a common Hero-Villain situation: an indoor battle."

Utah tilts his head. "An indoor battle?"

"Yes," All Murica says with confidence. "A common site for conflict involves fighting within enclosed walls. Quite often, many Pro Heroes face challenges in an indoor environment. If they're not careful, the consequences are devastating. This is why everyone needs to get familiar with such a situation and learn how to adapt and adjust to succeed in their objective."

"So, how are you going to test us?" California asks without raising her hand.

"Another good question." He smiles. "Everyone will be split up into ten teams of two, half Heroes and half Villains."

"What? Villains?" the beaver mutant named Oregon frowns. "I don't understand. We're training to become Pro Heroes. Why are some of us being assigned Villains?"

"Excellent question, young lady! Well, you see... Villains...are cunning and..." His forehead sweats. 'What's the purpose of assigning some teams as Villains again...?'

"I see." Nebraska nods her head. "I get what you're saying, All Murica."

"Oh?" He raises a brow. "Is that so? Mind telling the class, then?"

"Certainly." She turns around to face her classmates. "Heroes and Villains are a lot alike. Both sides must calculate and predict each other's moves to overcome the other. As future Heroes in the making, we must understand not only how to defeat Villains but also how to think like one. That's what All Murica is trying to teach us. To see whether we can take steps to outsmart our opponent rather than solely rely on strength alone."

Oregon slowly nods her head. "I get it now. If we can succeed as Villains, we'll surely succeed as Heroes, too."

"That's a smart idea coming from All Murica," says Ohio.

"What do you expect? He's the greatest Hero in the world!" Texas laughs.

'Oh, wow. She's really smart.' All Murica awkwardly smiles. "Excellent, Nebraska! That's exactly what I'm trying to do."

She bows her head. "Thank you, All Murica. I'll let you continue your explanation."

He nods his head. "This is how this trial is going to play out. Every pair of Heroes and Villains will be tested in a building. The Villains will guard a nuclear weapon they intend to launch on a random floor. The Heroes' objective is to stop the scheme, either by capturing the Villains with capture tape or reaching the nuclear weapon within a fifteen-minute time limit. However, if the Villains manage to either capture the Heroes or protect the nuclear weapon when the given time expires, they win."

Oklahoma raises his hand. "So, we're allowed to use the full extent of our Quirks however we wish?"

"Yes. But remember, this trial is mimicking a real-world situation. Indeed, it's important to give it your all, however, it's also important to be cautious, especially in an unpredictable environment unbeknownst to you. Always think about your actions before committing them." He suddenly remembers something very important. "Oh! I recall some students having powerful Quirks that can do immense damage. That's cool and all, but try not to kill your classmates. If I have to, I will stop the match if there's a situation I feel puts a student in danger. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, All Murica!"

"Any more questions before we draw pairs?" He looks among his students and sees no one raise their hand. "Alrighty then. Let's draw up pairs from a lottery box."

Every student pulls a folded slip of paper from the lottery box, receiving a letter and matching it with another student who drew that same letter. As a result, ten pairs are formed among the students.

"Yes! I got an 'A'! That totally means I'll get a good grade!" California giggles as she relishes the slip of paper. "So, who's my ally?" She searches the gathering.

Delaware steps forward. "Um, I guess we're a team..." He holds up his letter for her to see.

She cocks her head. "Who are you again? Delaware, is it? Are you a Northern state or something?"

He frowns. "How did I get paired up with a popular state?"

"Whoever we're facing and whichever role we're assigned, let's work together to succeed," says New Hampshire to Nebraska.

She nods. "Right." She clenches the paper slip with the letter 'I' in her hand.

"Oooh! D for dick! I got Cat Boy!" Florida gives Vermont a big hug.

He awkwardly smiles. "I guess we're Group D then, meow."

Rhode Island stares at the 'G' on his slip of paper. "I guess we're teammates now." He looks back at the Jersey Devil.

"I bet twenty bucks we're going to be assigned Villains," New Jersey chuckles.

"Glad to be your partner." Oregon smiles as she shakes Ohio's hand.

"Thank goodness you have 'J'..." He breathes a sigh of relief. "I can't imagine being teamed up with Bitchigan."

"What was that?" Michigan growls over his shoulder.

It takes the entirety of Missouri's strength to hold her teammate back. "What are the odds of them facing us..." She can only hope they don't match up with Group H.

Utah waves smoke away from his face. "I hope our group letter doesn't reflect our grade..." He frowns at Colorado whose eyes are too clouded by smoke to see the 'F' on his paper slip.

Texas laughs, "Your job is to back me up, okay?" She nudges the disappointed Oklahoman.

"Does anyone want my 'E'?" Oklahoma asks his classmates.

"Can we trade? My current ally is useless..." Maine offers her slip with the letter 'B'.

"Who are you calling useless?!" Idaho pouts. "I'll show you! My Quirk can do more damage than your stupid lobster claws!"

"Gang on," All Murica interrupts the trade. "You can't trade partners."

Oklahoma groans, "Why not?"

"Sorry, young man. Pro Heroes don't always have the luxury of choice on their side. All they can do is work with what they have. So, I expect you to cooperate with your teammate to win."

"Oh, come on, All Murica!" South Carolina butts into the conversation. "I seriously can't work with someone who's a pain in a donkey's smelly rear."

"Same!" North Carolina huffs. "Please move me to another group other than 'C'. I'm sick of getting paired with her."

"Now, now. I'm sure you two can work something out. If you two really want to succeed, you'll need to set your differences aside and work together." All Murica looks to the rest of his students. "The same applies to everyone here. The people around you aren't just friends and classmates. They're your allies. Get along and help each other improve. That's the Hero way!" He beams.

"Can I go solo instead?" South Carolina raises her hand in protest.

He ignores her pleas. "Are there any more questions regarding the rules of this trial before I start the lottery for matchups?" Other than South Carolina, he sees no one raise their hand. "... Awesome! Let's see who'll be the Heroes and the Villains of the first match!"

☆☆☆☆☆

Match 1

Heroes: Group A | Villains: Group D

California is the first to sneak through a window to the second floor.

Delaware follows behind her, looking around cautiously. "Shouldn't we check for traps?"

"We'll only waste time," she says without hesitation. "The group we're facing are basically furries. Or, one of them is a furry." She looks back at him. "Are gator people furries? I mean, they don't have fur."

"We should come up with a plan on how to deal with them," he suggests.

She scoffs, "Here's the plan. I touch them with Midas Hands. We wrap them up with tape. And done. We win. That easy."

He has his doubts. "It can't be that easy."

"Oh, but it is! All you gotta do is stand back and watch me win for the both of us. Afterward, you can thank me for being fabulous as always." She bats her eyelashes.

He scowls. "How did I get stuck with you again?"

"I could ask the same thing," she jeers. "Like, I'm hella grateful you're not that loudmouth cowgirl with her crazy guns, but you're just...so...boring. Like, you don't look or sound like a Hero. No offense, dude."

"Yeah... I hear that a lot..." His feet stop moving, allowing her to move ahead of him.

"Honestly, you look more ready to become an accountant than a Hero. Like, I'm still shocked how people like you somehow pass the entrance exam. Like, when I think of a Hero, I think of All Murica. Strong, brave, talented... And then myself, I can imagine people cheering for 'The Golden Hero' when she makes her grand entrance to save the day. You, on the other hand, look more fit to be a sidekick, watching Heroes like me do all the work while you deal with small fry. No shame in being a sidekick though, but I don't see how someone like you attending a Pro Hero school makes much sense." She stops at an intersection. "You know—"

BOOOOOM!

A giant gatorman crashes down from the ceiling above California. It bellows a booming roar that echoes off the walls of the second floor, forcing Delaware back in shock of the opponent's sudden display of strength among the dust and rubble.

"Cali! Cali, where are you? Are you okay?" He searches around for his ally.

The gatorman locks eyes with him. Much to his surprise, the gatorman makes a toothy grin and waves at him with its sharp claws. "Hey, Delaware! It's me! Florida! You must be in quite a shock, huh!" she laughs. "By the way, have you seen your ally anywhere? I need to knock her out before her Quirk turns me into gold."

"You already did..." He stares disappointingly at the unconscious body lying underneath the gatorman's left foot.

"Oh, whoops!" She steps off the Californian. "Is she breathing?"

He crouches down and presses his fingers to her neck. "... She's breathing."

"Oh, good! I hate to kill my classmate on the second day of school. Hehe."

"This isn't good," he mumbles to himself.

She rubs the back of her scaly neck, probably blushing underneath her mossy green scales. "I mean, yeah. It sucks having your ally knocked out like that. I knew I needed to stop you two from reaching the bomb, but I didn't think I would knock one of you out that quickly. What a shame though. I wanted a bit of a challenge. Then again, this trial is going to be-"

"Florida!" Vermont yells from the hole above her. "He's getting away!"

She turns her head and sees her opponent running across the hall to the next flight of stairs. "Hey! I didn't finish my monologue!" She chases after him.

Delaware keeps his eyes ahead of him as he makes his way up the stairs. 'I gotta think of something. I'm outnumbered. I'm outpowered. I have about twelve minutes left to reach the bomb or reprimand the Villains which is out of the question. What to do? What to do? Think-'

"Meow!" Vermont pounces on top of him from the top of the ceiling.

"Augh!" He falls over.

"Sorry about that." Vermont pulls out the capture tape from his belt. "I'm afraid this is the end for you, meow. I don't want to hurt you, so don't bother fighting back, meow."

Florida comes up the stairs and sees her ally already dealing with him. "Boy, what an easy fight!" she laughs.

Delaware grits his teeth. "This fight isn't done yet."

Vermont smiles. "Great attitude, meow. But this fight really is-"

"Did Florida wrap tape around California?"

He gives him a quizzical look. "Does it matter, meow? She's passed out cold."

"Was she though?"

"What are you talking about?"

"She could be faking it."

"No way, meow." He shakes his head. "After getting crushed by a thousand-pound gator monster, she shouldn't be able to stand. Or, be alive actually, but that's beside the point, meow."

"Or, she actually dodged in time and pretended to be knocked out. That way she could find the bomb while I distracted you and Florida."

His face pales. 'No way. I thought going on the offensive with a surprise attack would benefit us. I didn't think they predicted our attack that far ahead. If that's the case, California is running around the building as we speak.' He looks down at Delaware's unemotional face. 'Or, what he's telling me is a lie? Is it a lie, meow?'

Deep down, Delaware is trying so hard not to panic. His lie is flawed by the simple fact Florida had to step off California's body. There's no way California could've faked it unless she can somehow lift a thousand pounds and place herself underneath a smelly, scaly foot without Florida noticing the whole thing. It would've been amazing if California actually faked being unconscious. Unfortunately, that isn't the case.

Vermont turns to Florida and asks, "Can you go downstairs and wrap California's body with capture tape?"

Florida feels around her massive scaly body. "Um, I think I left the capture tape on the fifth floor. Oops..."

'Fifth floor, huh?' Delaware keeps that in mind.

Vermont sighs, "Well, here's some of mine then." He tears off some tape and hands it to her. "I'll wrap things up here."

"Okay. I trust you." She runs back to the second floor.

Vermont looks back at his opponent and smiles apologetically. "Sorry, meow. Maybe next time you can improve and do better." He lifts his wrists.

"Actually," Delaware speaks up, "I should be the one to say sorry."

Before Vermont can tie him up, Delaware activates his Quirk. Within a second, his hands harden into solid crystal. He pulls the tape apart like string cheese and grabs a hold of Vermont's wrists. Vermont tries to pry his hands out, but his claws do no damage to Delaware's diamond skin.

"F-Florida!" Vermont yowls.

"Sorry." Delaware forces the back of his diamond-covered head against Vermont's face. The grip on his wrists loosens up, allowing him to sprint away. His head and arms turn back to normal to lessen his weight and increase his mobility.

Florida hurries up the stairs and sees her partner on the floor, rolling around in pain. "Kitty! What happened?" She goes over to his side.

"I-I'm sorry, meow! He got away! Ow..." He holds his broken nose with both paws.

She grinds her teeth. "It's alright. I'm not letting him get away, especially after hurting Kitty! GRAAAAAWWWWRRR!" She storms after her opponent.

Delaware hears her roars as he hurries to navigate the third floor. "I need to get to the fifth floor before she wrecks my day."

Florida bellows angrily, "YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR BREAKING POOR KITTY CAT!"

Her thunderous thumps are heard not that far from Delaware's location. He tries not to be fazed and focuses on heading up the stairs to the fourth floor. But as he's heading up, he realizes something crucial. 'I can't outrun her. She'll beat me to a pulp before I lay a finger on the bomb.' He scowls. 'I barely passed the entrance exam because I suck at combat. But...I have no choice.' He continues to run ahead.

The PA system comes on. "Less than seven minutes left on the clock!"

Florida stomps up the stairs and arrives on the fourth floor in an irritated huff. "I better hurry and stop him before he reaches the bomb." She sprints across the hall to the final set of stairs.

Unbeknownst to Florida, she doesn't think to consider her opponent's predicament. Delaware knows he can't go toe to toe with her, nor can he outspeed her. His best shot of winning is to catch her off guard with a sneak attack. But how, one may question. Indeed, he may not be adept in combat, however, he's still...

Seeing Florida run past a room, Delaware leaps out from hiding, ready to flick all five diamond crusted fingers at her. "DELAWARE..."

"Delaware!" she hisses as she tries to turn her gigantic body to face him.

But it's useless to stop him.

"... SMAAAAAAAAASH!" He flicks all five fingers, unleashing a powerful shock wave onto his target.

The strong blast indirectly cracks the floors, the walls, and the windows of the building. Florida attempts to stand her ground, but the shock wave blows her away like a leaf. Her body crashes into a wall that's barely able to withstand the blast. She gasps upon impact and crumples to the floor, unable to get up immediately.

She weakly mutters, "What... What was that...?" Unable to maintain her transformation, her body reverts to normal.

"A Hero," he answers the question with determined eyes. "I may not have the looks of a Hero. I still have a heart made out of diamond. No matter the criticisms, no matter the difficulties, my heart will always withstand the pressure. Next time, never underestimate me again." He presses a clenched fist to his heart. "Because one day, I will become a Hero!"

She smirks. "Hehe... Hahahahaha!"

He gives her a weird look. "Why are you laughing?"

She shakes her head. "You may have put me in a bad spot, but this match isn't over."

"You're right. I need to head to the fifth floor and—" Just as he's turning his head toward the stairs, he's knocked to the ground by a hard hit in the back.

Vermont stands over him with the capture tape in hand. "I expect an apology for the broken nose after this match is over, meow." He manages to smile with a broken nose.

"Yeah! An apology for my broken ribs, too!" Florida laughs.

Delaware grits his teeth. "Damn it." He turns his fingers into diamond and quickly flicks them at his opponent.

Vermont gets off him to avoid the attack. The ceiling above them cracks from the blow. He whistles, quite impressed. "That was close. I'll be sure to avoid that, meow." He lunges at him.

Delaware flicks his fingers again, but Vermont ducks and hits below his arm. The blowback from his fingers creates a hole in an adjacent wall. Delaware leaps back, trying to avoid him and adjust his aim. But Vermont doesn't give him a break. He closes the gap between them and takes a swipe at him. Delaware blocks the attack with his arms, but he's unable to form his diamond armor in time. Traces of blood seep out of the scratches.

Vermont smirks. "It seems your Quirk has limits." He pounds his opponent multiple times before making the final blow—a jump kick to the face.

Delaware is knocked to the ground. He tries to get up, but his body falls back. His vision seems crooked. "What... Why can't I...?" He groans from a piercing headache splitting his head.

"Concussion." Vermont wraps the capture tape around Delaware's body. "My bad, meow. I meant to kick you in the chest. Hopefully, Medicine Woman can help you now that this match is over."

"It's... It's over...?"

"Woo! Good kitty! He's finally defeated!" Florida cheers.

He finishes tying the knot. "It's okay, meow. Stay down this time, and everything will turn out fine."

Delaware can't believe it. Victory is only a floor above him. All he has to do is run to it and touch the bomb. Yet, he can't. The soreness in his feet, the bruises all over his body, he can't get up because of a splitting headache. He goes through this much trouble, only to lose to a kick in the head. How pathetic.

He winces. "Damn it... I was so close..." The feeling of defeat sinks deeply into his heart. Maybe he's not cut out to be a Hero. If that's the case, maybe he should...

The PA system comes on. "The match is over! The Hero team wins!" All Murica announces.

Florida and Vermont gasp in shock. "What?!"

Delaware can't believe his ears. "Don't tell me... She's..."

"That's right!" California comes down the stairs, much to the shocked faces of everyone there. "Thanks for distracting the furries, dude." She gives him a thumbs up.

"How?! You're supposed to be knocked out!" Vermont turns to his partner. "Florida!"

"I-I swear she was knocked out!"

"Did you wrap her in capture tape?"

"Well, I... I was about to, but then I heard you screaming for help, so..." She twiddles her fingers.

Delaware stumbles to get up. "Cali..."

"Hang on, dude. I gotchu." She supports him on his feet. "That Delaware Smash was hella sick! I didn't know you had that much power in you."

"How did you... Your head..." He stares at the enlarged bump on her forehead.

"Oh! I got that from a large chunk of rubble when that fat smelly alligator got the jump on us. It knocked me out for a while, but I managed to wake up and head up to the upper levels from climbing the building." She chuckles, "I almost didn't make it. That Delaware Smash almost knocked me off when I was going up to the fifth floor."

He blushes. "Sorry. I didn't know."

"Why are you apologizing? I got to the bomb, and we won! That's all that matters!" She smiles.

He softly smiles back. "Thanks, Cali. We wouldn't have won without you."

"Thanks, dude! But give yourself some credit, too. If you really want to become a Hero, you need to build up your confidence a little. Okay?" She gives him a little wink.

"I'll be sure to work on that."

"Meeeeoooow... Losing sucks, meow..." Vermont cries.

"Where did it all go wrong?" Florida moans in pain and defeat.

After the end of the match, California, Delaware, Florida, and Vermont were escorted to the nurse's office where they recovered from their injuries thanks to Medicine Woman's help.

~ Meow! ~

Match 2

Heroes: Group B | Villains: Group I

Unlike the previous match, this one is more one-sided. Four minutes into the match, it's already over.

"The Villain team wins!" All Murica announces on the PA system.

"That's it?" Nebraska scrunches her face.

"Yeah," New Hampshire chuckles. "Regrettably, I wish I done more to make myself stand out."

"Well, maybe next time."

He softly smiles. "You're right. No use complaining about a win."

Back at the observation room, All Murica and the rest of the class remain stunned by this short match.

"I've never seen someone use a Quirk like Arbor this quickly and efficiently," Oklahoma awes.

All Murica nods their head. "I've seen such a Quirk in Japan once. Nevertheless, it's truly amazing to see it again. Quite unfortunate for our team of Heroes." They watch Idaho and Maine struggle to free themselves from Nebraska's branches.

"This isn't fair!" Idaho complains. "If this trial were a potato eating contest, we would've won! We lost because of my useless teammate!"

Maine scoffs, "Useless?! At least I tried getting rid of the branches with my lobster claws. All you did was throw your leg at them. You're the useless one."

"Fuck you! I'm not useless!"

"You're absolutely useless!"

Colorado yawns. "Well, that match is a bummer. Hopefully, the next match is more exciting than that one."

"Oh, you'll get your wish alright..." Missouri grumbles as she holds her partner back from starting their match early.

Michigan growls, "You're dead meat, Suckeye!"

"In your dreams, Bitchigan." Ohio flips her the bird.

Oregon sighs. "Can't we all just get along?"

~ Hetalia... ~

Hey, hey, pappa, give me some milk!
Hey, hey, mamma, hey, hey, mamma!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Freshly-baked peach pie I ate before!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
My name's Delaware!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I am the First State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The Blue Hens think I'm number one!
Go, Delaware!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

Match 3

Heroes: Group G | Villains: Group J

A fierce battle is taking place on the fifth floor of the building! It appears Ohio is at an advantage. His Quirk, Flight, allows him to levitate and fly. His opponent Michigan can't seem to touch him with her steel claws. Her Quirk, Wolverine, is completely useless!

"Get down here and fight, you coward!" Michigan stomps her feet in a furious tantrum.

"Why? Can't we fight up here? Oh, right. You're a wolverine. Wolverines can't fly," Ohio snickers.

She lunges at him multiple times, unable to touch the soles of his feet. "Gaaaaaaah! When I get my hands on you, I'm going to Detroit Smash you until I see your guts pouring out!"

He shakes his head. "Tsk. Tsk. Remember. You're supposed to act the part of the Hero."

"Raaawgh! Fuck you!"

Suddenly, the PA system blares on. "The match is over! The Hero team wins!"

"What?!" Ohio exclaims in a dumbfounded manner. "They got to the bomb! How?!"

On the third floor, Missouri laughs with her hand planted to the bomb. "Whew! I really hope they recorded that fight. That St. Louis Smash was executed perfectly."

The beaver mutant named Oregon remains face down on the ground, moaning painfully. "I'm really not cut out for combat..."

☆☆☆☆☆

Match 4

Heroes: Group G | Villains: Group C

"So, what is Vampirism as a Quirk?" New Jersey questions Rhode Island as they head up to the second floor.

"It's basically what it means. I have the traits of a vampire. Enhanced senses, enhanced speed, enhanced strength, enhanced healing..."

"So, you're overpowered."

"Not really. Direct sunlight gives me second-degree burns. Contact with silver objects is like touching the top of a heated stove. By shit luck a small ember touches my skin, I'll combust like a bonfire at a frat party."

"Yikes."

"Yikes, indeed," he sighs. "Thankfully, my hero costume gives me some protection from those weaknesses. Even so, my enhanced powers are limited. If I was overpowered as you said, this dumb trial would've been over by now."

"That sucks. But hey, at least you're a vampire. You can probably outlive me and still get hot chicks swooning over you." He nudges him with a cheeky grin.

He glares at him. "I said I have traits of a vampire. I'm NOT an actual vampire. I'm not immortal. I'm not the type to go around at night stalking people for blood. And no, I don't-"

"Okay, okay! Chill out, man!"

He grumbles, "How would you feel if I called you Satan?"

He shrugs. "I mean, I wouldn't be too offended."

Like many users with Mutant-type Quirks, New Jersey's body is permanently altered with traits no ordinary human has. Devilish horns, demonic wings, a wicked tail, and goat legs: these are some of the alterations done to New Jersey's body as a result of his diabolical Quirk. Also, he's immune to fire! It's appropriate his Quirk is called Beelzebub. He truly looks like a prince of Hell.

"You know you can fly up there, right?" Rhode Island points out his wings.

"I could, but one of the Villains might shoot me down." New Jersey recalls one of their opponents being particularly troublesome for him. "Plus, I hate for you to end up like Delaware."

He scoffs, "Don't underestimate me. I may look small, but I'm still capable of putting up a fight."

"I'm just saying it wouldn't be fair for me to drop out and let you fight for the two of us."

Arriving on the second floor, much to their surprise, they see South Carolina standing at the end of the hallway, appearing to be waiting on them.

"Took ya long enough," she huffs.

New Jersey raises a brow. "Shouldn't you be guarding the bomb instead?" He approaches her, unafraid of her presence.

"Her Quirk is Fire Breath." Rhode Island stands away from a safe distance.

"No further explanation is needed. I handle her. You get to the bomb."

She cackles, "If you wanna get to the bomb, you're gonna have to get through me first!" She pulls out a stick of dynamite from her belt.

"Are you crazy?!" Rhode Island yells angrily at her.

The PA system comes on. "South Carolina. Should you cause major injury to your classmates, there'll be consequences you won't like," All Murica warns.

"Thanks for the reminder." She lights the dynamite with her Quirk. "Now. Perish demons!" She hurls the explosive at them.

"Shit!" Rhode Island dashes forward to avoid the explosion behind him.

"Get burned!" She breathes fire at them.

"How about you shut up!" New Jersey flies directly into the flames.

She increases the power of her flame, but it doesn't slow him down. "What?! Impossible!"

"Fire immunity, hothead!" He kicks her in the chin.

She stumbles backward, her hand to her jaw. "Ugh! You're gonna pay for that!" As she's getting another stick of dynamite off her belt, Rhode Island sprints past her face. "Hey!"

"I don't think so!" New Jersey blocks her from breathing fire at his partner. "It's just you and me now." He smirks.

Rhode Island glances over his shoulder. "You got this!" He continues running ahead.

"Hell yeah!" He brings out his capture tape.

She growls, "Bring it on!"

While New Jersey distracts South Carolina, Rhode Island scours the building by himself. He's fully confident his partner can handle the Carolina Reaper on his own. Certainly, he can't risk fighting a fire-breather. His hero costume may be fire retardant, but he can bet a hundred dollars it's not resistant to explosives. All it'll take is one stick of dynamite to ruin his day. Even with enhanced agility, he can't afford to waste time or get blown to bits. Right now, he needs to focus on reaching the bomb before time expires.

Finding nothing on the second floor, he continues upward to the third floor. He searches every room, finding nothing resembling a bomb. He repeats the process for the fourth floor, finding nothing as well. Just as he's heading up to the fifth floor to repeat the process, he comes to a sudden realization.

'Should I wait for New Jersey?' He checks behind him, seeing no sign of the Jersey Devil anywhere near him. 'I guess the Carolina Reaper is giving him a hard time.' He frowns. 'Whatever. I should be concerned with North Carolina. Unlike her sister, she's more calculating in her actions. She's probably up there protecting the bomb, expecting me and New Jersey...' He looks back one more time, expecting New Jersey to show up any second by now.

"Six minutes left!" the PA system disrupts his doubts.

He sighs, "Fuck it." He decides to enter the fifth floor by himself.

He creaks open the door and quietly enters a giant hall of concrete pillars. He finds the giant red and white nuclear bomb at the back of the room, however, his ears pick up North Carolina's voice. It sounds like she's arguing with someone. His shoulders tense up when he recognizes the other person she's arguing with.

"You didn't have to back me up. I had the situation under control." South Carolina pouts.

North Carolina rolls her eyes. "Yeah. You got kicked a dozen times. But sure. You had it under control."

"I did have it under control!"

"If I hadn't shot New Jersey down, you would've been captured and left me to deal with a demon and a vampire on my own!"

'What the fuck. They captured New Jersey...' Rhode Island shakes his head in disbelief.

"He would've beaten you easily. He's immune to your Fire Breath, and he can easily avoid your dynamite," North Carolina points out. "As much as I like seeing your ass get whooped, I can't afford to lose this trial. Knowing you would get hissy about it, I made sure to stay hidden during your fight."

"You left the bomb exposed!"

"I know!" she huffs. "I took a risk, and I got lucky with that surprise attack. Berate me all you want, but be grateful this two-on-one battle is in our favor."

She grumbles, "You're damn lucky Rhode Island hasn't made it here yet. I'm honestly surprised that vampire is that slow coming up here."

"Thank God he doesn't the bomb's location beforehand. If he did, we would've been losers by now. Still, we can't keep our guard down. He'll probably be arriving any second now." Her eyes pick up a shadow sneaking behind the pillars. "Rhody? Is that you?"

He curses under his breath, 'Fuck it.' He takes a gamble at a mad dash toward the bomb.

"I got this!" South Carolina steps forward and breathes fire at him.

He leaps to the side, dodging the flames.

"We need to slow him down!" North Carolina spits globs of tar at him.

He dodges those as well, but he still can't get close to the bomb. 'If only New Jersey was here. He could easily shield me from the flames. Or...' He looks down at this hero costume. 'It's suicidal, but it may just work.' He makes another attempt to race toward the bomb.

"Big mistake!" South Carolina blows a torrent of flames, hitting him directly.

He winces from the heat, yet he stands his ground. "Remind me to thank the AU Costume Department!" He makes a valiant charge toward her.

"Don't act mighty just yet!" North Carolina spits more tar at his arm and legs, however, it isn't enough to slow him down.

South Carolina isn't able to get away in time. She takes a punch to the face and falls in pain. "You prick!"

He ignores her and goes straight for the bomb. "Almost there!" His hand reaches out to victory. But his senses force his head back, just in time to dodge a tar shot to the side of his cheek. However, it slows his movement greatly, allowing North Carolina to tackle him to the ground. She pins her hands onto his face, covering up his eyes. He tries to pry them off him, but he can't without the feeling of his face getting torn off. "What the fuck?!" he screams. "Get your dirty hands off me!"

She snickers, "FYI, my Quirk doesn't just allow me to produce tar from my mouth."

"Ugh! Get off me!"

He tries to pull her tar covered hands off him again. When that doesn't work, he forcefully gets up with North Carolina still attached to him thanks to his enhanced strength. He blindly walks in the direction of the bomb, however, North Carolina doesn't intend to let him move another inch. She spits more tar onto his shoes and the ground around them, gluing him to the floor.

"South! Hurry up with the capture tape!"

"Ugh... Don't order me around..." South Carolina slowly gets up with the capture tape in hand.

Rhode Island shakes his head furiously. "Fuck this! I'm not losing to a bunch of b—"

"Oh, shut up!" She spits a glob of tar over his mouth.

"Gross..." South Carolina makes a disgusted face as she finishes tying Rhode Island's hands up.

The PA system blares on. "The Villain team wins!"

~ Hetalia! ~

Match 5

Heroes: Group E | Villains: Group F

The last match starts with a literal bang.

Bang-bang! Bang-bang!

"Die, you bastards! Die! Die!" Texas shoots at the bees with her pistol.

Obviously, her bullets aren't effective on the swarm of bees that block the stairs to the upper floors. If anything, it only pisses off the black and yellow insects.

Oklahoma pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, "Tex. You're only wasting bullets."

"Ow!" She slaps her neck. "Goddamn it! How are we supposed to deal with these dumb bees then?" She continues to shoot at them.

"Get behind cover." He steps forward. "I'll handle this."

Texas bites her lip in reluctance. As much as she doesn't like taking orders, she can't afford to waste time waving her gun around. She decides to relent and trust her partner this once. "You better know what you're doing," she tells him as she goes off to hide behind a concrete wall in an empty room.

Once she's safe, Oklahoma starts spinning himself around. Whirls of wind wrap around his body, transforming him into a six-foot tornado. Bees and bullet casings are sucked into and spat out of the stormy vortex. The surviving swarm flies back to their beekeeper in a blundering buzz.

Texas gives a hoot of laughter at the windy display. "That was awesome! Why didn't you do that sooner?"

He slowly spins to a stop. "I don't— Bleeeh!" He barfs on the floor.

"Oh. That's why..."

He wipes his mouth. "My Quirk is Twister. I can turn myself into a tornado by spinning my body around, however, I can only hold that form for at least a minute before I start to get dizzy." He stares at the assault rifle in her hands. "Where did you get that?"

She smirks. "My Quirk is Gunslinger. I can summon any kind of gun I want so long as I'm familiar with the type. However, I can only summon up to two guns at a time which sucks, but it's not the end of the world."

"I see. Sounds like your Quirk is more fit for the military than Pro Hero work."

She chuckles, "Yeah. That's true. But why become a soldier when I can become the greatest Hero in the world like All Murica!"

The PA system comes on. "Ten minutes left on the clock!"

They look at each other with determined eyes.

"Tex. I have a plan. It's a bit risky, so—"

"Let's do it!" She raises a clenched fist. "Let's become Heroes!"

"Are you..." He stops himself short. He nods back. "Alright. Here's the plan..."

Meanwhile, on the fourth floor, Utah uses his Quirk, Beekeeper, to make a honeycomb barrier around the bomb. He notices a swarm of bees return to him in a frightful buzz. "What is it?" he asks one of the workers.

Bzzz! Bzzz!

"A tornado?" He turns to this partner. "Colo- Stop licking the wall!"

Colorado gulps down a glob of honey. "Sorry, man. I can't help it. It's my Quirk."

He pouts. "Well, stop it! That's supposed to protect the bomb." He waves away the smoke. "And put on your gas mask. Heaven won't accept me if I get high on secondhand smoke."

As ordered, Colorado puts on his gas mask bong, a special accessory that's used to control his Emitter-type Quirk called 420. His lungs have the natural ability to produce cannabinoids, a class of chemical compounds found in cannabis plants. Whenever his body heat rises, he can produce and exhale smoke containing cannabinoids. Anyone inhaling the smoke will usually be affected with various symptoms such as a decrease in motor responses, distorted perception, an increase in heart rate, memory loss, and pain relief. Of course, if Colorado isn't careful with the amount of smoke he breathes, he can lose control and end up getting too high from his Quirk.

Wait, is there such thing as getting too high?

Colorado yawns. "I should've bought snacks with me. I'm starving..." His stomach rumbles.

"Didn't we have lunch three hours ago?"

"Yeah. But I could go for some pepperoni pizza right about now."

Utah groans, "How did you pass the entrance exam a—"

"NOW!"

Colorado and Utah grow startled by the slam of the door at the end of the hall. Their eyes grow to the size of saucers at the tornado heading toward them.

Surprisingly, Colorado is the first to react. He tries to blow smoke at the tornado, but his smoke is easily blown away. He looks to a confused Utah for assistance. "Any ideas?"

Utah snaps out of his fright and brings up his honey blaster. "Let's see if this can stop it." He shoots globs of honey onto the floor in front of the tornado.

As soon as the tornado touches the honey, it comes to a sudden halt. "T-Tex! I can't move!" Oklahoma panics.

"That's alright!" Texas sprints past him from out the stairwell. She leaps over the honey-covered floor and brings up her assault rifle. "Take this!" She starts firing away.

"AaaaAAAaaahhh!" The Villains take cover behind concrete pillars. "You can't do that! You're gonna kill us!" Utah screams.

"Not with an airsoft gun!" She continues to torture them with plastic pellets.

"Not so fast!" Colorado blows smoke at her.

Even with a bandana covering half her face, Texas is forced to slow down due to hindered vision. A glob of honey hits her left shoulder, and she runs to take cover behind one of the concrete columns. "Crap," she grumbles as she reloads her gun.

"No more curses out of you!" Utah shoots at the smoke while trying not to breathe it in.

She grits her teeth. "Oklahoma! Are you feeling better now? I could use your help here!"

He shakes his head out of confusion. "Y-Yeah! I'm coming!" He steps out of his honey-covered shoes and hurries to help his partner.

"Not so fast!" Colorado rushes to grab onto Oklahoma, thinking he can stop another twister from happening.

Big mistake.

Oklahoma musters all his strength to spin his entire body with the added human weight.

Colorado struggles to hold onto his shoulders. "W-Wait! Stop! I'm getting sick..." His face turns green like a marijuana leaf.

"OKLAHOMA...SMAAAAAASH!" He sends his opponent flying into a pillar.

"COLORADO!" Utah watches his partner collapse like a ragdoll.

"Oooaagh..." Oklahoma collapses to the ground, groaning in a daze.

"Thanks, Okie," Texas mumbles before turning her sights toward Utah. "It's just you and me now!" She rushes toward him with a raised fist.

"A-Ah!" Utah hurries to load up his honey blaster, but she breaks it in a single smash. He backs away and hurries behind a concrete pillar. "P-Please don't punch me!"

"This is for the bee stings!" She raises her fist. "TEXAS SMASH!" She obliterates the concrete column with another pulverizing punch.

In that split second, Utah remembers another tool he has to help him win. "Honey bees! Surround her!" He summons 45,000 bees from his hive backpack and gestures them at the gun-triggering Texan.

"Aaaah! Not the bees! Not the bees!" She swipes at the bees, but it does nothing to the bugs.

Some of the bees work to distract the Texan while the rest find a spot to stick themselves onto the cowgirl. Some of the workers manage to plant themselves onto her waving hands. Some of the workers take advantage of her face, blocking her vision. Some of the bees, wanting to be annoying assholes, choose to go into her ears. Texas tries getting them away from her eyes and ears, but more bees come in to replace them.

"Less than three minutes left!" the PA system announces.

"It's over, Tex!" Utah pants. "I win!"

She shakes her head in denial, struggling to come up with a plan to overcome this challenge. 'Come on, Tex! Think of something to get rid of these bees! Think! Think!' She looks at her partner lying unconscious on the floor. Colorado's body lies nearby, unconscious as well. She's about to look back at Utah when her eyes look back at the gas mask Colorado's wearing. A dumb yet brilliant idea comes to mind. Without wasting any more time to consider her actions, she stomps over to Colorado and kicks his gas mask off.

"W-What are you doing? Stop! Leave him alone!" Utah yells worryingly, too afraid to get closer to the Texan.

"Blaze me up, pothead!" She kicks Colorado in the gut. A wretched gasp escapes his lips alongside a puff of cannabis gas. The smoke messes with the bees' senses, causing most of the swarm to drop off Texas's body. Free from the buzzing bugs, she turns to Utah with a sadistic smile and a clenched fist. "Any more tricks up your sleeve?" She cracks her knuckles.

He gulps. "P-Please spare me! No! Aaaaaah!"

After giving the Mormon beekeeper a quick but brutal beatdown, Texas finishes tying all loose ends, wrapping Colorado and Utah up with her capture tape before time expires.

"The Hero team wins!" All Murica announces on the PA system.

"Wake up, Okie! Naptime is over!" She shakes Oklahoma awake.

"Wha-What... We won?" He sits up in a groggy mood.

"Yeah! Way to go, partner! Your plan had some hiccups, but it worked out in the end!"

"Urk!" His cheeks puff up. "I... Bluurrghh!"

"Aw, no! Not the boots! Not the boots!"

Colorado sighs, "I could go for some pizza right now..." His stomach grumbles.

"How can you be thinking about food when we just lost?" Utah sniffles. "It's a good thing I'm training to become a Hero. I'm not cut out for Villain stuff..." He sulks.

~ Hetalia! ~

After the final match, most of the students that aren't majorly hurt meet back at the observation room to hear All Murica's last statement before the end of class. "For the most part, everyone did awesome today!" He gives them a thumbs up. "Winners of the matches will be given an extra five points on Friday's math test as an award for their success."

"Yay! Free points!" Missouri cheers.

"Those who failed, fear not. This is your first trial. Learn from this experience and train harder to become a better Hero."

"I would've won if my partner had a better Quirk," Idaho grumbles.

"Same," Maine mutters upset.

All Murica ignores the disgruntled mumbling. "Now then. Everyone is dismissed from class. I'm off to participate in a raid."

New Hampshire cocks his head. "A raid?"

"Yep! See you tomorrow! I'm gonna free the aliens!" He dashes across the room and crashes out the window. "FREEEEEDOM!" His students watch him fly off into the afternoon sun.

~ Hetalia! ~

Siyo, papa, get me a slushie!
Siyo, mama, siyo, mama!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Chicken fried steak I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm Oklahoma!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Sooner State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Serving hot meals on a skillet!
Oklahoma!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

It's a couple of days before September 20, 2019—the planned date of one of the greatest (or not so greatest) raids in human history. According to the Facebook event, over two million people plan to storm- excuse me, they plan to Naruto run into the infamous U.S. military base famously known as Area 51. Look out, guards. Expect to see all sorts of strange people show up in the middle of rural desert "to see them aliens." Many people are curious to see how this meme will turn out. Will the raiders find extraterrestrial secrets? Will raiders free them aliens from their imprisonment? Will the raiders dodge those bullets like Leaf Ninjas? All these dumb questions will be answered on that date.

Of course, not everyone can take a joke. Many fear this foolish event may turn into a humanitarian disaster. Much worse, it may turn into a massacre.

"Really? A massacre?" Nevada presses (X) to doubt with his game controller while answering a late-night call from the U.S. capital.

"It's a possibility," says Washington D.C. "I've given the military guards the green light to terminate trespassers who enter the base. Out of precaution, I've also closed the airspace around the area in case anyone is bold enough to parachute down onto the site."

"Aren't you taking this way too seriously?"

"This is a serious matter," she states in a strict tone. "Homey Airport is going to be invaded by two million people all because California catered to the alien seekers and conspiracy theorists. If you do nothing to stop this raid, the government's top secrets are going to get compromised. Do I make myself clear?"

He sighs, "Yeah. Sure."

"I'll repeat one more time. Your job is to make sure no person invades Homey Airport. Any person who does will be-"

"Yeah, yeah. Got it, boss lady. Is that all?"

"One more question. Can you explain what a 'Naruto run' is?"

He makes a weird face. "What?"

"I've done some research and learned naruto refers to narutomaki, a fish cake roll that usually accompanies Japanese ramen. Unfortunately, I have yet to understand the logic of running with a fish cake roll. Am I missing something?"

"I..." He hangs up on her. "Someone needs to educate the government on internet humor." He shakes his head in disgust.

☆☆☆☆☆

September 20, 2019—Lincoln County, Nevada

It's midnight—three more hours until the official start of the raid on Area 51. A couple of visitors have shown up outside the base. Some have even set up tents. The guards blocking the entrance have yet to keep their eyes off the soon-to-be raiders. So far, it has been peaceful.

Nevada keeps an eye on things from the security room. Cameras all around the facility capture everything outside the base, projecting them onto one of the computer monitors. Other than one camper wearing a tinfoil hat, nothing has caught his interest. For once in a long time, he lets out a long yawn.

"Geez. How am I already tired? It's only midnight." He stares at the screens with sleepy eyes. "I need some kind of entertainment. I can't stay awake if I keep staring at tinfoil hat guy for three straight hours."

Unfortunately for him, Area 51 isn't Las Vegas. There are no casinos. There are no bars. There are no dancing ladies. There's not even music. It's just desert, a bunch of serious soldiers, and that guy with the tinfoil hat. It also doesn't help the Wi-Fi is shit which isn't surprising for a place surrounded by wasteland. 

He groans, "You know what. I'm going to rest my eyes for a bit. If D.C. has a problem with it, she can come here and take over guard duty." He sets an alarm on his phone and places it on the counter in front of him. He sits back in his chair and shuts his eyes, eventually drifting off to sleep.

~ Hetalia... ~

"They can't stop all of us! They can't stop all of us!"

Nevada blinks open his eyes. "What the fuck?" He stares up at the security monitors. His eyes grow to the size of alien saucers at the number of people on multiple screens.

He can't believe it. Hundreds to thousands of people, possibly two million, gather outside the military base. And not just ordinary people. These quirky individuals come from...the internet!

He can distinguish every clique and fandom in the crowd. Furries are doing pervy things among themselves. The crackheads and potheads sit around campfires, taking in the kinds of drugs that made them brave/stupid enough to come here in the first place. The gorgeous gays call attention around themselves, giving inspiring speeches to all about their dauntless mission to free them aliens. Karen complains they should protest climate change, but the masked trolls from 4chan distract her with misogynistic slurs and alt-right garbage. Out of all the groups, the weebs are definitely the most promising (not really), proudly wearing their ninja headbands as they practice their Naruto runs for the upcoming raid. Despite their differences, every raider has come to the middle of nowhere with one purpose in their little mind—to die in the dumbest way possible. That's the power of memes, folks!

Nevada squints his eyes at one of the monitors. "No way. Is that...?" He spies a Californian blonde on top of an armored vehicle.

"The time is nigh, assholes!" California makes a battle cry with her megaphone. "No one can stop us! Not even the government! No matter what they have in store for us, they can't stop all of us! We'll see them aliens! We'll see them now!"

"YEEEAAAAAH! Let's see them aliens!" the crowd rally behind her.

From the safety of the security room, Nevada prepares a bag of popcorn and sits back in his chair, ready to watch the shit show unfold. "You know what." He suddenly sits up. "I should absolutely live-stream this." He grabs his phone and hurries out of the security room.

As he exits the building and presses the record button, he's disturbed to find thousands of soldiers positioned along the fence of the facility. Some of the soldiers have automatic rifles aimed at the raiders. Some of them hide behind sandbag barricades with machine guns locked and loaded to kill. Some of them ride on top of tanks. Tanks, for Christ's sake! Equipped in full body armor and desert camouflage uniform, every man and woman at this small airport gear up for war. But the thing is, there's no war. Their reaction may be justified against a foreign army. But against an army of weebs and weirdos, hell no!

Nevada heads over to the front gate where a high ranked general wearing dark sunglasses stands atop a tank while yelling orders into a megaphone. He narrows his eyes at the general and their strange getup. "Molossia? What are you doing here?"

The micronation grows startled by his voice. "M-Mr. Nevada!" He sees the phone and tries to take it away from him. "Y-You shouldn't be filming this! You need to find a safe place to hide!"

"What are you talking about? There's no reason to hide or aim automatic weapons at a bunch of memelords!" He focuses the camera on California and her army of raiders in the distance. He snatches Molossia's megaphone and yells into it. "Hey, Cali! Send your followers back where they came from! Or, better yet, send them to Las Vegas!"

"Hell no! Not until we see them aliens!" She looks back at her followers. "Less than thirty seconds left! Get ready, motherfuckers!"

Molossia takes his megaphone back. "This is your last warning! Stay back, or else we'll use whatever means to stop you!"

"I like to see you try!" She raises a spear toward the pitch-black sky. "Raiders, assemble!"

Over a million, possibly suicidal, millennials and zoomers prepare themselves for the ultimate storm. Kyle and a bunch of gamers chug tall cans of Monster Energy down their throat. Cosplayers in impractical yet stylish costumes prepare their (fake) weapons for battle. Potterheads in particular raise their wands and chant out magical spells. Meanwhile, Jedi wannabes concentrate on using the Force to their advantage. Some of the alien-clothed humans make their last demands to the army, demanding they free their brethren from imprisonment, but their calls fall on deaf ears. J-Pop fans play "Silhouette" at full blast. The weebs lean forward with their arms behind their back, ready to run at untouchable speeds. The world watches in anticipation. Storm Area 51 is about to begin.

"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!"

"Get ready!" Molossia hustles the soldiers to get into position.

Nevada mutters, "Oh god. This really is happening..." A part of him wants to stop this from turning into a massacre. On the other hand, he doesn't want to disappoint the viewers on his live stream, so...let's see what happens!

"Six! Five! Four! Three!"

"Aim!" The soldiers point their guns at the legion of losers.

"Two! One!" The raiders in front dash forward. "CHAAAAARGE!"

"FIRE!" Molossia shouts above the noise.

Bullets, grenades, and missiles are launched at the crazy millions. Some of the raiders get blown away from the explosions. Others flee for their lives. Most of the drunkards run around in circles like headless chickens, screaming gibberish at the top of their lungs. A couple of teenagers do Fortnite dances for no reason and immediately get killed for being cringey. The rest of the raiders continue onward, sprinting toward thousands of bullets being shot at them. So much chaotic energy!

"Arresto Momentum!" A wizard uses a charm to slow most of the bullets' velocity, giving the weebs a higher chance of dodging the bullets.

"Your bullets can't stop us!" a Naruto cosplayer screams at the forefront of the charge. They perform a quick series of hand signs before shouting, "Kage Bunshin no Jutsu (Shadow Clone Jutsu)!" Five copies of the cosplayer pop up in a puff of smoke. Together, they make the Naruto run toward the army.

"Damn. They may actually do it..." Nevada watches in awe.

"Fuck you weebs!" One of the soldiers picks up a bazooka and fires at them.

The Naruto cosplayer and their clones take a giant leap and use the explosion to propel themselves forward. They summon a spinning blue orb in the palm of their hands and simultaneously yell, "Rasengan!" And with one mighty shove, they send five unlucky soldiers flying into the stars of the night.

"What the fuck..." Nevada stares at the wannabe ninjas in disbelief.

The Naruto cosplayers stare at the camera in his hand, giving the audience behind the lens a fist bump and a shit-eating grin. "Believe it!"

"Get him!" Molossia and four soldiers show no mercy to the ninja weebs.

"Aaaaaah! Not the face! Not the face!"

Nevada turns his camera to the rest of the raiders coming toward the base. "No fucking way... Voltron?" His jaw drops at the giant robot slashing through the sky to defeat military jets.

"Oh! No! Please! Stop!"

Nevada pinpoints his camera in the direction of the moans and whimpers. "Oh, fuck..." He quickly turns away from the yiff. "I swear. This is like Ready Player One. Only freakier and more fucked up..." He can only hope he doesn't get banned for live-streaming two seconds of furry sex.

"Give them hell, boys! Dab on the haters!" California hollers from one of two dozen apocalyptic vehicles revving their engines, heading closer to their designation.

"Blow them up! Blow those fuckers up!" Molossia commands the tanks to adjust their aim at the incoming cars.

"Oh, shit!" Nevada waves his arm to get her attention. "Bailout, Cali! Bailout! Bailout!"

She grips her spear tightly. "Legends never die!" She makes a cinematic leap off the hood of the car toward the tank, pulling off a scene from 300.

"FIRE!"

The tanks unleash destructive shots from their cannons, blowing up many cars and its passengers. Nevada loses the Californian in the smoke. He calls her name. Multiple times. But here's no response...at first.

"They can't stop all of us!" California yells from within the base's compound, completely unharmed.

A dozen cars zoom out of the charcoal gray smoke. Soldiers try to stop the invaders with gunfire, but they're forced to move out of the way. And just like that, the raiders crash through the front gate, becoming the first morons to successfully invade Area 51. They give off hoots of laughter, but their celebration doesn't last for long.

"Stop them!" Molossia and the army go after the invaders, firing away.

"Ah, shit! Scatter! Run to any building and find them aliens!" Just as California and the raiders are about to flee, the ground suddenly shakes. "Another earthquake?!"

Beep! Boop! Beep! Boop! Beep!

Sirens around the military facility blare a high-pitch scream.

"W-What the fuck is going on?!" Molossia looks to the soldiers who are unable to answer him.

Nevada focuses his camera on the central building. "Seriously. What the fuck is going on?" The walls of the building suddenly give out and collapse. He zooms in on the destruction and makes out a glass hemisphere from underneath the wreckage. The ground rumbles once again. More bleeps and boops echo across the base. Suddenly, out of the dust and debris, a giant metallic saucer slowly floats up toward the sky. All humans—soldiers and raiders—stop their shooting and running to gaze at the unknown flying object lifting off into the night, glowing white and yellow like a midnight sun.

"Holy shit! Aliens do exist!" An alien enthusiast sheds a happy tear at the phenomenal sight.

The alien spacecraft lets out a long high-pitched screech, deafening the landscape. "This thing on?" says a small voice from the spacecraft

Nevada cocks his head. "No fucking way. Tony?"

"Fuck it," says Tony from the alien spacecraft. "I've seen enough of humanity to understand they're doomed to perish from their stupidity. For the universe's sake, I'll destroy humanity to prevent the spread of their idiocracy. Now, perish! Bubu!" The gray alien slams their fist down on a red button.

A colossal crimson laser erupts from below the spaceship, scorching through the earth and any earthling caught in its trajectory. Before anyone can react, the Earth blows up in a catastrophic blast. All life on the planet comes to a sudden anticlimactic end. All that's left are bits of earth, Voltron, and Tony's spaceship floating in space.

~ ....... ~

Nevada awakens from the alarm on his phone. He takes a moment to catch his breath before turning off the alarm. He moans with his hand over his reddened eyes. "What the fuck was that...?"

"Clap them cheeks! Clap them cheeks!"

Chants from the monitors grab his attention. Instead of two million, however, he breathes a sigh of relief to see the hundred or so quirky people crowding the road to the base's entrance. He grabs his phone and leaves the security room.

"Jesus was an alien!" one of the raiders screams as Nevada steps outside to live-stream this poor excuse of a raid.

"Beautiful... Just beautiful..." He can't stop smiling at the gathering and their silly posters to RAID THAT ALIEN BOOTY.

There's so much going on, yet it all makes sense. Don't ask him why an astronaut waving around the North Korean flag behind a pair of green aliens who may or may not be humans makes sense. It just does. So much chaotic energy standing before him, it's hard not to applaud their efforts. Rather than stand around in misery, these motherfuckers actually pull off this dumb raid and prove the doubters wrong. Even if they can't SAVE E.T. FROM THE GOVERNMENT, they can still have a good time. Which kudos to them! No dead bodies. Just a bunch of memes and a good dog.

He films a stoner approaching one of the guards. "You don't watch Naruto, bro?" he says in disgust.

The guard can only shrug and play along. Now that's a person who can take a joke. Unlike a certain someone at the capital...

While filming the raiders, Nevada spots a certain American out of the colorful crowd. "America?" He approaches the nation.

America smiles. "Oh! Hey, Nevada! You came to see them aliens?"

"Nah. D.C. forced me to do guard duty."

"Oh. That's lame."

"Sure is," he chuckles. "You know you can enter the base, right?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. You have the authority. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah! I completely forgot about that," he laughs in embarrassment.

"Also, you didn't have to be here."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you already see them aliens. Or, one alien in particular..."

"Oh, yeah! Tony!" he exclaims. "You think he's still awake?"

"Maybe. You should probably check on him before he decides to destroy the Earth out of boredom."

"Yeah. You're right." He hurries back to his car. "See you around, Nevada!" He drives off.

He waves America goodbye. "Hopefully, Tony doesn't destroy the Earth out of boredom..." he mumbles to himself.

He probably won't though. Climate change will kill the Earth before that can happen.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, get me a Picon!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Chateaubriand I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
My name's Nevada!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Silver State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Place your bets and hit the jackpot!
I'm Nevada!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

February 1821—Corydon, Indiana

The weather outside frosty and white, Indiana stays inside her comfy farmhouse, spending her days doing boring paperwork for her boss until the grass turns green again. Life has been mundane ever since the War of 1812 ended in an underwhelming draw. She rarely gets visitors. The farmers are far too busy working to support their families to interact with her. As for her fellow states, they come by infrequently, and she'll usually ask them to leave once she has enough of their meddling. Not that she dislikes them. It's just the life she has made for herself feels more ideal. It's peaceful. It's ordinary. A quiet winter by herself is all she wants, nothing more.

But when a knock interrupts the tranquility of her household, she's forced to open the door and confront the trespasser. A tall lanky boy with smooth black hair stands before her a shivering wreck. Wearing only a simple buttoned shirt, brown trousers with suspenders, and a pair of tattered leather shoes, no wonder he's pale to the bone aside from his rosy cheeks. How he hasn't fallen over from the cold baffles her. He shouldn't be outside without proper clothing to combat the freezing weather. For that matter, he shouldn't be here at her doorstep. She doesn't recognize him as someone living in the area and considers turning him away.

The lanky boy slowly speaks through chattering teeth, "H-Hello-o, m-miss."

She narrows her eyes at him. "Are you the son of a farmer in the area?" She tries once more to recall his face from memory.

He shakes his head. "No, miss. I come from Perry County."

"Perry County? That's over fifty miles west from here." She stares at his shabby clothes. "Is there something wrong? Where are your parents?"

"N-N-No, there's n-nothing wrong. And m-my parents are doing well b-back at the farm."

She closes the door slightly. "Then, why are you here? How do you know me? What is your-"

"I'm s-sorry, miss, but c-can I come inside and warm myself?" He rubs his arms to keep himself warm. "I promise to answer all your questions."

She glowers. "No. Go back to your farm, and don't bother me again." She shuts the door.

"W-Wait, wait, wait!" He frantically knocks on the door. "D-Don't be scared. I swear I c-come with good intentions. P-Please, hear me out."

His pleas bring a pitiful sigh out from her lips. "Who are you?" she asks.

His eyes brighten hearing her impassive voice. "My name is Abraham Lincoln though most people call me Abe. I come from an honest family. My father is a farmer and a carpenter. And my mother... My mother has taken good care of me and my sister, Sarah, as well as my cousin, Dennis, and her children. She's a wonderful mother, and I'm very fortunate to be raised by her.

I've recently turned twelve. And... I guess school is alright. And... I don't know what else to tell you." He sighs. "I know you and I have never met before. And I don't know a whole lot about you. But I promise I won't spread rumors or cause you any trouble. I'm a man of my word. So, if you want me gone, I'll leave without bothering you again..." 

Standing on her porch, he continues to wait in the shivering cold, hoping to hear her voice again. Sadly, it seems his words aren't enough to give him a chance. He looks back at the lonely road, dreading the long freezing trip back home. Hopefully, his mother and father don't give him too much trouble for his absence from the schoolhouse. It's not like he's learning much from-

"I hope you're a man of your word, little boy." Indiana appeared at a fully opened doorway.

He looks back at her with a glowing smile. "Little? We're about the same height," he chuckles.

She has second thoughts and closes the door.

"A-Ah, no! Wait! Come back! I'm sorry! It's only a joke!" He frantically knocks on the door.

After hearing him whimper and beg like a poor puppy for about a minute, she decides to show mercy and lets him into her house.

☆☆☆☆☆

Indiana is only allowing this boy named Abe into her house because she doesn't want to deal with a dead body. It's bad enough her workload is taking up a considerable amount of time. She can't imagine the amount of time and paperwork involving a dead boy at her doorstep. Even though it's Abe's fault for being careless with his health, she hates to be responsible for not dealing with him while he's breathing.

Besides the hassle of dealing with a frozen corpse, she doesn't want to cause any grievances for Abe's family. Assuming the boy is telling the truth, his family must love him very much. For many farming families, every member counts. If someone like Abe were to die all of a sudden, they'll be devastated. For his family's sake, she'll at least make sure Abe recovers for his safe passage back to Perry County. Hopefully, this unexpected visit is brief.

Sitting in a chair by the fireplace with a soft woolen blanket over his shoulders, Abe thanks the girl again for saving him from the cold and for bringing him a cup of coffee. "You have a nice house," he adds as his eyes drift to the rest of the room, noting its large size compared to the loft he and his stepbrothers sleep in.

"Thanks," she replies as she sits back in a chair across from him.

After taking a sip of coffee, Abe continues to observe his hostess, hoping to hear her ask questions right away. He doesn't recognize her disinterest to socialize until two minutes pass by without a word spoken between them. His forehead sweats a little although he's unsure whether it's because of the fireplace or the awkward silence. Her unnerving eyes don't help to bring up his confidence, however, he can't stand to let another minute like that go by. He breaks the icy tension with a lighthearted chuckle, "You're not much of a talker, huh?"

"You'll leave after you're done with your coffee," she strictly tells him before drinking her coffee.

"Okay..." A part of him wishes his sister was here to help him talk to girls, specifically this girl who can't take a joke. "Don't you want to know why I came here?" he asks.

Despite her intentions to not answer questions, mainly to protect her privacy, Indiana does want to know one thing. "I would like to know how a boy from Perry County learned about me and this place."

"Makes sense." He nods in agreement. "A couple of days ago, I was hurrying to the schoolhouse when I accidentally bumped into a carpenter. I had with me a geometry book he kindly picked up off the ground. He asked why I was reading it, and I told him it was the only book available at the schoolhouse. He then laughed at me for a good minute before telling me I could read better books at this girl's library."

"Library?"

"Yes, miss. He told me he helped this girl around my age move into a farmhouse close to the capital many years ago. He said the girl had lots of books, enough to fill multiple rooms. After he and I parted ways, I decided to look for this girl and see her library for myself." He scratches the back of his head. "I don't mean to offend you, but are you that girl?"

She raises a brow. "What kind of question is that?"

He doesn't give her a proper response, wondering, 'If what the carpenter said was true, the girl from many years ago should be a young woman by now. Yet, among the farms in the area, this was the only farm belonging to a sole person. I expected a young woman, but I found this girl instead. Quite shocking...' He silently stares at the girl. 'Could she be the same girl the carpenter was referring to? But... That wouldn't make sense...unless..." His face turns pale. "Is the girl a ghost?"

"What?" She glares annoyingly at him.

"A-Ah! I'm sorry!" he stutters. "I-It's just... I... Never mind..." He lowers his head in embarrassment.

Indiana doesn't question his thoughts and decides to change the subject. "I'm afraid I don't have this library you're looking for."

He lifts his head with widened eyes. "Are you sure? I mean, don't you have a lot of books?"

"Depends on what you consider to be a lot."

"More than five books at least."

"Well, I have more than five books." She drinks her coffee. "Is that all you came here for? To look at my books?"

"Well," he blushes, "I was thinking about borrowing them to read."

She gives him a dumbfounded look. "You're kidding. You came all this way to ask for books. You're..." She stops herself short from calling him reckless or something worse.

"I know that sounds crazy, but it's the truth. I've read all my mother's books and every book available at the schoolhouse. I've even borrowed books from neighbors. I read their books multiple times. However, I wish to read something new." He finishes his coffee and places the empty cup on the coffee table. "If it's fine with you, may I borrow your books to read? In exchange, I'm willing to provide whatever services you."

"You want to work for me?" She scoffs, "I'm fine. I don't need help."

"I'm sure you can handle things by yourself. However, it doesn't hurt to have an extra pair of hands, especially on a farm this big. I may not look like much, but I'm a self-made man who can wield an ax." The lanky twelve-year-old smirks. "Trust me. If you want firewood, I can get it for you. If you want some land cleared, I can get it done in no time. And if you want, I'm willing to tend to your farm once spring comes around. So, is that alright with you?"

The thought of saving time and energy sounds tempting, but it doesn't fully convince her. "I don't know. It's not right having you work on my farm without paying for your labor." She loathes the idea of turning her humble farm into a Southern plantation.

"I don't want your money. I just want to borrow your books. I know that doesn't sound fair, but I'm fine with that sort of arrangement."

"Well, I'm not fine with that." She crosses her arms. "I firmly believe hard work should be paid equal to its value. Whether you care to admit it or not, money is a better payment than books."

He groans, "Okay. Pay me whatever amount you want in addition to letting me borrow your books. Is that good?"

She frowns. "Why are you so obsessed with books? They're just words in print."

He twiddles his fingers. "You probably find me strange. A self-made man like me coming all this way to a stranger's house for some books. I understand what you're thinking, but I'm not ashamed to admit it. I like to read. I like stories that take my mind off chores. I like to expand my knowledge outside my local township. Farmers keep telling me books are going to make me lazy and ruin my health, yet I can't imagine working without a book by my side."

"... They're right."

"Pardon?"

"You nearly ruined your health coming all this way for my books." She sighs. "I have no use for books. I'm always busy with work, so I'm unable to have time for reading. And honestly, the books I have in my house aren't even mine. They originally belong to friends, given to me as gifts. Since putting them on bookshelves, I've never once touched them."

"You never read them?" he exclaims in astonishment.

"If you're that desperate for a book, you can have all of them. What you do with them is your business."

"You're... You're just giving them to me. What price?"

"No price. They're free. They're yours."

He frowns. "I'm sorry. As generous and kind as you are to me, I can't take your books. It isn't right."

"Think of it as doing me a favor. I can clear some space in my house."

"It still wouldn't be right. I'll do work around the farm, so it'll be fair."

"I already told you. You don't have to-"

"I'm sorry," he interrupts her, "but you've already done so much for me. The coffee, the blanket, and the books... If you were in my shoes, what would you say?"

She hesitates to answer him. She considers pushing him out the door, but she has second thoughts. He may continue to prod her if she doesn't let him work for her. After all, he has come all this way from two counties over in the middle of winter. No doubt, he has enough fire in him to demand her approval.

Overall, it seems like a no-win situation for Indiana. Either reject the arrangement and let him annoy her for a long time until she relents. Or, she accepts the arrangement and let him annoy her for a long time. At least the latter option has the benefit of having an extra pair of hands take care of the farm. Cost isn't too much of an issue. What worries her is his character—whether he'll fulfill his side of the arrangement or be unworthy of payment. Recalling their conversation, he admits his neighbors call him lazy. But if that's true, why tell her? A way of gaining her trust, perhaps? Or, a slip of the tongue? Gosh, her head hurts trying to figure him out.

"... The fireplace could use some more firewood," she sighs in defeat.

"Alright!" He bounces up from his chair like a wagging puppy dog. "Do you have an ax, miss?"

~ Hetalia! ~

After fetching firewood for her fireplace, Abe follows the girl to the door of her 'library'.

Indiana gives him a cautious look. "When I open this door, you'll behave and not make a mess of my study room. You can walk and look around the room, however, you may not go near my desk. You can mess with the books on the bookshelves. But don't go near my desk. If you do, you'll never take a step on my property ever again. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am. I understand." He nods as she opens the door.

Abe enters the study room, unsure of what to expect. The girl claims her 'library' isn't all that impressive. Yet, in his eyes, it's probably the most wonderful gift he has ever been given a chance to see. The study room isn't as big as the parlor, but that's fine. He notes the small desk at the back of the room, however, he doesn't pay much attention to it, mindful of the girl's privacy. He walks over the bear rug, looking directly at one of three mahogany bookshelves that align the wooden wall in front of him.

Indiana watches the boy react to the three five-story bookshelves in her study room, wondering how disappointed he must be seeing her small collection. "I know it's not impressive, but this is all I have. If this isn't what you're looking for, you can back out of the arrangement and leave-"

"The Life of George Washington!" Abe exclaims as he takes a bronze brown book off the shelf. He looks back at her with sparkling gray eyes. "I read this book. It's really good. Have you read it?"

"Um, I know parts of it..." She remembers Virginia using that book to brag about the First President. Sadly, she hasn't opened the book since her statehood party.

He shakes his head in disappointment. "How can you not? He's the Father of America!"

"I..." She can't make an excuse for that valid point. "If you like the book so much, feel free to take it when you leave."

"Thanks, but I already read it a dozen times." He puts the book back where it originally was. "If you want, I can read it to you."

"I'm not illiterate!" She pouts.

"Oh! Sorry." He grins with rosy cheeks. "Not many people know how to read around these parts. Still, I shouldn't have assumed."

She scowls. "Hurry up and pick a book. I have things to do later today."

"Right. I'll try not to waste more of your time."

He quickly gets to work inspecting her books from left to right. His index finger drags across the smooth spines, searching for a title that catches his interest. By the end of one shelf, he moves down to the next shelf and repeats the process. The girl's eyes cause his back to tingle, so he tries to quicken his search. Even then, he can't simply choose a book and leave. Every book has something to tell, each one unique with an antique cover to appreciate and admire. A part of him wants to take every book off the shelf and see what they have in store, but the girl's presence forces him to be considerate toward her feelings. He makes a half-hearted sigh, wishing she can relate to his struggle of finding the perfect book. Of course, he's still grateful for this opportunity. He can't imagine reading a geometry textbook again after today.

His finger stops at a copper-red book. He takes the book out of the shelf and mutters the title to himself. "Robinson Crusoe..." He looks back at the girl. "Do you know who Robinson Crusoe is? I never heard of that name in the U.S. history book."

She shrugs. "I don't know." She tries to remember who gave her that book. She thinks it's Massachusetts. Then again, it may be one of the Carolinas. Either way, she hasn't read it to know what it's about.

Abe opens the book. He flips through the first few pages until he stops at one with a detailed illustration. Depicted in front of a tropical island by the ocean is a tall bearded man holding a pair of rifles, one over each shoulder. The thing that makes this man stand out in Abe's eyes is his large hat; it's pointy and shaped like a triangle. It's quite a strange-looking hat. Or, on second thought, is it a helmet?

He looks to the next page and reads what's written out loud for the girl to hear, "The life and strange surprising adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of TORK, mariner: who lived eight and twenty years, all alone in an uninhabited island on the Coast of America, near the mouth of the Great River of Oroonoque; having been cast on shore by shipwreck, wherein all the men perished but himself. With an account how he was at last strangely delivered by pirates. Written by himself..." He looks back at Indiana whose face doesn't display any reaction to the summary he just read. "Sounds interesting, don't you think, miss?"

She shrugs again. "I guess. Is that the book you're taking with you?"

"Of course. This Robinson Crusoe sounds very interesting." He closes the book and carries it underneath his arm. "Thank you so much, miss. I appreciate you letting me borrow your books."

She frowns. "Can you stop calling me 'miss'? I know you're being polite, but it sounds strange considering..." She's about to comment on her age. Then again, she doesn't want to drive him insane, so she keeps quiet.

"If that's what you want, sure. How should I address you?"

"U-Um..." She hasn't considered that question before until now. She stutters to say her human name and ends up blurting, "I-Indy."

"Indy?"

"Uh... Y-Yes! That's my name! Indy!" She nervously nods.

"Hm. I never heard of any girls named Indy before." He softly smiles. "But I like it. It suits you."

She swiftly turns around before he can see her blush. "W-Well, you should get going. You need to hurry back home before it gets dark." She pulls him by the wrist, leading him out of the room.

He nearly trips over the cracks in the floorboards, but he manages to follow her restless footsteps. "T-Thank you, Indy. I'll be sure to come back to work on your farm as promised. When I return, I'll bring that book with me. I should have plenty of time to finish reading it by then. And if you want, I can tell you all about the book considering you don't read much and-"

"Alright, alright!" She pushes him out the door. "Hurry on home, Abe! You don't want your mother to worry, right?"

"My mother..." He imagines his mother's face and nods. "Yes! You're right. I should get going." He carefully treads the snowy path back to the main road.

Indiana shuts the door behind her and breathes out an exhausted sigh. "Hopefully he forgets about me and this place..." She returns to the calm solitude of her farmhouse, hoping to never see him again.

From the front gate, Abe glances over his shoulder and sees the door to the farmhouse already closed. He wants to give the girl a proper goodbye, but he decides not to prolong his absence. He continues the long walk back home. "Indy..." he mutters the girl's name to himself. "I wonder what it means. Indian? Indiana?" He shrugs. "I should ask her when I see her again."

~ Hetalia... ~

Ah, yes. A month has passed. It's finally spring. The bees are buzzing. The birds are chirping. The grass is growing. The cows are mooing. The ground is warm enough to plant seeds. It's time to farm again. Hooray!

Indiana is busy plowing a plot of land until a holler halts her hard work. She recognizes the voice and hesitates to turn around. 'He's not there. He's not there. He's not there...' She ignores the adolescent boy calling for her attention and continues plowing the field.

"Miss Indy! Miss Indy!" Abe raises his voice from behind the front gate. "I'm here to work for you as promised! Miss Indy!"

She shakes her head. "Go away!" she blurts out by accident. She wants to say something much tamer by comparison, but those words will do. Hopefully, he understands she isn't in the mood to deal with him at the moment.

Yet, Abe continues to stand by the gate with no intention to go away anytime soon. "What about the book? I have it with me!" He raises the copper-red book over his head. "Can I return it to you at least?"

She stops plowing. She doesn't look at him immediately, but when she does she gives him the most spiteful stare he has ever been given since the time his mother saw him walking into the house with muddy shoes on. Indy may be a short girl, but she may as well be an adult black bear stomping toward him with the intent of biting his head off. Fortunately, she doesn't bite his head off. She does take the book off his hands, however.

Indiana checks the book to affirm its authenticity. She's somewhat relieved to see it in the same condition before lending it to him. "I'm guessing you finished the book?" That question intended to keep to herself ends up being spoken out loud.

"Yes. I've finished reading it within five days," he says it so proudly. "I've read it multiple times. I've even read it to my schoolhouse and my local church."

"I see." She stares at the book for a few more seconds before giving it back to him.

He cocks his head. "Uh..."

"It's better in your hands than mine." She walks back to her plow.

"Oh." He softly smiles. "Thank you!" He places the book by the gate before hopping over the wooden fence. How about you take a break while I plow the field?" He runs over to her and grabs a hold of the plow.

"No!" She shoos him away.

He rubs the back of his neck. "Then, do you want me to chop down some trees?"

"No!"

"Then, what about the fences? The wood looks rotten."

"No, no! I can fix it myself!"

"What about the farmhouse? I noticed some cracks in the floorboards during the last visit. Maybe I can replace them. I know some carpentry from my father."

She grumbles, "I thought farmers called you lazy."

He chuckles, "To be honest, I hate chores. But... Maybe it's because I'm working with a purpose that doesn't involve my family duties." He smirks. "Or, maybe it's because I find you cute."

"Wha-What?" Her face turns pink like a peony. "W-Well, I find you annoying!" For some reason, she can't bear to look him in the eye.

"Your face is so red. You look like a tomato," he teases her.

"S-Shut up!" She covers her face with her hands. "Leave me alone! Go fix the fence or something!"

"That's all I wanted to hear. Thank you, Miss Indy." He walks off to work on the task he has been given to do.

"Just go!" She groans, "I just want to be left in peace..."

It may be some time until the bashful girl Abe is working for gets used to his presence. He has a lot of questions to ask her, but he decides to ask them later once she's more trusting of him. He still finds it hard to believe a girl around his age can manage to live on their own. Then again, she's pretty independent and strong-minded. Though she may act cold and harsh at times, he can see some warmth in her compassion toward others like himself. Whatever happens between them, he'll always be grateful for that day she rekindled his love for reading.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, papa, want some water?
Hey, hey, mama, hey, hey, mama!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Sugar cream pie I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm Indiana!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Hoosier State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Hysterical for basketball! 
Indiana!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

November 1976—Fairbanks, Alaska

The Last Frontier certainly lives up to that nickname.

Even with the construction of a zig-zagging trail of steel pipeline cutting through mountains, valleys, and all sorts of landforms, acres of Alaskan wilderness continue to dominate the landscape. The same can be said for the region's climate. Freezing temperatures throughout the last month of autumn are typical experiences for Alaskans. But for many Southerners who are accustomed to mild winters in the Southern United States, Alaskan winter may as well be the ultimate test of survival.

If not for the high payroll, most Okies and Texans won't last longer than two weeks working on the oil pipeline. Work conditions aren't ideal. Working twelve hours, every day of the week, and in the middle of treacherous terrain, it's a tough and miserable job. Even on the rare occasion of being given time off, there's not much to do besides hunting and hiking in the Alaskan wilderness. The closest "city" is at least two hours away by vehicle, however, it isn't worth the trip. No movie theaters. No nightclubs. There are only bars and restaurants, but they're nothing like the ones on the mainland. It also doesn't help the 15,000 or so residents living in the lackluster city hate their guts, simply for being rednecks. The whole situation makes them homesick.

But hey, at least they get hot lunches!

"Are we early?" Oklahoma and Texas head to the campsite's cafeteria, expecting a line to be forming at the counter. He's somewhat surprised to see they're the only ones to show up.

"So what if we're early?" Texas doesn't bat an eye at the empty cafeteria. "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse!"

"I don't think there's horse meat on the menu."

"It's an idiom."

"Oh."

She slaps him on the back and laughs, "Oh, you Okies crack me up!" She steps up to the counter. "Hey! Anyone in the kitchen? I like two ribeye steaks cooked medium-rare."

"You didn't have to order for me, Tex."

"Both steaks are for me," she corrects him.

"Fatass," he grumbles.

"Hey!" she hollers into the kitchen again. "I'm starving! Do I have to hop over this counter and make them myself?"

Unable to ignore the rowdy Texan any longer, a kitchen server comes back from their smoke break to deal with the unruly Southerners. "Can I help you?" she asks in a monotonous voice.

"Yeah! You can help my empty stomach with some ribeye steaks. Where's my hot lunch?"

"And mine, too!" Oklahoma adds.

The server scowls. "Sorry. No hot lunches today."

Texas laughs, "Very funny, lunch lady! But seriously, where's my steak?"

"In a freezer."

"Well, get cooking!"

"No."

"... What?" She draws a pistol from her holster and points it at the server's head. "Don't pull my leg, lunch lady! I work twelve hours a day in this freezing hellscape while you get to work in a warm kitchen all day. The only thing keeping me sane is the pay and the hot lunches I get every day. So, get me two big juicy steaks on a plate and a can of Dr. Pepper on the side!"

"You better do as she says," he advises.

The server doesn't budge. "Go ahead and shoot. This kitchen won't serve hot lunches from this day forward."

She grits her teeth. "Why you..." Oklahoma holds her back from pistol-whipping the stubborn server.

"Why aren't you serving hot lunches? This is a cafeteria, right?" he questions.

She sighs, "I'm guessing you haven't heard."

"Heard what?"

"There had been complaints made toward the Alyeska Pipeline Company."

"Complaints? From who?" Texas demands to know, so she can beat their hide when she finds them.

"Workers."

The Southern pair give each other befuddled looks. "We didn't complain."

The server scoffs, "Course not. You two are usually the first to get their lunch. I'm referring to the laborers, the people working far from camp. They complained about how unfair it was for them to eat bagged lunches while welders got to eat hot lunches."

She huffs, "Well, you snooze you lose. It's not my fault the camp isn't located closer to where they work."

"If they want hot lunches, they should come sooner," Oklahoma grumbles.

"Yeah!" Texas slams her hands on the counter. "Lucky for you, lunch lady. I'm not gonna brand you. However, as soon as my friend and I give management an earful, I expect THREE ribeyes on a plate, a two-liter bottle of Dr. Pepper, and a heart-filled apology when I come back here!" She storms off. "Come on, partner! We're gonna file a complaint!"

"Right behind ya." Oklahoma accompanies her as they leave the cafeteria.

The server shakes her head and grumbles, "Entitled rednecks..." She lights a cigarette and gets right back to her smoke break.

☆☆☆☆☆

Outside the camp, Alaska is busy digging up gravel when rambling shouts closeby break her focus. She groans, "What now?" She picks up her shovel and walks over to the site of the commotion.

"Well, lookie here!" One of the laborers, a stocky man smoking a cigarette, makes a high-pitched whistle at the Okie and Texan trudging toward him and his fellow laborers. "Never thought I see flatlanders this far from the campsite," he croaks.

Oklahoma's stomach grumbles. "Can I have some of your lunch, sir? I'm so hungry..." He eyes the bologna sandwich in a laborer's hands, having yet eaten anything since a bowl of cereal eight hours ago.

The young laborer, possibly a high school student, leers at the desperate Oklahoman. "Alright, little Okie. I'll share it." He tears his sandwich in half and throws half of it on the muddy ground at Oklahoma's feet. He and his buddies howl in laughter.

He stares at the dirty sandwich with darkened eyes. "Why did you do that?"

"What? You said you're hungry, so eat it up. Don't let it go to waste." He takes a bite out of his clean sandwich.

Texas cracks her knuckles. "I bet you're getting tired of eating bologna sandwiches every day. How about we switch things up with some knuckle sandwiches instead?"

"I thought you flatlanders only eat fancy steaks." A black-bearded behemoth stomps forward, glaring down at the puny Texan with mean-looking eyes. "I guess they like eating knuckle sandwiches, too." He cracks his knuckles, showing off his enormous ashy palms.

She's about to make a snarky comment about his hands when she sees Oklahoma pick the dirty sandwich up from the ground. "Snap out of it, Okie!" She slaps the sandwich out of his hands. "I know you're hungry, but we're better than bologna sandwiches."

He picks up the soggy sandwich anyway.

The stocky laborer and his buddies cackle at the pathetic sight. "Hey, Okie! I have this week-old sandwich at the back of my truck! I'll be happy to get it for you!" he snorts.

The young laborer slaps his knee with tears in his eyes. "Bet I take my boot off, he eats that, too! Haha-" His entire face gets slapped with cold muddy bread, cheese, and bologna meat. "Uaaaaaugh!"

"GIMME THAT SANDWICH!" Oklahoma pounces on top of the young laborer like a grizzly bear ravaging for the other half of the sandwich as though his life depended on it.

"Yowl! That's my hand, you heathen!"

"Get off him!" The stocky laborer grabs a shovel from nearby, intending to hit Oklahoma behind the head when Texas tackles him to the ground.

"No one messes with the South!" She punches him in the face.

"Enough!" The seven-foot-tall laborer, aka the black-bearded behemoth, pulls the Okie off the helpless teenager.

Oklahoma gulps down that sandwich and gives the behemoth the death glare of a carnivore, still hungry for more. "Do you have food?"

"Yeah! Right here!" He hurls a left hook at his face.

Oklahoma leans his head aside and grabs the behemoth's left wrist. Before the behemoth can pull his hand away, he chomps down on his palm. Like a pit bull, he doesn't let go.

"Aaaah! Fucking cannibal!" The behemoth bodyslams him, but the stubborn Okie doesn't let go.

"I. Want. Food," he growls.

It takes four laborers to pull Texas off the stocky man. However, they end up getting knuckle sandwiches, too. "This is what happens when you take away our hot lunches!" She trades punches with a hefty laborer.

The young laborer, still recovering from a red bite-mark on their hand, scampers off in a whimper. As they're running away, they bump into an Alaskan Native. "Ah! D-Don't hurt me!" He cowers.

Alaska cocks her head. "Hey. Calm down. Why are you running away?"

He points in the direction he came from. "S-S-S-S..." he stutters.

"What?"

"S-S-Savages! Savages!" He scampers off.

She scowls. "That's not very nice..."

"AAAaaaAAAaaahhh!"

"I'M STILL HUNGRY!"

"GET OFF MY BACK!"

"YEEEEHAW!"

Alaska looks in the direction of the screams. "Oklahoma? Texas? What in the world is going on?" She hurries to the site of the commotion.

~ GIMME FOOD! ~

A couple of hours after the fight, Oklahoma and Texas end up at the camp's main office with messy hair, bruised skin, and muddy clothes. Despite what happened earlier, they don't seem at all concerned by the circumstances. Texas is still hyperactive, coming off the adrenaline of that fight. Oklahoma, on the other hand, is still hungry, wondering what he'll be having for dinner tonight.

Seeing the Southerners act all nonchalant after the chaotic incident turns Alaska's blood ice-cold. "This is the eighth fight I have to break up." She glares at them from behind a desk. "I finished talking to the laborers. Their story was quite convincing."

Texas lets out a long breath before looking directly into her eyes. "Let me tell it to you straight. Those sons of bitches are green in the heart and yellow in the belly. Whatever story they told you, it's not true."

"So, what they said about you two starting the fight, it's all made-up?"

"That's right."

She scowls. "If wolves were lie detectors, you would've been gobbled up immediately."

"I won't lie," Oklahoma speaks up. "I'm the one who started the fight."

"I know. The laborers showed me the wounds you inflicted on them."

He makes a guilt-ridden frown. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly, and-"

Texas cuts him off. "Look, Alaska. I'm not denying this fight didn't exist. I'm saying those pricks had it coming. If they hadn't complained to management, we would've gotten our hot lunches and continued working like good citizens."

"Picking fights isn't going to bring hot lunches back."

"That's true, but-"

"All you did was take your anger out on a group of laborers."

"Yeah, but-"

"I had to call in state troopers to break up the fight."

She shrinks in her chair. "... I know we got a bit violent-"

"A bit? Three people had to be flown to the hospital!" she huffs. "I know you two have been working hard to help me build this large project. I know without your help, this pipeline would've taken longer to be built. The long hours, the dangerous climate, I know you two have endured a lot which is why I've done my best to cater to your needs."

"You say that, yet why aren't hot lunches being served anymore?" Oklahoma questions. "I understand steak and lobster are a luxury, especially when they're given to us daily. But there's no reason to stop serving us lunch."

Her eyes look away for a moment. "I'm sorry, but that's the company's decision."

"They seriously stopped serving hot lunches because of a bunch of complaints." Texas shakes her head in disgust.

"It's only fair."

"Fair? How is that fair?! I work twelve to fourteen hours every day! I know I'm getting paid generously for my skills, but I deserve to be fed at least! Just because a bunch of laborers can't take the time to go to the cafeteria doesn't make it okay for us to work with empty bellies!"

"You still have a lunch break at least. I have plenty of food at home, so you two can make bagged lunches to bring with you to work next time."

She grumbles, "Bagged lunches. You gotta be shitting me. You're given billions of dollars, and you're asking us to make bagged lunches."

"We still have a job to do." Alaska gets up from her chair. "My job is to complete an oil pipeline; not pamper a bunch of crybabies. I'm sorry, but the next time either of you gets into a fight I'm going to have to cut your Christmas vacation."

"What?" She stands up from her chair in protest. "You can't do that!"

She gives her the cold shoulder. "Please take this warning seriously and reflect on your behavior. You can complain all you want, but don't cause any more trouble. I can't waste any more time on nonsense." She walks out the door of the office, slamming the door behind her.

Oklahoma sighs, "I miss home."

"Me, too, partner," Texas moans.

~ Hetalia... ~

The next day, Texas is working on the pipeline as usual. She normally works with Oklahoma, however, she hasn't seen him in the last hour or so. She grumbles in a bad mood, "He's awfully taking his time at the porta-potty." She takes off her welding mask before making the long walk to her truck.

Deep in the bitter heart of Texas, she's still upset with Alaska over her refusal to bring back hot lunches. It's not like she's asking her to bring out five-star meals. Anything like a hearty bowl of stew is better than what she packed for lunch. She shivers from both the cold and the bologna sandwich she'll be having.

"Why can't Thanksgiving come sooner..." She fetches out the key to the truck from her pocket.

"Tex!" Oklahoma hollers.

She turns around and gasps at the huge rack of prime rib he's carrying in his arms. "Holy cow! Where did you get that?" She trudges through the snow to meet up with him.

"I stole it from a kitchen freezer," he explains while catching his breath. "Since they're not going to cook us lunch, we can do it ourselves."

She frowns. "We might get in trouble."

"Didn't you say we're better than bologna sandwiches?"

"Yeah..." She nods with a smile and a fire in her eyes. "You're right. We're better than bologna sandwiches!"

~ Hetalia! ~

The thought of spending a hundred dollars on lunch in the city isn't something Alaska is looking forward to, but it's necessary. She feels horrible denying hot lunches to her friends. For the time being, the company doesn't plan on bringing hot lunches back. She can't do anything about their decision. The least she can do is makeup with her friends and treat them to a nice warm lunch for today. Hopefully, they'll appreciate it.

While driving to their worksite, Alaska squints at a funnel of smoke in the distance. "Fire?" She worries there may be an accident or a forest fire in the area.

As she rolls up to the site, however, she finds no accident, nor a forest fire. Instead, she finds a line of welders moving up toward what looks like a makeshift table. She's piqued by the sight.

She steps out of her truck and storms up to the front of the line. "Hey! What's going on?" She gapes at Texas serving ribeye steaks to welders. "Where did you get that?"

Texas smiles and waves with the knife in hand. "Howdy! I see word travels fast."

"I can't believe you and..." She looks for Oklahoma and finds him using a blowtorch to cook a slab of prime rib on a makeshift grill. "What are you doing?!"

He cocks his head at the fuming Alaskan. "I'm cooking, obviously."

"No hard feelings?" Texas presents a ribeye steak to Alaska.

"This goes against camp rules!" she argues.

She scoffs, "What? Cooking your own food isn't allowed? That's dumb."

"Yeah!" One of the welders speaks out. "We deserve this!"

"Yeah, we do!" yells another welder in line. "We work for twelve hours every day! We deserve this!"

"We're God's greatest gift to welding! We should be treated as such!"

"We're better than bologna sandwiches!"

Outcry toward Alyeska's ridiculous rules and policies overwhelms Alaska from arguing with the Okies and Texans any further. She backs away and ends up retreating to the safety of her truck. "I'm getting myself a bumper sticker after today..." she grumbles before driving off.

The welders cheer to finally have hot lunches again.

"This is way better than bologna sandwiches," says Oklahoma with a smile.

"I'm with ya, partner," Texas agrees as they eat their ribeye steaks at a bench.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, papa, give me vodka!
Hey, hey, mama, hey, hey, mama!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Smoked salmon I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
My name's Alaska!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Last Frontier!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Polaris is the true North Star!
I'm Alaska!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

Chickadee chirps and chitters create a canorous chorus in the chinquapin canopies. The songbirds skip and sway their small bodies around, curious and cordial like small chubby cherubs staring down at the small clearing where a sleeping lass softly snores atop a carpet of soft grass. Speckles of shadow and spots of sunlight cover her chest and stomach. A shroud of sage green leaves shields her sight from shimmering sunbeams. Despite the summer swelter, she remains still and silent in her slumber.

"Suffocating..." North Carolina murmurs sleepily as she stretches her hand toward the sky, slowly opening her sticky eyes.

She's completely aware of this surreal state. It captivates her to stay, singing sentimental songs of the past. The sweet-smelling scent of coral honeysuckle convinces her to settle. The stickiness of sweat across her skin sickens her, constraining her to stay still. Sincere senses that seem tangible and true. It's somewhat real. It's somewhat...strange.

"There you are!"

She swiftly sits up, sharply alert as she scans her surroundings for a child's voice. "Who's there?"

☆☆☆☆☆

The salty wind stirs the trees, shaking them awake from their summer slumber.

North Carolina sits up against the sturdy trunk of a tall chestnut tree, her eyes steadily staring at the verdant shrubbery. "Where are you? Show yourself." She slowly gets up on her feet.

She scouts for the owner of those childish chuckles. She searches the shrubbery and finds nothing. She checks behind every conifer standing close to the clearing and finds nothing again. She scans her surroundings, but nothing resembling human shows up. She questions her sanity for a second.

Cheeer-a-dote! Cheeer-a-dote-dote-dote!

She spots a northern cardinal perching atop a branch. It cocks its head and whistles again. "Follow me!" It flies off.

Her eyes widen in surprise. "W-Wait!" She chases after the scarlet bird, scared of losing it.

She's certain of her confinement in this strange dream. Besides the speaking bird, the soft soles of her feet should've bled from stepping on spiky spurs and sharp sticks. She should've perceived shooting pain from passing through snaggy shrubs. Yet, she passes through such obstacles without issue. She doesn't even feel spent.

"Where are you leading me?" she questions the ruby red bird.

The cardinal continues flying through the trees in silence.

"... Can you at least tell me your name?"

The cardinal chirps, but it doesn't speak.

'Am I going crazy?' She scowls and shakes her head. 'Come on! This is a dream. This whole thing is supposed to be crazy.'

She stops sprinting when the cardinal settles atop a branch. The bird's black beady eyes stare beyond the edge of the forest, chirping at the soft breeze coming toward them. Her nose tickles at the strong scent. The salty blue sea comes to mind. Subconsciously, her feet step away from the shadows of the cedar and cypress trees, stepping into the clear sunlight ahead.

The sun blinds her for a moment before she can see her surroundings. Her toes bash into something with a soft thud, bringing her slight pain. She looks down at the tree stump she stumbled upon. Scanning the area, she sees there isn't one tree stump she should look out for. There are lots of them scattered throughout the coastal grassland. She can count sixty stumps at minimum, all of them chopped messily across the base. She studies the slaughter and contemplates what caused it. With a slight glance toward the sound, she finds her answer less than a mile away—an enclosed village by a wooden fort.

Much to her surprise, she recognizes the fort, unsure what to make of it. 'That fort... It looks like Fort Raleigh, but...' The Fort Raleigh she knows is a national historic site in the present era and a colony of freedmen during the Civil War era. Judging by the bulwark's small size and weak structure, however, the fort appears to be made pre-Civil War, made way before the 19th century or even the 18th century. If that's the case...

"What year is this?" she mutters to herself.

"1587." The unexpected answer startles North Carolina.

She swiftly spins around and finds a little girl no older than five years old sitting politely on a large tree stump. The girl's white gown resembles the conservative clothes worn by English colonists: long sleeves, a skirt that reaches below the ankles, and the addition of a cute red bow around her neck. What catches her eye is the girl's white bonnet. The chaste cap not only hides her hair, but it also hides the top half of her face. She can only see a small pink nose, a pair of rosy cheeks, and a sweet yet auspicious smile that's giving her the creeps. As much as she desires to look her in the eye, the girl's unworldly aura makes her nervous, albeit she's somewhat afraid to even face her.

She takes a step back out of precaution. "Who are you?"

The smiling child hops off the stump and giggles, "You don't recognize me?" She skips around North Carolina in a whimsy circle.

She scowls. "Should I?"

"I know your name. It's Carolina, correct?"

"Technically, it's North Carolina."

"Oh." She stops skipping and slants her head. "There's a South Carolina?"

"Sadly, yes," she grumbles. "What's your name?"

She smirks. "Follow me!" She scampers into the long golden grass.

"Hey!" She chases after her. "I still have more questions!"

Despite the child's short stature, North Carolina can't seem to catch up to her. No matter how hard she sprints, the distance between them remains the same. It's weird, yet she accepts these circumstances as a part of this...dream.

'Is this a dream? A figment of my imagination, maybe. But everything so far seems realistic other than that girl.' She skeptically stares at the strange girl ahead of her. 'Impossible. I was born long after 1587. Whoever she is, I need to be careful, even if this is a dream.' She follows the girl into the fenced village.

The girl twirls around, allowing North Carolina to catch up to her. "Welcome to my home!" she giggles. "What do you think?"

"Um... It's quaint-looking." She looks around the village and its three dozen identical cabins, finding it somewhat uncanny with how quiet the atmosphere is. "Where are the people?"

The girl smiles. "They're..." Her lips continue to move, yet silence follows.

North Carolina blinks her eyes. "Uh... What was that?"

The girl strains to keep a straight smile. "Follow me!" She runs off.

She groans, "Why can't this be a dream where people give straightforward answers?" She follows after her to the front gates of the fort.

As they approach the fort, she squints her eyes at the red and white English flag waving in front of the cerulean sky. It stares down at her within the confine of the fortress, waving proudly in the wind in a display of English supremacy over these savage lands. It reminds her of the colonial days, leading her to wonder about England's connection to this place.

"Hey!" She stops the girl from heading into the fort's entrance. "Do you know England?"

She makes a small nod. "Yes. He was the one who found me." There's a hint of sadness in her voice.

"I see... Is he here?"

The girl doesn't answer her. She turns a cold shoulder and heads up the slope on her own.

"I'm guessing he's not here..." North Carolina grumbles. "Typical, England..."

She looks back at the top walls of the fort. She expects someone, a guard of sorts, to stop and question her, but she finds no one in sight. The wooden gates to the fort are completely wide open, allowing anyone and anything to come into and out of the fort. She can't help her suspicions. They prevent her from entering the fort at first.

But then her ears pick up crying inside. It sounds like it's coming from a baby.

Curiosity gets the better of her. She enters the fort with cautious steps. Her wary eyes come across a large cabin at the center of the crucifix-shaped fort. It's the only thing that stands out besides the flag pole. The crying has stopped, but she can hear voices coming from within the cabin. She finds a pair of doors and slowly pushes one of them open. She sneaks herself inside the crowded room, careful not to cause a commotion.

"You are presenting your Child for Baptism," says a man within the room. "During this ceremony, it is traditional for several simple questions to be asked. First, as parents, are you people of Faith?"

"Yes, we are," says a man and a woman simultaneously.

'A christening?' North Carolina stands on her toes, trying to see what's going on from the back of the room. But the people surrounding the center of attention block her from getting a clear view. Seeing no alternatives, she gently pushes her way through the crowd.

"Will you do your best to provide a home where faith and spirituality are part of the nurturing of this child?"

"Yes, we will."

When she gets to the front of the room, she finally gets a full view of the christening. There are three... Actually, four people catch the room's attention. Everyone's eyes are on the priest, a bald brown-bearded man dressed in ivory white robes with a wine red sash over his neck and shoulders. Cradled in his left arm is a blonde-haired infant, swaddled in a cream-colored woolen blanket. Despite being blind to their surroundings, the infant makes a squirmy wave toward her father and mother who stand in front of the table, watching their sweet child with splendid eyes.

"Do you acknowledge this day that God's love is already at work inside this child?" says the priest in a bold voice.

"Yes, we do," says the father and the mother of the child with certainty.

"What name have you chosen for this child?"

The parents give each other assuring looks before answering him, "Virginia Dare." A chill runs down North Carolina's spine when she recognizes that infamous name.

The priest solemnly nods. "So be it." He turns to the bowl of holy water on the table. "May you come to know God within your heart and throughout your life express your highest potential." He grasps a handful of holy water from the bowl. "And, by the authority vested in me by the Universal Life Church, I hereby baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." He sprinkles holy water onto the infant's forehead. "Amen."

The priest looks to the people in the room. "As Jesus took children in his arms and bless them, so now we ask God's blessing on this Child." He returns the child to their parents before giving a long prayer.

While listening to the priest, North Carolina feels something nudge her right leg. She looks down and gasps at the infant in the mysterious girl's arms. She looks back at the mother's empty arms before glaring at the girl. "Why are you holding her?" she hisses.

The mysterious girl giggles, "Do you want to hold her?"

"What? I..." 

"Here you go." She pushes the baby onto her.

An awkward feeling swells in North Carolina's chest, having rarely, possibly never, held a newborn baby in her life. As strange as it sounds, it's almost like holding a football. Afraid to drop the baby by accident, she looks for a way to get rid of it. She considers returning the child to her parents, however, the priest is in the midst of prayer. Even in a dream, she refrains herself from being rude. For now, she's stuck holding the infant until the end of the christening.

"Virginia, today we officially welcome you. We wish you a long life and much happiness. May you face all challenges that come to you as a person of integrity. May you continue to bring great joy to your parents, your grandparents, family, friends, and to all those who come to know you. May beauty delight you and happiness uplift you. May wonder fulfill you and love surround you. May your step be steady and your arm be strong. May your heart be peaceful and your word be true. May you seek to learn, may you learn to live. May you live to love, and may you love—always."

"Amen," the entire room utters in unison.

The formal gathering becomes an informal circle after a lengthy ceremony. Most individuals congratulate the Dares on the christening of their daughter. Some of the women surround a heavily pregnant woman on the verge of giving birth pretty soon. North Carolina can't help but overhear a group of men talk about a man named White in a serious tone. Another nudge to her side forces her attention to the strange girl.

The girl giggles, "Isn't she cute?"

North Carolina looks back at the newborn in her sore arms. To be honest, she isn't exactly fond of children. Although, she may make an exception for this one. Little Virginia hasn't once cried during the prayer. She's a bit squirmy, but it hasn't bothered her. If not for the drool running down her rosy chin, she's willing to admit this infant is equally as cute as a puppy. She holds herself back from pinching her cute chubby cheeks. They look so soft and plump. They almost look like peaches.

Unable to hold herself back, she boops Virginia's nose and softly smiles. "Yeah. She's pretty cute," she admits.

The girl blankly stares at North Carolina. "That's good to hear..." She turns her face away. "... Goodbye, Virginia."

Her blood turns cold at the sound of that ominous whisper. Before North Carolina can reach out to the strange girl, she finds no one by her side. The cabin is empty and eerily quiet. She quickly looks back at Virginia, but the infant is no longer in her arms. A cool breeze touches North Carolina's neck when she finds herself back outside, all alone in a barren fort. She's too stunned to comprehend the sudden changes around her.

"W-What...?" She can't believe her eyes.

The cabin she once stood in is gone. Rectangular lines in the ash-gray dirt indicate the foundation of a building that once stood here. Broken pieces of rotten wood lay hidden in overgrown clumps of weeds. The English flag is nowhere in sight. The sky is no longer bright or blue. It has become a stormy gray. The sun no longer shines over the land. The world around her is dull and dark, silent and still. Only the cold wind stirs the landscape, bringing a sense of dread from a bygone era. All seems lost and forgotten.

There are so many questions on her mind, yet she doesn't know where to go. She looks to the battered mossy gates of the abandoned fort. She remembers the colony and starts making the cautious walk over there, hoping to find someone who can explain what's going on. What she finds, however, are more questions than answers.

She stumbles upon uninhabited land as barren as the fort's interior. The three dozen or so cabins she expects to find, they're nowhere to be found. All that's left are a couple of wooden walls, remnants of cabins, and some wooden furniture here and there. They show signs of decay, but they appear intact despite their rotten appearance. There are no marks or scratches on the walls upon further inspection. No arrowheads, dry blood, or fire damage either. She takes note of the lack of valuables around the area before walking over to the colony's entrance.

As she's leaving the palisade, a wooden post catches her eye. The word 'CROATOAN' is etched in large letters into the moldy bark. Her head hurts trying to remember the meaning of that word.

"Croatoan... Croatoan..." she mumbles the familiar word to herself. She recalls a Native American tribe called the Croatan that once thrived in her home. Other than their name, however, she knows little of the tribe. They've become extinct since the early seventeenth century, long before her existence. It's unfortunate, but there's nothing she can do about it. Even so, she can't help wonder how this tribe is connected to this colony.

Judging by the minimal amount of debris in the area, the colony doesn't appear to be violently attacked. The destruction appears too clean to be caused by a raid. From what she has gathered, it's clear the colony has been abandoned for a long time. It explains the lack of valuables and the organized deconstruction of the cabins. In that case, it must mean the colonists are still alive, somewhere else...

She searches the area, hoping to find more clues related to the colony. Circling over to the beach, she spots a carrack located in the shadowy gray sound. She squints her eyes at what appears to be a group of men standing by some rowboats on the sandy shore. She strolls over to the scene to see what's going on. But as she's heading closer to them, her chest grows heavy. It stifles her breath, yet she presses onward against the salty wind.

As her feet touch upon soft sand, however, she stumbles to a stop, disturbed to find somber spirits among the men. Carved onto their ashen faces is uncertainty. No one is speaking to one another. They give each other silent gazes before boarding the rowboats. They don't appear to notice her. She considers asking them about the colony, yet she doesn't say a word. One by one, she watches them board their boats and row off into the sound.

The only man left onshore is a gray-haired gentleman slouching on a large gray stone in a crestfallen manner. His stony gaze continues to stare at the stormy clouds in the distance, ignoring calls for him to return to the rowboats. His soulless appearance makes her remorseful even though she doesn't know the cause of his sadness. He looks so...lost. She slowly reaches out to speak to him.

"DON'T!"

A crack of lightning forces her to shield her eyes. Suddenly, it's raining. The gentleman is gone. The man and the rowboats are gone. And the ship is gone. Thunder in the distance rumbles in the darkened sky. The wind grows furious, shaking the beach grass and her damp hair into a frenzy. Sensing someone behind her, she turns around and sees a seven-year-old girl standing a distance away.

She recognizes her as the strange girl from earlier. However, the girl isn't acting like her giddy self. She isn't giggling. She isn't skipping around. She isn't even asking her to follow her. She just stands there a couple of yards away, almost appearing to be floating above the beach grass. Her plump red cheeks are now pale and hollow. It's hard to tell by her white dress, but she appears emaciated. She looks like a skeleton in the midst of transforming into a ghost.

Though the sickly girl is giving her more than goosebumps, North Carolina confronts her with a brave face. "What's going on? What happened here?"

"I... I do not know..." says the girl in a raspy whimper. "What happened here... I do not know..."

"Why show me this then?" She gestures at the land around them.

She casts her gaze at the ground. "I'm afraid... I'm afraid of being...lost."

"Lost?"

She makes a single nod. "Lost to time... Forgotten... I haunt this land without knowing why I disappeared. Without knowing why I was abandoned..." She wipes a tear running down her pale face. "I want answers. I want closure. I want to rest in peace..."

"... You expect me to find those for you," she mutters sadly, "but I don't know if I can. I tried, but all I found were dead ends."

"I see..." She sounds disappointed.

She stares down at her feet. "I'm sorry. I wish I could do more to help."

"... Don't be saddened." North Carolina lifts her eyes, surprised to see a sad yet genuine smile on the girl's face. "Consider yourself very fortunate. God has blessed you with joy, kindness, love, beauty, strength, peace, longevity, and a family—a very loving family..." Her body grows more transparent.

Her eyes widen. "W-Wait! I still have more questions to ask you!"

She shakes her head. "You've already done so much for me. That alone means a lot more than you realize. But if you do decide to continue looking, I wish you the best." She turns her back on her. "May God guide you to those answers." She walks away.

"Wait!" North Carolina sprints after her, but a strong gale of winds pushes her back. She shields her face from the forceful winds, pushing through despite great difficulty. "Wait! I have one question to ask you!" Her hand reaches out to grab the girl's shoulder.

As soon as she touches her shoulder, the white bonnet covering the girl's head flies off in the wind, unveiling strands of crimson hair. The girl doesn't turn around, however. "... Can you do me a favor?"

She cocks her head. "What is it?" She notices the air around them is still and quiet.

The girl smiles. "Whatever happens, keep this place in your heart and memories. Your home... My home... Take good care of it." She slowly turns her head. "Goodbye."

A strong gale forces North Carolina away from the girl, sending her backward into darkness. An unpleasant gasp escapes her lips as her back slams against the back of her chair. It takes her a couple of breaths to slow her rapid heartbeat. But eventually, her nerves calm down. Her hand reaches out in the darkness. She feels for a button and presses it. The lamp lights up her study room, welcoming her back to reality.

Other than a sore back from resting her head on her desk, she's completely fine. A bit frazzled but fine. She takes this moment to remove her glasses and wipe her eyes. She tries to recall what she was doing before her afternoon nap. She puts on her glasses before looking back at the book she was reading earlier. "The Lost Colony of Roanoke..." She's close to finishing it, however, it's already late. She puts the book back on her desk and decides to call it a night.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, get me a Pepsi!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Sweet potato pie I ate before!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm North Carolina!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Tar Heel State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Let's shag along to some beach music!
North Carolina!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

October 25, 2019—Las Vegas, Nevada

In the twilight of a Friday evening, deviants from all over the world head over to a particular spot in Sin City, looking for a thrilling scare in the spooky spirit of Halloween. They arrive at what appears to be the front gates of a mortuary with '666' painted in jet black and neon green across the stone wall. Frightening screams can be heard from inside the place, giving the people waiting in line a spine-tingling shiver.

"Ah! Save me!" California grabs onto Nevada's arm.

He gives her a blank stare. "Um, what are you doing?"

She fakes a few sniffles while cuddling his arm. "Isn't it obvious? An attractive woman like myself is going to be vulnerable to whatever monsters are in there. You don't want me getting hurt, do you?" She flutters her eyelashes.

"She's going to use you as a meat shield," Arizona whispers behind his back.

"Do you want to be my meat shield then?" She pouts.

He chuckles, "Come on, you two. You shouldn't be fighting on my birthday."

A creepy cackle startles the Olympic Trio. "Did someone say birthday?" A balding pale-faced priest in black Roman Catholic robes stands behind them, licking an upside-down cross necklace in a lewd manner. "I always love seeing familiar faces come back to Hell. It makes me feel...warm inside. Bwahahaha...!"

Arizona and California take a giant step back away from him, their arms covered in goosebumps.

Nevada does the opposite. He greets the talented actor with a friendly smile and a handshake. "Cardinal Sin. It has been a while."

"It certainly has been, birthday boy!" He hands him three waivers for him and his friends to read and sign before taking them back. "As always, I hope you and," he gives the young women a fiendish smile, "your dames can make it through the Gates of Hell. At least in one piece..." He lets out a sinister snicker before moving on to greet more visitors down the line.

California glares at him from afar. "He still gives me the creeps."

Arizona nods her head. "Same."

Nevada rolls his eyes. "If you're already this creeped out, I doubt you two will be able to get very far."

"Oh. Is that a bet?"

He smirks. "If both of you survive, I'm paying for dinner. If either one of you doesn't make it, you'll be paying. And before you agree, this buffet I want to go to costs about sixty dollars per person."

Despite the costs, they agree without hesitation. "Challenge accepted!"

☆☆☆☆☆

Stepping through the pitch-black curtains, the Olympic Trio begin their hellish journey into the Gates of Hell. They start their horrific adventure in a room full of lockers, illuminated by a faint white light above them. They immediately come face to face with a tall shirtless man wearing a black gas mask that covered most of his face except his menacing eyes.

"Welcome to the Gates of Hell," he greets them in a deep hollow voice. "If you wish to survive this ordeal, you'll follow my directions. Got that? Good. Now follow—"

SOMEBODY! HEEELLLP MEEE! AAAGH!

The group grows startled by the distressing shrieks occurring nearby.

"They're coming!" The man grabs California by the arm and shoves her into an empty locker despite her screams of reluctance.

"Cali!" Arizona yells.

"Shut up, bitch!" He grabs Arizona by her arm and forces her into a locker.

Nevada doesn't say a word and lets the shirtless man put him into a locker without resistance.

"Hey! Don't leave us here!" California bangs on the metal door.

"Fucking stop that!" He slaps the side of her locker. "Stay in your lockers. I'll be back to free you later. Got it? Good." The man with the gas mask stomps off and disappears from their view.

"It's not like we have a choice..." Arizona grumbles, unable to open the locker from inside.

Suddenly, the room grows dark.

California gasps, "Holy shit!"

"That's new..." Nevada mumbles to himself. "Hey. You guys doing alright so far?"

"Uh-huh. The guy was a bit rough on my arm, but I'm alright," Arizona sighs. "How about you, scaredy-cat?"

California scoffs, "Are you referring to me? The dude may have grabbed me out of nowhere and put me into this cramp locker, but I'm no scaredy-cat."

BAM!

"Gah!" She hits her head against the back of the locker.

Someone bangs on her the metal door. "P-Please! Let me in! Let me in! He's going to kill me!" a woman's voice pleads from outside the locker.

She scowls. "Sorry. I can't."

"Please! Why won't you help me?"

"Does it look like I can help you?" she says with an attitude.

"Come on! Come on! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door!" Her voice becomes more demonic as she continues to pound the locker. "Open the door! Open the door! Open the fucking door, you fucking whore!"

BAM! BAM! BAM!

California covers her ears. "Stop that! Aaaaah!" Her locker shakes from side to side.

"I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU! I'M GOING TO SLIT YOUR PRETTY LITTLE THROAT WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU! I'M GOING CARVE YOUR HEAD OUT LIKE A JACK-O'-LANTERN AND FEAST ON YOUR BRAINS! HEHEHEHEHE!"

She screams with her hands over her ears. The banging and screeching continue for a minute until the ominous sound of silence assures her it's over. Or, she thinks it's over. Her trembling hands remain planted over her ears.

Arizona holds her breath until a loud bang hits the side of her locker, startling her. "Ah!"

"OPEN UP! OPEN UP! OPEN UP! WHY WON'T YOU LET ME IN?!"

She grits her teeth. "Because you're ugly! That's why!" She sticks her tongue out.

"YOU LITTLE CUNT!" The woman bangs on the locker, unable to get to her. Eventually, she leaves Arizona alone and goes over to pound on more lockers. "OPEN UP! OPEN UP! OPEN UP!"

Nevada stays quiet, remaining calm and controlling his breath.

The woman stops banging on his locker. "I know you're in there," she cackles. "I know you want to get out of there. I know you want to escape this place. I know how to do that. Just open this locker, and we can get out of here together. Just you. And me."

"... Nah. I'm good."

"YOU FUCKING PUSSY!" She pounds on his locker. "ROT IN THOSE LOCKERS THEN! ROT! ROT! ROT! AHAHAHAHAHA!"

BANG!

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

BANG! BANG!

A crumpling thump follows the last gunshot.

The Olympic Trio remains dead silent, listening to heavy footsteps occurring outside the protection of their locked cages. The darkness leaves only their imagination to visualize what sounds like someone dragging away a body across the smooth concrete floor. They haven't realized how hard they're breathing until the lights come back on.

Peeking through the vents, they see the shirtless man with the black gas mask has come back to free them as promised. He opens Nevada's locker first. He then frees Arizona who's eager to stretch her sore legs. And finally, he releases California who's slow to come out, still wiping her eyes.

The man points to a black curtained doorway on the right side of the room. "Follow the black arrows on the walls to the end of the maze. You'll encounter monsters and evil spirits along the way. They'll curse you. They'll mess with you. They'll do whatever it takes to prevent you from leaving this place. Whatever you do, don't fight them. Keep moving forward until you reach the exit."

Nevada nods his head. "Okay." He goes over to California and holds her trembling hand. "Ready to go?"

She blinks her eyes. "U-Uh, yeah!" She blushes.

Arizona smirks. "Do you want me to hold your hand, scaredy-cat?"

She huffs, "I'm good!" She lets go of Nevada's hand.

"You sure?"

"Yeah!" She turns her attention to the curtained doorway. "I'll lead the way!" She struts over to the next room with confidence.

Nevada shrugs. "Whatever you say." He and Arizona follow California out of the first room, venturing into the maze.

~ Hetalia! ~

The Gates of Hell is nothing less than disturbing. The Olympic Trio has been through this place before, yet they still scream at the shadow people that pop out of nowhere and the zombies that grab them from behind every corner. Every step they take is out of caution. Every haunting sight makes the hair on their necks stand straight up. Nowhere in this maze is there a safe place to breathe normally. The only salvation is the exit. So far, they're determined to make it through and survive this terrifying experience, no matter how unpleasant it seems.

After being groped by an ogre (not named Shrek), California follows behind her meat shield aka Nevada. Her heart leaps to the top of her chest at the sound of a telephone ringing somewhere in the red-violet room. "What the fuck?" she moans.

"You okay?" He looks back at her in concern.

"I-I'm fine!" She pushes him forward. "I already made it this far. There's no way I'm letting a ringing telephone hold me back."

"You better not faint on us like last time," Arizona grumbles, recalling embarrassing memories.

"I won't! I promise!"

Exiting the room, they arrive at a glowing red room with an altar and a tall upside-down cross hung against the back of a wall. They see the entrance to the next area is across the room, however, a small lady veiled in black hangs from a noose at the corner of the room by the doorway. No one is sure whether it's a mannequin or an actress preparing a jump scare.

California doesn't want to find out firsthand. "Can you go touch it?" She pushes Nevada to be the guinea pig.

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that even allowed?"

"I don't know."

"How about you do it?"

"Hell no!"

He sighs, "Fine then." He walks over to the veiled figure. He taps their shoulder before looking back at her with a smirk. "It's a dummy."

She breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank fucking God."

"Are you sure?" Arizona questions, somewhat skeptical.

"Yeah. See for yourself. I'll be in the next room." He walks through the next set of curtains.

"Wait for me!" California follows after him with a skip to her step.

Arizona follows behind them. Before leaving the room, she cautiously looks back at the dummy with narrowed eyes. "It better be a dummy..." she grumbles.

EEEEEEEEEKK!

She steps back from the curtains. "Cali? Gaah!" She screams at the bloody red eyes of the black-veiled widow grabbing her arm.

"WHERE IS HE?! TELL ME! TELL ME! TELL ME!" She shakes her violently.

"Ah! Ah! Aaaah! Let go of me!" She manages to tug her arm away and escape the room.

Before she can catch her breath, a nun in white blood-soaked clothes with a black upside-down cross tattooed to their forehead grabs onto her arm. "Where do you think you're going, little sinner?" she cackles.

A tall man with a demon goat head wearing bondage gear steps forward from the darkness, holding an electric prod in hand. "Time for your punishment." He waves the prod near her face.

She shakes her head. "No! No! Don't! Get it away from me!" She's prodded in the left thigh. "Ack! No! Stop! Stop! AAAaaaAAaaaahhh!"

~ PURGATORY! ~

"This way!" Nevada and California run down the dark blood-red hallway.

An ax-wielding corpse bride chases after them with a crazed smile. "COME BACK HERE, SWEETIE! YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD MARRY ME! AHAHAHAHA!"

"Fuck off, dumb hoe! Go marry someone as crazy and ugly as you!" California yells back at her.

"NOOOOO! HE'S MINE! HE'S MINE FOREVER!"

"Fuck you! He's-" She trips and falls onto the floor in typical horror cliché fashion. "Ow!"

"Cali!" Nevada hurries to help her up. "Are you okay?"

She nods. "I'm fine."

"Who fucking cares?!" The corpse bride pushes California to the ground.

"Hey!"

"Oh, darling!" The ghastly bride pushes herself against Nevada. "Oh, how I miss you!" She touches his chest. 

"Uh..." He watches her reach down to his private regions.

"You better not!" California protests.

"Shut up, stupid slut!" she growls before looking back at Nevada with a crooked smile on her stitched face. "After our vows, how about we go straight to our honeymoon? A room just for the two of us. Me on top. My hands grabbing...your neck!" She pushes him against the wall, her hands wrapped around his throat.

"Ah!" he hisses in slight pain.

She cackles in sadistic pleasure. "I can't wait to penetrate you with my ax! The thought of murder is making me so wet right now!" She grabs his wrist and pulls him down the hallway, taking him around the left corner.

"Nooo! Come back!" California gets up and hurries after them.

She quickly turns the left corner and stumbles onto a dead-end, unable to find the corpse bride or Nevada anywhere.

~ Nevada! ~

"You man-stealing skank!" California bangs on the thin wall. She knows he's behind there, yet she can't find anything around the wall that'll let her through. She considers breaking through the wall, readying her fist for a powerful California Smash.

But then the wall creaks open like a door.

She staggers backward, coming face to face with a fat, ugly clown with a barbaric yellow-toothed smile covered in blood-red makeup. He makes a loud guffaw at the cowering Californian. "Are you my bride?"

"Eeek!" She runs down the hallway in a panic.

He laughs, "Are you one of my trophies then?" He chases after her. "Tell me, whore! Are you going to be my bride or my trophy?!"

"Neither, fuck face!" She sees another set of curtains ahead of her and hurries to get to the next room. When she gets there, she finds herself in what looks like an antique bedroom full of creepy dolls, illuminated in an icky green light. She sees another set of black curtains and quickly goes over there.

"Where do you think you're going?" A familiar cackle stops California.

Her eyes grow wide at the corpse bride blocking her way. "Where is he?" she questions angrily.

She tilts her head. "Who?"

"Don't lie! Aaaah!" She's grabbed by a gigantic pair of hands from behind.

"Ah, darling!" The corpse bride looks up at the cruel clown with adoring eyes. "Can you be a doll and rape this bitch for me? Shut her dirty mouth real good."

"Certainly." He slaps California's ass, getting a squeal out of her.

"N-No! Nooooo!" She shakes her head.

"I can't wait to get a taste of you." He licks his lips, looking forward to a delicious feast.

She whimpers, "Nooo! NOOOOOOO!" She elbows him in the crotch, forcing him to let go in a painful grunt.

The corpse bride shrieks, "Hey! You can't do that!"

"Out of my way, ugly-ass hoe!" She punches the bride in the face and runs out of the room. "Nevada! Nevada! Where are you?"

"Ow, my nose..." The corpse bride holds her bloody nose.

"My dick..." The cruel clown holds his crotch in immense pain.

~ NEVADA! ~

The Prince of Hell sits patiently on a throne, awaiting his next fearful guest to meet his presence. He sees a young blonde woman run out from behind the curtains and smiles. "Hello, mortal— Gah!"

"Where the fuck is my friend?" California grabs him by the collar of his cape.

"U-Uh... L-Let go of me!"

"Answer me before I rip your horns off!"

"O-Okay! Okay! What does your friend look like?"

"Silver hair. Black clothes. Looks like your typical bad boy."

"Oh! I recently saw him."

"Where?!" She shakes him.

"C-Calm down, lady! He's already outside!" He points a shaky finger at the exit.

Back outside, Nevada and Arizona are talking to each other while waiting for California to come out of the haunted house.

"Are you alright?" he asks Arizona.

She rubs her sore arm. "Yeah. I pussied out before they let go of me." She pouts in disappointment. "You lied to me."

"I did?"

"Don't hide that smirk! That dummy was real!"

"What? I thought it was a dummy."

"Stop lying!" she whines while softly pounding his chest.

He laughs, "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. If it makes you feel better, I'll pay a third of the bill—"

"OH THANK FUCKING GOD! YOU'RE OKAY!" California embraces him from behind, bawling her eyes out.

Arizona scowls. "Freaking Jesus, Cali. Calm down. What happened?"

"I could say the same thing." The Olympic Trio turn their heads to see Cardinal Sin approaching them with the corpse bride and the cruel clown trudging behind him; all three of them look pissed. "Your friend has broken the waiver. I'm afraid she must pay the price."

Nevada looks at the corpse bride's bandaged nose before looking back at Cali in shock. "Dude..."

She nervously giggles, "I might've been too immersed in the experience. Hehe..."

"No shit!" The corpse bride bonks her on the head.

"Doh!

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me lemonade!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Chimichanga I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm Arizona!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Grand Canyon State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The saguaro once killed a man!
Arizona!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

Today is Thanksgiving...in Canada. That may sound strange to many Americans, but that's Canada, eh.

After a scrumptious feast, Saskatchewan plops down on a couch to relax and watch TV. "Ottawa. Do you know what time football comes on?"

The Canadian capital enters the room with Alberta. "Sorry, Saskatchewan. There's no football today."

"Eh? Are you sure?" She quickly flips through various channels.

"I think there's an American football game playing right now."

She moans, "It's not the same as Canadian football."

Alberta plops down in the seat beside her. "I can't believe it. Football is a Thanksgiving tradition. The CFL (Canadian Football League) dropped the ball not showing any games today," he grumbles.

"Is there any hockey on? I think the Senators are still playing," Ottawa suggests.

Saskatchewan turns the channel to the hockey game. Everyone in the living room watches the Ottawa Senators get shut out by the Minnesota Wild in the third period with the final score of 2–0.

"That's depressing, eh."

Ottawa chuckles sadly, "I'm going to get myself another slice of pumpkin pie. Anyone want another slice?"

They politely decline her offer. She leaves them alone, heading to the kitchen to sulk over another losing hockey season. She walks past Quebec who gives her a curious glance.

"Why does Ottawa look like she's going to eat her sadness away?" Quebec turns to Alberta and Saskatchewan for answers. She sees the score on TV and nods her head, quick to understand what happened. "Oh. That makes sense. Even I would cry seeing a horrible Canadian team lose to a horrible American team."

Saskatchewan sighs, "Why are there no good sports games on TV?"

"What aboot baseball?"

"What aboot it? The Toronto Blue Jays aren't playing in the postseason. Also, why do you care? I thought you gave up on baseball after the Expos left Montreal to become the Nationals of Washington D.C."

She crosses her arms over her chest, feigning indifference. "Well, I've heard some things aboot the Nats doing well so far. I figure I see them fail as usual." Memories of the Expos' failures have made her spiteful toward the Nationals. She usually gets a laugh out of the Nats' failures to succeed past the divisional series, however, there's gossip this year may be different. She hopes it isn't so.

Saskatchewan switches to the channel showcasing the National League Championship Series. "Oh! Well, you look at that. They're aboot to win the series."

Quebec's eyes grow wide at the score. "They're not going to blow it away?!"

They watch the top of the ninth inning pan out. With a potential final score of 7–4, the Washington Nationals are one out away from sweeping the St. Louis Cardinals to win their first league championship. The pitcher on the mound throws the baseball. The opposing batter swings and hits the ball into the air. The ball goes far but not far enough. The outfielder catches the easy flyout, getting the final out of the inning. Nats fans at Nationals Park go wild as the Nationals claim victory with a dominating performance. Finally, the Nationals have become champions of the National League!

The crowd claps their hands and sings along to their rally song, "Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo~ Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo~ Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo~ Baby shark!"

Alberta groans, "Darn it. They're going to get that song stuck in my head again." He promptly flees the room.

Saskatchewan subconsciously nods her head to the beat. "Looks like they're having fun."

"They sure are..." Quebec grumbles.

"Do you think they're going to win the World Series?"

She scoffs, "J'en doute (I doubt it)." She glares at the celebration on TV. "That should've been me going to the World Series..."

She cocks her head. "Did you say something?"

"Hmph! Ce n'est rien (It's nothing)." She flips her hair dramatically and walks out of the room, still insisting she's not jealous or anything like that.

☆☆☆☆☆

"To getting swept!" Minnesota holds up a shot of cinnamon whiskey.

Missouri raises her shot. "To getting swept!"

They clink their shots before downing their disappointment to an unsuccessful postseason.

Across the bar, California glares at the pair of Midwestern states, finding their sarcastic optimism mildly annoying. "Why are you two losers celebrating? You're supposed to act totally sad and embarrassed like a bunch of losers."

Minnesota raises a finger. "Actually, I'm still upset with the Yankees sweeping the Twins...again..." She quietly cries to herself.

Missouri scratches the back of her head. "To be honest, I had low expectations for the Cards. I knew they were going to get beaten by better teams, so it was somewhat of a miracle they won the divisional series against the Braves."

Georgia scoffs, "You call that a miracle."

"Sorry. For you, it was a massacre."

She shudders at the memory of those ten runs in the first inning. "Bartender. Can you be a good man and pour me a glass of wine with the highest alcohol content? I need to get rid of another dreadful loss."

"No problem. Just give me a moment." Nevada finishes making Florida her mojito before checking the wine cabinet.

Florida pats her neighbor on the back. "Cheer up, girl! Don't let that unlucky inning get to you."

"Ironic coming from a team who essentially threw away Game 5 in the first inning," she grumbles.

She laughs, her cheeks burning red. "Yeah. That's true. But hey. For a wild-card team with the cheapest salary, at least it was close and interesting. I can't say the same thing for Minnesota though."

"T-They did their best!"

"Bullshit!" California laughs in contempt. "Everyone had great expectations for you. The Bomba Squad versus the Bronx Bombers. World War III: Who'll drop the most bombs? We were expecting a slugfest, a home-run derby, a battle between two of the best offenses in the American League!" She drinks her wine. "Instead, what we got was something like Germany invading Poland." The girls gasp at her comment.

"Jesus Christ, Cali..." Georgia frowns in disapproval.

"Yeesh. That's cold." Florida sips her mojito.

"Ow..." Minnesota finds herself on the verge of tears again. She knows what California said is true, yet it still hurts to hear the truth out loud and in her face.

Wisconsin glowers. "Gosh. You don't have to be so mean, Cali."

"But it's the truth! The Twins always choke in the postseason. They can't even win one game against the Yankees. Pretty pathetic in my opinion.

"I can say the same thing for the Athletics and the Dodgers," Missouri brings up a valid point.

California chokes on her wine. "Cough! Cough! W-What? What are you talking about? I get the A's, but the Dodgers are doing extremely well!"

"They lost two back-to-back World Series in 2017 and 2018. And this year, they had 106 wins, yet they lost to a wild-card team in the divisional series." She smirks.

"S-Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Face it, Cali. The Dodgers will never be like the San Francisco Giants."

"Urk!" She slams her head on the bar counter, heaving out a ghastly groan. "I shouldn't even be here. I should've been the one to compete in the World Series, not hanging out with you losers."

"Yet, here you are, loser," says Nevada while pouring Georgia her glass of wine. He looks up and greets the next person to come to the bar. "What would you like to drink, sir?"

Wisconsin smiles and waves at the grumpy Yankee coming to the counter. "Welcome to the Loser's Lounge! Here comes the Bronx Bombers. Or, should I say...the Bronx Bummers?" she snorts.

New York ignores her lame joke. "Get me a Moscow Mule," he tells Nevada as he plops down in a seat. While waiting for his drink, he sees Minnesota look away from him, trying terribly to hide her well-pleased smile. "What? You got something to say?"

She shakes her head. "N-Nothing! I'm just glad to see the Yankees lose. Sorry. No offense."

When given his drink, the rim of the copper mug stops at his lips when he hears a faint whistle. He lowers his drink. "Whoever is whistling better cut it out." He tries to drink his cocktail again, but the whistling resumes. "I said cut it out!" He slams his mug on the counter, startling the states around him.

"Geez. Why are you so tense over a tiny whistle?" a Boston accent snickers at the morose Yankee.

New York stands up from his seat, recognizing the smug voice. "Where are you?" He looks around the room and finds his sports rival sitting in a booth at the corner of the bar. "What are you doing here, loser? The Red Sux didn't even make the postseason."

Massachusetts smirks. "Yeah, but at least I won a World Series last year—my second World Series win this decade." He cradles last year's Commissioner's Trophy underneath his arm.

His comment punches New York in a sore spot, making him burn in bitter resentment. "Who fucking cares. The Yankees still won 27 World Series titles."

He snickers, "Is that what you keep telling yourself after the Spankees got spanked by the Astros for the third time this decade?"

"Shut up unless you want to get beat up!"

"Go ahead. It doesn't change the fact the Spankees haven't been to a World Series this decade—ten years of failure."

"You're a Dead Sox!" New York reaches across the table to grab Massachusetts by the shirt collar.

"Whoa! Whoa! Calm down, York!" Florida and California pull him back from committing strangulation in the first degree.

"The Yankees still have 27 World Series titles! That's eighteen more than the Red Sux!" he screams as he's being dragged away.

Nevada shakes his head and sighs, "Now that both championship league series is over, it's time to start taking bets for the World Series."

~ Hetalia... ~

Nevada opens his sportsbook. "Okay, folks! It's time to bet the outcome of the World Series between the Houston Astros, the favorites, and the Washington Nationals, the underdogs. Under normal circumstances, I take bets for every game throughout the series. But for the seven states who fell short of making the World Series, I give you another chance to make yourself look like you won it all. Bet at least $1,000 and predict the winner in whatever number of games. The person who gets it right wins double the amount of their original bet."

Florida slaps a fat stack of cash on the bar counter. "The Astros in seven games!"

"Are you serious?" Georgia stares at the Floridian in disapproval.

"What? It's my money."

"That's not the issue! Betting requires reasonable thought and consideration."

"I am being reasonable! The Astros have won the most home games during the regular season. Based on observation and experience, I guarantee they'll win the last game at home."

"Are you certain?" Nevada asks while counting the stack.

"Yeah! I'm certain!"

"What about you, Georgia? Are you betting?"

"I politely decline." She drinks her wine. "Postseason baseball is an unpredictable and unforgiving sport. It's not worth risking my purse or my poor heart."

He goes down the bar counter. "How about you two? Are you ladies betting?"

"Sure! Why not!" Wisconsin offers $500.

"We don't normally do sporting bets to win, so we're doing this for fun." Minnesota smiles as she offers $500 at the counter.

He takes their money without issue. "That's fine. Just remember both of you must agree on a possible outcome."

"What do you think, Minnie?"

"Um... I think the Astros are going to win it. They have talent. Though, I don't know how many games."

"Want me to take a random guess?"

"Sure."

"Hm... I say five games. That's reasonable for you?"

"That's fine with me."

"Okay! The Stros in five games!" Wisconsin smiles.

Nevada jots that down in his sportsbook. "How about you two?" he asks New York and California.

"I don't feel like betting," she grumbles.

Her response takes him by surprise. "Really? I thought you like blowing stupid loads on silly bets."

She traces her finger on the rim of her wine glass with a pouty face. "Well, I don't like both teams playing this World Series." The thought of betting on either the team that beat the Dodgers in the 2017 World Series or the team that beat the Dodgers in the 2019 National Divisional Series makes her extremely bitter, enough to sully her love for gambling.

Massachusetts snickers, "You sound so petty."

"I still haven't forgiven you for last year." She glares at the trophy by his side. It should've been hers, in her opinion.

"What about you, York? I know you love making money more than you hate losing it," Nevada asks the Yank.

"That's true." He fetches his wallet out and takes out $1,000 in cash. "Astros in six."

"Are you betting on the Astros, too, Missouri?" Nevada asks while gathering the money.

She smirks. "What makes you think I'm betting on the Stros?"

He raises a brow. "Oh? Are you suggesting the underdogs have a chance to beat the favorites in the World Series?"

She chuckles, "As an underdog myself, I know there's always a way to win against the odds. If the Nats can beat a Goliath like the Dodgers, I'm confident they have a chance to take down the Stros. It'll be close, but the Nats will come out on top in Game 7."

"I don't know," New York grumbles. "You do realize Game 7 takes place on the Astros' home turf."

"And? The Nats have proven themselves multiple times they can win games despite being away from home. Right, Cali?"

She chokes on her wine again. "Cough! Don't remind me!"

She laughs, "Okay, then! The Nats in seven!" She slaps $2,000 on the counter.

Nevada gathers the money in a metal box before putting that box in a titanium safe behind the bar. He wishes California betted some ridiculous amount of money, but he's nevertheless satisfied with the amount he has been given. Plus, he can still earn a lot more money from sports bets during the ongoing span of the World Series. He won't say who'll win, but he knows this series is going to take seven games. How does he know this? He just knows. That simple.

~ Seven Games Later... ~

"Welp... There goes my free mattress..." Texas solemnly watches Washington D.C. and the Nationals celebrate on the field, disappointed a dominating baseball season comes up short of winning it all. Her disappointment turns into annoyance when Nats fans start singing and dancing to "Baby Shark". Unable to bear any more suffering to her eyes and ears, she quietly slinks off into the shadows of the dugout.

"Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo~ Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo~ Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo~ Baby shark!"

With the Nationals on stage, D.C. takes a moment to admire the joyful smiles across the stadium. "Thank you, Nationals fans, for your support over these years. Even when the team was struggling at the start of the 2019 season, we stuck together. We kept playing. We kept winning. We kept it together for this big moment." She forms a rare smile. "A drought of 95 years since the Washington Senators—the city's former baseball team—brought a world title to the nation's capital. At long last, a baseball team has broken the drought and given the baseball fans of the D.M.V. area this well-deserved moment." She lifts the trophy over her head. "And their name is—"

"THE MONTREAL EXPOS!" A derpy blue shark snatches the Commissioner's Trophy from D.C.'s hands.

"Hey! You can't steal that!"

"Oui je peux (Yes I can)! This is for 1994!" Quebec in the shark costume hops off the stage and runs off.

"Get back here!"

"Nos Amours gagnent (Our Loves win)! Nos Amours gagnent!" she yells at the top of her lungs before getting tackled by security guards.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me some wine!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Sushi roll I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm California!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Golden State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A beautiful world can be seen!
Taking selfies with my new iPhone!
California!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

Ding-dong!

British Columbia answered the door, surprised to see Washington at her doorstep. "Wash? What are you doing here this early in the morning?"

He lightly blushed. "Good morning. I thought we could hang out and share a nice breakfast if you're not in a hurry." He offered a Starbucks paper bag and two lattes in a cardboard tray.

"Oh, thank you! Um..." She checked the time on her watch. "I have to leave for work in fifteen minutes."

"That's plenty of time." He smiled. "May I come in?"

"U-Uh, sure! Come in." She allowed him inside her home.

"I got us some bagels and blueberry oatmeal. Is that alright with you?" He took the contents out of the bag and placed them atop the kitchen counter.

"Yeah." She pulled up a stool and sat herself down at the counter. "Is that all in the bag?"

"Yeah."

"Then, why do I smell pumpkin pie?" Her nose tickled from a spicy aroma in the air.

"It's the latte." He offered her the coffee drink. "Try it."

Staring at what was basically a cup of sugar and brown spices topped with copious amounts of whipped cream, she planned to take a sip and only a sip. One sip later, however, pushed her to drink more than a large mouthful. "Wow. It's really good," she mumbled, finishing the entire cup of cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, steamed milk, espresso, and sugar.

"You already finished it?!" Washington didn't know whether to be worried she drank the grande like it was a pint of beer or be enthusiastic she was head over heels for it. He went with the warm feeling in his chest and beamed, "I'm glad you like it."

"What's it called?"

"Well," he turned to the camera with the latte close to his smiling face, "it's called the Pumpkin Spice Latte which anyone can get at their local Starbucks! It's only available in the fall and winter, so get yourself a Pumpkin Spice Latte while it's on the menu!"

"Did you just use me for an advertisement?" She scowled at the camera she didn't notice until now.

☆☆☆☆☆

One day in October, Massachusetts felt like being a Masshole to people, so he searched Facebook to see what his friends were up and found his target.

New Hampshire

We just set the eighth world record with 28,952 jack-o'-lanterns! Awesome! 🎃🎃🎃

He snickered, "I'm about to end this man's whole career."

~ Hetalia! ~

"Look, Ham. I made a cat." Vermont raised a cat-faced pumpkin in front of his face.

 New Hampshire smiled. "That's great. You improved from last year."

"Thanks." He took a picture of his handiwork with a camera. "Excuse me. I'm going to post this on Facebook."

"Can't that wait? We still have more pumpkins to carve."

"It'll only take a few minutes." He went over to the computer to upload the picture. When he logged into his Facebook account, however, he saw one of his friends made a recent post. "Oh no..." He frowned.

"Are you done uploading the photo?" New Hampshire went over to check how he was doing.

"U-Uh!" He frantically covered the computer screen with his back. He could've closed the window or do anything else, but he wasn't exactly computer savvy; he didn't know how to Control-Alt-Delete.

He stared at him weirdly. "Um, what are you hiding?"

"U-Uh..." Sweating nervously, he struggled to come up with an excuse and ended up blurting, "P-P-Porn!" He awkwardly smiled.

He scowled. "You're a terrible liar." He gently shoved him away.

"W-Wait!" He tried to stop him, but it was too late.

New Hampshire saw the Facebook post and gasped, "No way... That didn't just happen..."

Massachusetts

Boston just set the world record with 30,128 jack-o'-lanterns! Who's the Pumpkin King now? 🎃👑 Boston > Keene

"Uh... Are you alright?" Vermont whispered, wary of the dead cold aura surrounding his neighbor.

"This means war," he muttered with clenched teeth, walking back to the table to care more pumpkins, this time with more vigor and a purpose.

~ P-P-Pumpkins! ~

"Are you seriously going to brag to his face?" Maine scowled, watching Massachusetts polish the certificate that certified the Boston record of 30,128 jack-o'lanterns as they made their way to New Hampshire's house.

"He broke the world record several times. Surely he can handle a small loss to his pride," he hooted. "Besides, you should be proud of your big brother. I worked so hard carving thousands of pumpkins."

"You only did it to mess with New Hampshire."

"Even if that was true, I still had to carve a lot of pumpkins. Thankfully, New Jersey was delighted to help me clean up the mess."

"That explains why New York's apartment got covered in pumpkin guts..."

"Come on, Maine. Let's not keep Vermont and New Hampshire waiting."

Arriving in town, the brother and sister were amazed to witness thousands of jack-o'-lanterns on display, glowing bright orange in the dark black night. At every turn of their eye, there was always a jack-o'-lantern in view. Maine took the time to take pictures of the glowing pumpkins she thought were the most impressive. Massachusetts, he didn't care for the festival, but he was happy to see his sister enjoy herself. Truthfully, the modest number of pumpkins in town could never compare to the number of jack-o'-lanterns he made. What would really make his night was the sight of New Hampshire's anguished face when he sees the plaque in his hands. That would be most splendid!

"Hey, Vermont! How are you?" Maine hopped up to her friend who was carrying a cat-faced jack-o'-lantern in his hands.

"I'm doing good." He looked at her brother and smiled pleasingly. "How have you been? Enjoying the festival so far?"

"It's okay." Massachusetts looked around town. "Do you know where New Hampshire is?"

"Oh, yeah. I'll guide you to him." They went to the town square.

The looks on Maine and Massachusetts' faces when they saw New Hampshire sitting loftily on a massive throne made of pumpkins positioned in front of a towering wall of jack-o'-lanterns was priceless.

New Hampshire smirked. "30,581 jack-o'-lanterns. Who's the Pumpkin King now?"

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me some beer!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Boiled dinner I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm New Hampshire!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Granite State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The finches are lilac purple!
I'm New Hampshire!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in the thriving chiefdom of Tsenacommacah (aka the Powhatan Confederacy). She was born moments before her mother's death. Her father, Wahunsenacawh (aka Chief Powhatan), swore to care for her, vowing to watch the beloved child grow up into a beautiful woman like her mother. Though the girl was given many names to protect her identity from those who wish to harm her and the tribe, her father would always call her...Pocahontas—the playful one.

Despite her privileged status as the daughter of a chieftain, Pocahontas still had to learn how to be an adult woman. She was taught to do women's work. She learned how to farm. She learned how to build houses. She learned how to prepare and cook food. Every time she went out into the forest, she would collect water, gather firewood, and forage for edible plants. When she returned to the village, she would learn to craft all sorts of items such as baskets, clothes, mats, mortars, platters, pots, rope, and wooden spoons. She would also learn to cut hair for both women and men. She was expected to learn all these things by the time she reached the age of womanhood. By then, she was also expected to marry and inherit the duties of motherhood.

That might sound like a lot of responsibilities for a little girl to have. However, Pocahontas didn't mind as long as she had time to play; she was still a kid after all. Though she grew up without a mother, she had her father, as well as many relatives, take good care of her. She loved her father. She loved her tribe. For them, she was willing to learn and work hard every day.

During one frosty winter, the eleven-year-old Pocahontas traveled with a group of Powhatan envoys to deliver bags of corn, squash, and beans to a small village called Jamestown as a gesture of peace. It was a huge responsibility. She didn't know what to expect from her first visit to the peninsula where the pale-faced people gathered. According to the envoys who went inside the tall wooden walls before their trip, they should expect to see square huts made strictly out of timber.

But when they arrived in Jamestown, they only found what was left of it. There were only three huts left standing amongst the charred ruins. Charcoal-black smoke remained hours after the fire. Pocahontas could still feel the heat from the burnt wood, taking in the smoke as it warmed her lungs. It tickled her throat and made her cough a little. She moved away from the wreckage and returned to the group of envoys who were greeting a group of pale-faced men.

"John Smith and his tribe of men, we come in peace," said Ahan, one of the male envoys as well as one of the few Powhatan who knew how to speak to the pale-faced people. "As a tribute to our alliance, our chief has sent you all some food to assist in your village's survival during this winter. May you accept and make good use of this gift." He and the envoys offered bags of food to the colonists.

While overseeing the handover of gifts, Pocahontas recognized one of the pale-faced people. He wore a different set of strange-looking clothes since the last time she saw him. Otherwise, he was the same man. She knew it was him because of the grizzly hair on his face. She didn't think a man could grow that much hair along his jaw until he arrived at the Powhatan capital many days ago. She asked her father if she could braid it for fun, but he wouldn't let her bother the guest. She was quite disappointed. But this time, without her father around, maybe she could ask the hairy-chinned man to let her practice her braiding.

She didn't realize she was staring until the man locked eyes with her and smiled, "Hello, little one. I think I've seen you before, but we never properly introduce ourselves."

Unable to understand him, Pocahontas looked to Ahanu for help. "It's okay. Just tell him your name," he suggested.

She gulped. It was strange not having her father by her side to introduce her to guests. Still, she reminded herself of this responsibility given to her by her father aka the chief. He could've given this role to another person, but he chose her instead. He took a risk to let her venture to an unpredictable settlement, knowing he could be putting her in danger. And she agreed to do it. She wanted to prove she was no longer a little girl who needed a hand to hold. Though slightly intimidated to speak before a tall strange-looking man, she remembered this man was someone her father trusted. Surely, she could trust him, too, and speak to him as though they were equals.

She stepped forward to speak, putting on a brave face. "My name is Amonute. But you may call me Pocahontas," she spoke clearly for Ahanu to translate what she said.

The hairy-chinned man crouched down—kneeling on a single knee—to meet her gaze. "My name is John Smith," he said as Ahanu translated his words for her to understand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Pocahontas." He offered his hand to her.

She didn't know what to do next until Ahanu whispered to give him her hand. She offered her right hand. He shook it three times and smiled. Still unsure how to respond, she chose to copy him. She shook his hand three times and made the biggest smile she could muster. For some reason, that made him laugh. And that made her laugh. She didn't know why she was laughing. But that didn't matter. She was happy to see everyone get along wonderfully.

☆☆☆☆☆

While the female envoys taught the English settlers how to make use of their corn, beans, and squash, Pocahontas was given time to interact with the villagers of Jamestown. Unfortunately, all of them were busy rebuilding their huts. She didn't see any pale-faced children around to play with, nor were there pale-faced women she could learn from. With nothing better to do, she and a pair of male envoys went out to the nearby snowy forest, hoping to find any resources she could bring to Jamestown or Werowocomoco—the Powhatan capital where she lived. She allowed the hunters to hunt closeby while she searched for acorns and wintergreens.

"Oh? Is that a pichamin tree?" She marched up to a gray tree whose naked branches were covered in snow and round orange fruit; the fruit was ripe for picking.

"Ah-choo!"

She stopped herself from plucking another pichamin. She thought the sneeze came from one of the hunters, but they were nowhere in sight. At first, she was worried a warrior from a rival tribe might be watching her, ready to kidnap her when she let down her guard. Judging by the high-pitched sound of that sneeze, however, she doubted it belonged to an adult man. It sounded like the kind of sneeze she would make. It was hard to believe a kid was out here on their own. Still, her stubborn eyes didn't want to believe no one was watching her.

"You don't have to hide from me." She stood patiently with her hands grasped behind her back. She spotted a winterberry shrub shake some snow off its branches following another intense sneeze. Without thinking twice, she pounced on top of that bush and yelled, "Why are you hiding?!"

"A-Aah!" A little brown-haired girl fell back in fright.

Much to Pocahontas's surprise, the child was fair-skinned like the pale-faced people at Jamestown. That was strange because John Smith told her only men lived in their village. He had no reason to lie, yet here was this small child, all alone in the winter woods on the verge of tears, shivering in a simple white garb with a peculiar red necklace around her neck. It was clear the child didn't pose a threat. If anything, the child looked like she was being threatened, crawling away from her yet too frightened to get up on their shaky legs and flee. She felt somewhat guilty scaring her like that.

"Are you lost?" she asked the doe-eyed girl.

The little girl froze, too scared to speak.

She softened her eyes, speaking to her in a soothing voice, "It's okay. I won't hurt you." She crouched down and pointed to herself. "My name is Pocahontas. Po-ca-hon-tas."

"Poca..." the little girl croaked and pursed her lips.

"That's right. Poca-hon-tas."

"Poca...hon-tas... Pocahontas."

She nodded in approval. "Yes! My name is Pocahontas. What's your name?"

"Um... Virginia."

She was surprised to hear the light-skinned child answer her question. "You understand me?"

Virginia shyly nodded.

"That's good." She softly smiled. "So, Virginia. What are you doing here by yourself?"

Her gray eyes stared down at the snow, appearing reluctant to answer.

However, there was no question where she came from. "You come from Jamestown, yes? I can take you back home—"

"N-No!" Virginia raised her voice, surprising Pocahontas. "I can't go back."

"Why? It's your home, yes?"

"I... I just can't..." She hugged her knees, becoming quiet again.

"... It's okay. You're not in trouble." She moved closer to her, sitting alongside her. "Why don't you want to go home?"

"I'm..."

"It's okay. You can tell me."

"I'm... I'm..." Her eyes teared up. "I'm cursed..."

"Cursed?"

She hid her whimpering face in her bundled knees. "Bad things keep happening to people ever since I was born. I watched them grow hungry and sleep. I watched them get sick and sleep. I watched them go to sleep a-and..." She began to cry uncontrollably.

Pocahontas hugged the little girl, letting her shed her tears on her deerskin mantle. "There, there. It's okay. Their...deaths aren't your fault. You're not cursed," she whispered with a heavy heart.

"B-But the fire..."

"It's not your fault. You're not cursed," she repeated those words until her crying ceased. "Your family must be worried about you. They're probably looking for you."

"Family..."

"You have a father, right?"

She shook her head.

"What about a brother?"

She shook her head.

"Do you have relatives? Any uncles? Grandparents? Any women related to you? Like, an aunt, a sister, a mother?" Pocahontas never thought it was possible to shed tears for a stranger. She thought she could only pity them or show them sympathy during their grief. Though she barely knew Virginia, it took a great amount of strength not to shed a single tear.

It was the saddest story she ever heard. One word followed by shameful silence.

'How cruel...' she thought pitifully. A little girl without a family, living in a dying village, forced to witness all kinds of human suffering. No wonder she didn't want to go back to Jamestown. Still, the winter wilderness was not a suitable place for a girl to live alone. And judging by Virginia's runny nose and warm forehead, she must be sick. She needed a warm place to recover. She needed to be fed and given medicine.

She fetched out the pichamin she plucked earlier and a sharp-edged stone out of her deerskin pouch. "You must be hungry, huh?" After cutting off the skin, she offered the fruit to her.

"But... Isn't it bitter?"

"Only when they're not ripe." She took a small bite out of the persimmon, showing her how delightfully tasty the pichamin was with an exaggerated hum. "It surely tastes much better than acorns," she giggled.

Virginia slowly took the fruit off her hands. "Thank you," she mumbled before taking a reluctant bite. Her gray eyes sparkled at the satisfying sweetness brought to her mouth by the American persimmon. She proceeded to gobble the rest of the fruit until there were sticky juices left on her palms.

Seeing Virginia eat happily relieved some of Pocahontas's heartache. "I know you've been through a lot, but you need to go home. You need to go back to Jamestown."

"But..." She pouted.

"It's okay." She patted the top of her head and smiled. "Are you still hungry? I can get you more pichamins if you want."

She nodded excitedly. "Pichamins!"

She laughed, "Come with me. I'll show you which ones to pick."

~ Pichamins! ~

"Oooh!" Virginia watched Pocahontas do a cartwheel in wonderment. "Amazing! How are you not cold?"

She stood back up and gave her a weird look. "What do you mean?"

"All you have on is a thin robe. You're not even wearing underwear." She stared at the deerskin mantle Pocahontas was wearing.

"Underwear? What's that?"

"You don't know what underwear is?!" She gasped. "So, does that mean you never wore underwear in your life?"

"Well, yeah. I'm usually naked, so this deerskin mantle is temporary until spring—"

"Naked?!"

"W-Why are you turning red? Is your fever getting worse?" She pressed her hand to Virginia's forehead.

"I'm fine. I'm just surprised you're okay with people seeing your naughty bits."

"D-Don't say that!" She playfully pinched her cheeks.

"Ow, ow, ow! Stop! You're hurting me!"

She smirked. "Okay. I'll stop. I won't hurt you... But I'll tickle you!" She attacked her sides and belly.

"Noooo! Stop! Stop! Stop!" Virginia laughed uncontrollably, unable to get away from the wiggling fingers. She writhed in the snow until Pocahontas stopped the assault. She thought she was sparing her from any more tears until she saw a pair of reddish feet in front of her. She rolled back on her hands and feet, looking up at a pair of tattooed warriors who didn't look at all friendly. She quickly hid behind Pocahontas for protection.

"I see you foraged yourself some pichamins and a friend," said Ahanu as he stared at the pale-faced girl hiding behind the Powhatan girl.

Pocahontas rubbed the top of Virginia's head as reassurance before turning to the male envoy. "No luck on your hunt?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. It's like they said. No animals roam around this peninsula. It's no wonder the pale-faced people are starving."

"At least there's plenty to forage around here." She offered him a pichamin from her bag.

He politely refused her offer. "It's going to get dark pretty soon. We should leave the forest and return to our women at Jamestown, so we can go home."

"I understand." Pocahontas looked back to Virginia who was gripping her hand tightly. "Do you want to watch me do another cartwheel?" She smiled.

She blinked her eyes. "U-Uh, sure!" She nodded.

~ Hetalia! ~

The sun was setting when Pocahontas made her last cartwheel out of the forest. The world was spinning before her eyes. Her hands were cold and numb from touching the snow constantly. She could hardly breathe or stand up straight. She glanced over her shoulder to see how Virginia was doing with her cartwheel.

Once more, Virginia attempted to make a cartwheel. She ran and proceeded to tilt her body to the side, letting her hands touch the snowy ground while getting her legs up in the air. But halfway from making the perfect cartwheel, she lost her balance, and she ended up on her back again. She laid on the ground and groaned as Pocahontas laughed at her final unsuccessful attempt.

"Don't worry. It takes a lot of practice before it becomes natural." She helped Virginia get back on her feet.

She whined, "I can't feel my legs..."

"It's okay. I'll carry you the rest of the way." She gave her a piggyback ride.

"I can carry her, Amonute," Ahanu offered.

"It's fine." She smiled. "Also, thank you for being patient with me. I know we would've gotten to Jamestown sooner if I wasn't messing around."

He sighed, "I can imagine the chief berating us for coming back to the village so late."

She giggled, "It's okay. I'll explain to the chief, so he doesn't scold us too harshly."

They returned to Jamestown where the colonists and the female envoys were waiting by the entrance of the village. 

"Thank goodness you're okay!" John Smith gave Virginia a big hug. "She went missing the night of the fire. I wasn't sure if she ran away, or whether she was kidnapped," he explained to them.

"She's quite sick from being outside in the cold," Pocahontas told him as Ahanu translated her words. "Make sure she stays warm and well-hydrated with fresh water. Feed her warm meals, so she can gather the strength to fight her illness. Hopefully, those things can suppress her illness from getting worse."

He nodded. "Okay. Got it. Again, thank you for finding her."

"It's no problem. Just make sure to take care of her."

"Are you leaving me?" Virginia asked with saddened eyes.

Pocahontas softly smiled. "Don't worry. I'll come back to visit you. When I do, I'll bring some pichamin pudding for you to try as well as some medicine to make you feel—"

Virginia went over to hug her tightly. "I want you to stay!" she whimpered. "Can't you stay here with me?"

She calmly stroked her hair. "I can't."

"Why not?" she sniffled. "I want to play with you some more. I want to learn how to do cartwheels like you."

"Virginia," she crouched down and looked her in the eye, "I also want to play with you, too. But it's getting late. My family is waiting for me to come home."

"Your family?"

"Yeah. They're working hard to support our tribe during the winter. I have to help them, or people are going to starve and get sick. And I don't want to worry my family."

"Oh... I understand..."

She sighed, "I know you've been through a lot, and I know this isn't easy for you."

She wiped her eyes. "I'm scared I'll never see you again."

"Don't cry. I'll be sure to come back once I have the time to do so."

She shook her head. "That's not it. I mean... I'm scared something bad might happen to you. And if that happened, I... I just don't want to see any more people leave me."

She gave her a big hug. "I'm not going to end up like those people," she said while looking straight into her eyes. "I'll come back with plenty of food and medicine. When I do visit, we can play some more. Okay?"

"You promise?"

She smiled. "I promise."

Virginia hugged her one more time before returning to John Smith. She watched Pocahontas and her envoys depart to their native village, still repeating the promise in her head.

"I didn't know you speak their language," he interrupted her thoughts.

She nodded. "She can come back, right?"

He shrugged. "I don't have a problem with her. As long as her people bring food to the colony, we should be able to survive the winter." He picked Virginia up in his arms and carried her inside the fort. The tall wooden gates closed behind them as the sun sank below the horizon.

"... You plan to give more food to the pale-faced people?" Ahanu spoke up as he led Pocahontas and the envoys back to the Powhatan capital.

She ceased her merry whistling. "Yeah. I'll ask the chief, of course, if that's what you're wondering."

The shadows of the evening hid his disapproval. "Remember, Amonute. The pale-faced people are our allies today, but they can easily become our enemies for any reason that benefits their survival."

"What are you saying?"

He stopped walking. "... Treat them like any tribe. Stay close to them, but don't let them get close to you."

She sighed, "You worry too much." She continued ahead of him. "Speaking of worry, the chief must be wondering why we hadn't returned to the village yet. We should hurry before he sends a scouting party after us."

Ahanu grimaced as he watched the naive girl lead the envoys back home. He could only hope his worries never come to fruition. If they did, he could only pray for anything but the worst outcome, especially for the daughter of the chieftain.

~ To be continued... ~

Hello, father, want some sweet tea?
Hello, mother, hello, mother!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Smithfield ham I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
My name's Virginia!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Old Dominion!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A beautiful world can be seen!
Pure like the flowering dogwood!
I'm Virginia!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

November 1912—Cuero, Texas

Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble!

"Whoa! Look at all those turkeys!" Minnesota and her fellow states awed at the huge spectacle surrounding the rural town's first turkey trot.

Typically, a turkey trot referred to a marathon foot-race among humans. But for Cuero—a tiny town that loved to take pride in their turkey industry—they took the turkey trot to the next level.

In an era without trucks to carry flocks of turkeys to market, Cuero ranchers continued the iconic turkey drive, herding as many as 10,000 turkeys on foot for several days across fields, roads, and rivers until they reached their final destination down the streets of the town. Quite often, their annual drives attracted visitors who came to town simply to watch thousands of turkeys make the tedious trip to the railroad line, a sight that was common across the United States until industrialization killed the tradition. It was baffling to see that much interest around these turkey drives, yet the business leaders of Cuero knew they could capitalize on the excitement for attention and profit.

Thus, Cuero held its first turkey trot—a turkey festival attended by 30,000 tourists who were treated to agriculture shows, big band dances, a carnival, a football game, parade floats with turkey feathers, the crowning of Turkey Trot royalty, and the main attraction—18,000 colorful turkeys trotting down Main Street.

Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble! Gobble!

"Hey. Where did you get that?" North Carolina pointed at the giant turkey leg Indiana was chewing on.

"This? I got it at one of the concession stands at the carnival. Want me to show you?"

"Absolutely!"

"Anyone else wanna join us?"

"I'm coming!" Missouri raised her hand.

"I wish I could join, but Texas told me to meet her on stage by noon," Minnesota said apologetically.

"Don't worry. Arkansas can take you there while I buy you a turkey leg," said Indiana.

"What?" Arkansas cocked his head at her. "Why me?"

"We'll meet back with you later! Have fun!" Missouri and the others walked off into the crowd.

"Wait! Y'all didn't answer my question!"

"Come on, Arkansas! The ceremony is about to start, and we can't be late." Minnesota walked in the other direction.

"But I wanted to get myself a turkey leg..." he groaned as he reluctantly followed after her.

At the town plaza, a massive crowd gathered around a wooden platform decorated in turkey feathers. They waited in anticipation of the crowning of Turkey Trot royalty. Texas stood on stage as a special guest, given the honorary role to make the announcement.

"Howdy, y'all! I hope everyone is having fun attending the Turkey Trot!" She scanned the faces of the cheering crowd with an uneasy smile. 'Darn it. Did she not come after all?'

"I-I'm here, Tex!" Minnesota panted as she pushed her way to the front of the crowd. "I'm not late, am I?"

She beamed. "Nope! You're right on time!" She grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her up onto the stage.

"T-Tex! What are you doing? T-They're looking at us!" Her face burned from all the attention surrounding her.

Texas grabbed the microphone, raising her voice for everyone to hear loud and clear, "Ladies and gentlemen! I hereby declare Minnie the Turkey Queen of Turkey Trot royalty!"

Minnesota stuttered, "Q-Queen! Me?" 

"Yes, milady!" She placed the crown on top of her head.

"Oh! Oh, thank you! Thank you, everyone!" She waved at the applauding crowd, putting on a nice smile for the cameras.

While admiring the Turkey Queen, Texas noticed Arkansas trudge to the stage after squeezing his way through the dense crowd. "Howdy, partner! Nice to see ya at the festival."

"Did..." he panted, "Did I miss anything important?"

"Yeah. I just crowned Minnie the Turkey Queen of Turkey Trot royalty."

"Really? How about a Turkey King? Did you crown one yet?"

"Not yet, but I'm about to." She fetched out the other crown.

"Oh. Is it me—"

"Nope! That's me!" She placed the crown on her head and stood next to the Turkey Queen. "Give it up, y'all, for the Turkey King and the Turkey Queen of Turkey Trot royalty!" The crowd cheered.

"What?!" He gaped at her. "That doesn't make sense! You don't even produce that many turkeys compared to me!"

☆☆☆☆☆

Many years after Cuero's first turkey festival, many cities and towns across the United States began to host turkey festivals of their own, all of which were usually a success. Most festivals were centered on the turkey trot. But for one small town in Arkansas, their turkey festival's main attraction was something else, something much different from a typical parade or a competitive race.

"Mama! Mama! Look! Turkey!" A little girl pointed up at the bright blue sky.

The people gathered outside the county courthouse looked up at the roaring engine of a low-flying plane. They awed and gasped at the wild turkey that was thrown out of the plane, watching the brown-speckled bird spiral down from the air like a fallen angel. No one attempted to save the turkey. Even with the grisly thought in mind, they didn't look away. They wanted to see what would happen. They watched the turkey frantically flap its wings, unable to right its hefty body by the time it hit the highest branch of an oak tree, causing some women in the crowd to shriek. The turkey tumbled and crashed onto another branch. And then it fell one last time, landing on the grassy lawn in a solid thump.

Everyone assumed the motionless turkey had gone to turkey heaven until one girl was brave enough to pick the turkey up in her arm despite her mama's yelling. "Look, Mama!" She showed the turkey off to her mama and the crowd.

Somehow, the turkey was breathing after that 500-foot fall. Though the turkey didn't want to be anywhere near a human after its near-death experience, it was still fazed by the harsh landing to put up a struggle, nor could they run away on a single leg. The best it could do was let out a loud yelp, probably telling the humans, "What the cluck was that?!" The humans applauded the turkey's survival, much to the turkey's confusion.

"Mama, I think Cheese Ball broke his leg," said the little girl to her mama.

"Don't worry, sweet pea. When we get home, I'll be sure to fix his leg."

"Yay!" The little girl cuddled the turkey in her arms. "When we get home, Cheese Ball, I'm gonna give you and the other turkeys on the farm lots of cranberries!"

'They're going to kill me!' The turkey kept gobbling at the humans until it passed out from exhaustion.

From the roof of the county courthouse, Arkansas watched the crowd awe at the plane flying over them again. "Is that normal?" He looked back at one of the organizers for answers.

They shrugged. "If not, it is now."

~ Hetalia? ~

It was King Turkey Day in Worthington, Minnesota. Visitors and residents attending the festival got to eat free pancakes, watch a parade, and witness the main attraction: The Great Gobbler Gallop.

"Texas! I challenge you to a race for the Turkey Capital of the World!" Minnesota pointed a finger at the visiting opponent.

"Bring it on!" Texas shouted passionately. "I send out, Ruby Begonia!" She tossed Cuero's turkey onto the street.

"Go, Paycheck! Bring in the dough!" Minnesota released Worthington's turkey onto the road.

With both turkeys aligned at the starting line, the race was on to see which town was the Turkey Capital of the World. Would it be Worthington, Minnesota? Or, would it be Cuero, Texas? The North Star State versus the Lone Star State. Who would win? Let the Great Gobbler Gallop begin!

"Ruby Begonia, use Scary Face!" Texas yelled. The Lone Star turkey gave Paycheck a mean-looking glare, intimidating the Minnesotan turkey before taking off down the street.

"Come on, Paycheck! Don't turn cold turkey on me!" Minnesota softly prodded her turkey with a plastic paddle out of its fright. Paycheck trotted down the road, determined not to let a Southern bird win on its home turf.

Texas nervously glanced at her competition steadily catching up to them. She looked back at her turkey who appeared to be slowing down. "Let's go, Ruby! Use Flame Charge!" she ordered her turkey to kick up some heat in its stride.

However, Minnesota wasn't going to let her opponent charge too far ahead of her. "See that, Paycheck! Use Copycat!" Her turkey used the same move as her opponent, kicking up some heat in its stride as well.

"Darn it! They're on to us! Use Flame Charge again!"

"Paycheck! Use agility!" Minnesota and her turkey sprinted ahead of the Southerners.

"Gah! We lost the lead!" Texas exclaimed.

"We're almost there!" She panted, staring straight at the finish line ahead of them. "You can do it, Paycheck! I believe in you!" Her encouraging words gave her turkey a slight boost in speed.

The Texan gritted her teeth. "Come on, Ruby Begonia! You got this! Give it all you got!" She raised her turkey's fiery spirit, getting it to push beyond its limits.

Minnesota yelled, "One last push, Paycheck! Use Wild Charge—"

"ME FIRST!"

Ruby Begonia zapped by Paycheck in a flash, crossing the finish line first by the tip of its shiny yellow beak. The crowd cheered as both participants crossed the finish line. Minnesota collapsed on her knees, giving Paycheck a big hug for its excellent effort. As for Texas, she picked Ruby Begonia up in her arms, raising her prized turkey in the air, feeling victorious.

"We did it! We won!" Texas laughed.

"Turk! Turk!" Ruby Begonia happily clucked with a beating heart.

Minnesota walked up to the Texan, carrying an exhausted Paycheck in her arms. "Congratulations on the win." She shook hands with her friend.

"Thanks! You and Paycheck were pretty good. You did a great job raising her." She tipped her cowboy hat as a sign of respect.

"Thanks!" She smiled. "Next time, I'll work hard to win the next race."

"Awesome! I look forward to that in the future."

~ Gobble! Gobble! ~

Texas was about to join Minnesota for some free pancakes when Arkansas ran up to her with a pointed finger at her head. "Tex! I challenge you for the title of Turkey King!"

"Um, can this wait after we eat pancakes?" Minnesota politely asked.

"It's okay, Minnie. I'll settle this quickly." Texas tossed her turkey onto the road. "Let's go, Ruby Begonia! Time to show Arkansas who's king!"

"Gobble! Gobble!" Ruby Begonia stuck its chest out, ready to battle.

Arkansas smirked as he raised his right palm above his head. "Turkansas! Use Sky Drop!"

She made a weird face. "Sky Drop?"

They looked up at the sky and saw a turkey get thrown out of a passing low-flying plane. What Arkansas expected to see didn't happen exactly as he imagined. Instead of landing in a cool pose, his turkey ended up becoming a pancake on a concrete slab. It wasn't pretty.

"Oh no!" Minnesota covered her mouth and turned away.

"Putt! Putt! Urk..." Ruby Begonia fainted from the gruesome sight.

"What in tarnation was that?!" Texas scolded her fellow Southerner, picking up her traumatized turkey.

"I-I don't know!" Arkansas was just as shocked as her. "I thought turkeys can fly!"

"Did it look like that turkey was flying? Jesus Christ..." She grimaced at the turkey pancake on the ground, feeling disgusted.

"Well, shit." He scratched the back of his neck. "I guess I gotta find myself another turkey that can actually fly—"

"No, you're not!"

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, get me Grapette!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Possum pie I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hello, I'm Arkansas!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Natural State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Playing the fiddle like a hillbilly!
I'm Arkansas!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

Many years ago...

In the prowl of night, Indianya stalks around the campus of Purrdue University in search of pesky mice. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots clumps of mousy fur scurrying into the dark green bushes. She silently sneaks up on the rodents, hoping to catch them by surprise.

"Excuse me." A soft mew startles Indianya, getting her to jump three feet in the air with bristling fur from neck to tail.

Just as she's about to give the cat an earful, she turns around and becomes more startled by the creature's mutated appearance. She darts into the nearby bushes for safety, hissing "Who are you? What are you?"

"Oops! Did I scare you, fellow Hissier?" The strange cat grins goofily with its pink tongue flopping out. "That's okay. I get that reaction all the time from other cats. But don't worry. I may be a magical space cat, but I won't bite. Or actually, I can't bite since I don't have any teeth. Heehee. Anyway, my name's Lil Bub by the way. What's yours?" She hops toward the bushes like a happy-go-lucky bunny.

Indianya stays in her hiding spot, still wary of the strange cat. So far, the fellow brown tabby doesn't appear to be a threat. Lil Bub is unusually short like a kitten compared to normal cats, yet her voice sounds like an adult cat. Although, she has a strange speech pattern, probably due to a lack of teeth, a disproportionately shorter lower jaw, and a hanging tongue. She reminds her of Katsas cat, a munchkin whose breed is known for having long bodies and stubby legs. Yet, there's something different about Lil Bub that doesn't look normal. No doubt, she's a special-looking cat who appears healthy all-around despite their distorted appearance. That must mean this cat has an owner taking good care of her. That's good to know.

She slowly steps out of the bushes to introduce herself. "My name's Indianya. What are you doing here this late at night?"

Lil Bub purrs, "I can say the same thing. But since you asked nicely, I'll tell you. My dude is looking for help."

"Dude?"

"My human. My owner, meow. He's really worried about me. He brought me here to see a veterinarian. He hopes they have a cure that'll help me move a lot better." She takes another hop to get closer to Indianya. "Do you live here?"

"No. My owner is helping humans fix some roaring beasts. I tagged along, so I could see some felines who work here as well as hunt for pesky mice."

"Ooh! Speaking of those felines, do any of them know about space?"

"Space?"

"You know! Outer space! The place where stars shine!" She stares up at the twinkling night sky above them. "My dude tells me I'm a magical space cat who came to Earth to give lots of love and positivity to Earth brothers and sisters."

"You're certainly magical alright..."

"So, do you know where I can learn more about space? I heard there's a place that teaches humans and possibly some cats how to walk on the moon." Lil Bub looks at her with large jade green eyes.

"Uh, sure. It's over there." She uses her paw to point at one of the science buildings.

"Ooh! Thanks! Can you take me there?"

"Take you there?"

"Yeah!" She nods her small head. "I may have difficulty getting over there with short legs and aching bones, so your help will make my life so much better."

"Well, I'm kinda busy..." She glances back at the bush, unable to find the mouse she had been stalking. She sighs, "I guess I can take you there."

"Yay!" Lil Bub happily hops around Indianya. "Let's pretend we're Neil Pawstrong getting ready to go to space!"

"Do I have to?"

"Yep! Just you and me, space sister. We're going to have lots of fun learning about stars, planets, moons, and so many magical things about the universe. It's going to be awesome!" She hops in the direction of the building. "Come on, slowpoke! You comin' or what?"

She groans, "Meow, meow, I'm coming." She follows Lil Bub.

☆☆☆☆☆

December 2, 2019—Indianapolis, Indiana

"I need a helping paw getting this satellite to work," Indianya tells a clowder of cats, leading them inside a garage.

"A satellite? You built a satellite?!" Furida—a polydactyl cat from the Sunshine State—exclaims.

She goes to the corner of the garage to pull the large canvas off the satellite she had been building and hiding from her owner. Her fellow state cats marvel at the large spacecraft she has built on her own.

"Mrow, mrow, color me impressed," says Textie—a Texas tortoiseshell with heterochromia eyes and an ego that's somehow bigger than Aloshka.

"Ya plannin' on goin' to space or somethin'?" Alabirma asks with the wave of his flame-colored tail.

"No. It's for Lil Bub." Indianya pushes forward an urn containing her friend's ashes.

Califurnya—a famous California Spangled cat who's always up-to-date on Internet cat celebs— gapes at the plain farm cat. "You know Lil Bub?!"

"Um, yeah. Why are you overreacting?"

"It's Lil Bub, you country cat! She's, like, hella famous! Also, rest in peace, nya. You'll be missed." She bows her head toward the urn as a sign of respect.

"... Anyway," Indianya turns her attention to the satellite, "District Cat (Washington D.C.) tells me she's reluctant to send Lil Bub to space, saying it's going to cost lots of canned tuna to launch my fellow Hissier into orbit. Obviously, I don't have millions of canned tuna to spare, so I'll need to find another way to get Lil Bub to space."

"Does District Cat know you're doing this without her approval?" Marylico questions.

She scoffs, "That cold cat is too busy maintaining the economic policy of canned tuna to care. Even if she does know and wants to stop me, she's not going to get in my way from fulfilling Lil Bub's request." She goes over to a toolbox to fetch out some tools.

Virginya cocks her head. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm obviously doing this for Lil Bub."

"I mean, why are you doing this?"

She pauses for a moment. "... She's a magical space cat who wants to spread lots of love and positivity to Earth brothers and sisters. What else do you want me to say to convince you to help me out?" She picks up a screwdriver and gets to work on the satellite.

Mississippi Queen smiles. "When you put it that way, I really want to see you fulfill your friend's wish." She picks up a wrench with her mouth.

"Count me in!" says Textie as she picks up a blowtorch.

"Same! I'll get started making the rocket." Alabirma heads out of the garage in search of more materials.

"Let me help you! I really want to see a rocket get launched into space again!" Furida follows after him.

Marylico scratches behind her ear. "I'm not an expert on building rockets, but I can help calculate the rocket's projection and plan the satellite's orbit."

"Same! Let's use our heads, nya!" Califurnya meows as she and the crab-loving feline look get to work.

Virginya watches her fellow state cats get all wound up in this space mission with a smile on her face. "Well, I guess I'll go find some rocket fuel."

~ Nekotalia! ~

To anyone wondering how a clowder of cats can build spacecraft with basic tools and minimal knowledge of aeronautics within two days without hands, well, this is a fictional story involving talking cats. Don't question it.

"Okay, kitties! It's time to launch Lil Bub into space!" Mississippi Queen hollers.

Indianya places the urn into the satellite. "See you later, space cat. May you smile upon the world from above." She presses her muzzle to the urn before stepping away from the launch site.

"Fuel canisters are 100% full," says Virginya, working the computer. "All electronics are functioning without a problem."

"Copy cat," says Textie, adjusting the mike on her miniature headset. "Okay. Prepare for launch in 10... 9... 8..."

Furida swishes her tail impatiently. "Grr... Hurry up already! I wanna see the rocket get launched into the sky!" She pushes a lever on the dashboard, starting up the rocket boosters.

"Hey! Stop that! That goes against protocol!"

"Who cares! 3, 2, 1! We have liftoff— Growr!" Furida gets tackled to the ground by Textie's big cat butt, but it's too late.

The rocket launches into the sky, unleashing a mighty boom from its large boosters. The state cats can only hold onto their protective earmuffs, taking in a deep breath, as they watch the rocket head up toward the sky from a safe distance. They see the rocket exit the troposphere, going beyond the stratosphere, the mesosphere, and then disappearing into the cerulean blue. The curious felines look to Marylico's computer monitor and celebrate when they see their rocket exit the thermosphere before entering the exosphere where satellites orbit the Earth.

"Ceasing the rocket boosters, meow!" Marylico presses a red button.

Immediately, the rocket boosters cease to function. The rocket proceeds to disassemble itself, releasing the planned satellite into orbit. So far, the satellite is doing well in zero gravity. However, there's one more thing that needs to be checked to see if it's functional. If it doesn't work, this space mission will be deemed a failure.

Everyone gathers around Califurnya and her computer. They watch her press a bunch of keys on the keyboard like Keyboard Cat, only she's making a website instead of annoying music. Half the cats don't know eighty percent of the things Califurnya is doing with her tech-savvy mind, but they're hopeful she can do it. She has to!

Indianya asks, "Is there anything wrong?"

She doesn't answer her.

"She asked a question," Virginya raises her voice.

She removes her paws from the computer and doesn't say a word for a moment. "... I can't connect to the satellite." She lowers her head.

"What? You gotta be kittening me! You said you got this in the bag!" Alabirma growls.

"Hey! Don't blame, Cali. She did her best," Mississippi Queen defends the California Spangled.

"No, he's right," Califurnya sighs. "I should've done better programming the website to the satellite. I thought it was ready, but maybe I rushed things and overlooked some mistakes."

"It may not be your fault," Textie speaks up, much to the Califurnyan's surprise. "The satellite's antenna may have gotten busted during launch. That may be why the website isn't connecting to it."

"Thanks, but still..." She and the other cats look over at the dejected Hissier.

Indianya stares at the gray static on the monitor with saddened eyes, questioning everything she had done to fulfill a dead cat's wish is for naught—a waste of time. A part of her wishes to see Lil Bub again. But she can't. Not anymore.

"Hey." Virginya sits by the Hissier's side. "We still got Lil Bub to space. We fulfilled her wish."

"Yeah... That's true..." She looks to all the cats in the room, forcing a grateful smile. "Thanks, you guys. I really owe you many cans of tuna after this."

"I prefer beef!" Textie smiles back.

"No wonder you're so fat. You should try vegetarian cat food for a change," Califurnya suggests.

"What?! Don't be ridiculous! Do I look like a sheep?"

"You look more like a cow to me," she snickers.

She growls, "Don't make me repeat myself! I'm not fat! I'm big-boned!" She unsheathes her claws.

Indianya chuckles tiredly, "I believe you. I'll be sure to get everyone whatever kind of cat food they want." She looks back at the static screen, pressing her paw onto the monitor. "Well, Lil Bub. I can't see you, but I'm sure you're watching us from up there. So... Hopefully, the view is as kind and beautiful as your magical spirit."

"Magical?"

"Yowl!" She and the others step away from the computer screen in utter surprise.

The gray static glitches multiple times until the face of Lil Bub appears on screen in front of a purple spatial background. "Magical, I am! I'm a magical space cat! I'm Lil Bub!" the tabby smiles.

She gasps, "Lil Bub!"

"That's right!" she purrs. "Though I've transcended Earth, I'm still watching over ya. I may not be able to talk to every cat or human watching me, but I'll do my best to spread lots of love and positivity to my Earth brothers and sisters."

She softly smiles. "I'm sure you will."

She nods. "And Indianya..."

Her eyes widen in surprise. "This isn't part of the recording. Am I imagining things?" Indianya looks back at her fellow felines who all shrug, just there to watch and listen.

"I'm sure you're living a good life back on Earth. I know I left all of a sudden, but that's okay. I'm a magical space cat. That means I have the power to live forever. I'm immortal! Just like you, meow!"

She can't help but chuckle at her silly response. "You're sure doing a good job spreading love and positivity."

She giggles, "Anyway, don't worry about me too much, meow. My time on Earth has been good thanks to cats like you and humans like my dude. I'll surely miss traveling to cities and eating all kinds of delicious food. But hopefully, life in space will fill that void. Again, I may not be able to talk with you or with many Earth brothers and sisters, I'll always be watching close by, always here to listen."

She softly smiles, "Thank you, Lil Bub."

She beams. "See you later, space sister. Continue watching over Earth brothers and sisters while I'm gone." With that, Lil Bub disappears, replaced by a black screen surrounded by the colorful background of the website.

"See you later, space sister. I'll surely talk to you again..."

~ Nekotalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, get me a Dr. Pepper!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Chili con carne I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Howdy, I'm Texas!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Lone Star State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Shoot for the sky like Spindletop!
I am Texas!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

December 14, 1780—Albany, New York

It was unusual to attend a wedding during a war. Then again, scheduling a wedding during these turbulent times was just as unusual.

New York would never understand why they couldn't hold the wedding off until the end of the war. Sure, Alexander made some valid points. The ongoing war could stretch itself into a decade and possibly more if both sides had the will and the resources to continue fighting. If that was the case, delaying the inevitable was pointless. Still, Alexander could've had a pleasantly warm wedding in the spring or the summer surrounded by his closest friends. Instead, he and the lovely Elizabeth Schuyler, soon-to-be Mrs. Hamilton, looked into each other's eyes and agreed, "Let's have our wedding during a New York winter! What could go wrong?"

"Everything!" New York hissed to Alexander Hamilton at the corner of the sitting room. "I could lose everything if the British found out I attended an American patriot's wedding."

Alexander chuckled, "Calm down, you grump. You're supposed to be happy for me."

He scoffed, "If I wasn't happy for you, I wouldn't have taken the risk of sneaking out of the City. Then, I wouldn't have to deal with the difficulties of traveling during the winter." He sighed, "Honestly, couldn't the Schuylers set the wedding date on a later date? You and Eliza were only engaged for less than a year, about eight months to be exact."

"Later date? I would've married her around the month of my engagement."

"Are you crazy?"

He laughed, "No, sir. Perhaps, maybe I'm a little crazy when it comes to certain affairs. But no, I'm simply in love." His violet eyes sparkled when he mentioned the four-letter word.

New York stared at him weirdly. "How did she fall for your charms again?"

"I'll be happy to tell you," said the gentle voice of an angel.

They turned their attention to the 23-year-old woman strolling over to them in a graceful manner. Decorated in white from her powdered hair to the hem of her wedding dress, she appeared to glow despite the waning sunlight in the room. Though the winter was harshly cold, she could somehow warm their hearts with her sweet smile and the comforting gaze of her dark chestnut eyes. Such a benevolent being couldn't possibly exist. Yet, standing before them was the kindest woman with the purest heart—Elizabeth Schuyler. Or, Elizabeth Hamilton as of today.

"Betsey!" Alexander greeted his wife with a peck on her cheek. "Finished speaking with relatives?"

"For now," she giggled. "You know my mother. She has a lot to say when it comes to raising children, especially with her fifteenth child on the way."

"Of course. She has done well raising you and your siblings."

"Indeed. I doubt I can give you fifteen children, but I'll try."

"I'm sure you'll do your best to raise many beautiful children."

New York rolled his eyes playfully at the lovey-dovey couple. "Well, I hate to intrude on your private discussion about babies. So, if you can excuse me, I'll be next-door to see when they'll be done preparing for the wedding reception." He slunk off, letting them blabber until it was time for dinner.

☆☆☆☆☆

February 2, 1780—Morristown, New Jersey

Every soldier longed for the hearth of a warm home, a hearty meal of lamb and savory broth, and a stuffy bed with enough room for two. Instead, they were fortunate to have a tiny empty room, a plate of rotten bread and mushy meat for their daily ration, and a cot that left their feet hanging above the bed; their toes frozen and numb by early morning. It was particularly bad for the American patriots for they were the ones not getting paid. The losing battles didn't help to settle their mutinous behavior, nor did it lift their spirits to continue fighting for a crumbling cause on the verge of collapse. There were sentiments from commanders who were just as frustrated as them. Lack of silver, lack of supplies, lack of support, many complaints continued to be jotted down in an endless list of woes sent to an inept Congress. Sadly, nothing else could be done to ease their minds. They could only rest until the return of spring and the resumption of war. Despite the ongoing bitterness and strife felt among Americans, somehow, there was hope—a sign of relief down the road.

A bright yellow light emitted from the Ford Mansion like a lighthouse in the dark cold night. Cheers of camaraderie and laughs full of love and lust, the jovial sounds came from Americans who distracted themselves from the hardships of war. A single night dedicated to dining, drinking, and dancing. Six hours that consisted of cigar smoke, chattering speakers, and orchestrated songs. It was difficult for any serious soldier not to get swept up in the celebration.

Alexander Hamilton was no exception.

A spy for both sides of the war, New York had to be particularly careful when it came to keeping and telling secrets. Yet, he couldn't help his racking mind with Alexander's most recent letters to him. They smelled of depression—tobacco smoke and strong whiskey. Dark sentences in pitch black ink, written out in elegant yet agonizing cursive. "I am chagrined and unhappy," he would write before taking him down a dark road that eventually became too dangerous for New York to continue further. Insecurities about being an outcast, labeled an opportunistic foreigner who didn't have a heart for American ideals by hateful peers, Alexander sadly thought he was "not fit for this terrestrial country." He considered making a "brilliant exit" which New York could interpret to mean one of two things: emigration or suicide...

"Don't scare me like that!" New York shook the bastard by the collar.

"I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Alexander chuckled.

He dropped the lieutenant colonel back in his chair and sighed, "This is no laughing matter. Do you have any idea how much sleep I lost because of your stupidly long letters? I could barely eat because of your last letter." He sat back in his chair and drank his glass of red wine, holding himself back from causing a scene.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to worry you." Alexander awkwardly blushed. "At the time, I was bummed with Washington's decision. If not here, I would've been fighting alongside Laurens in South Carolina." He pouted while swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Sure, I'm Washington's right-hand man, hence I must stay here. Only I, out of all the men in his camp, am best suited to piss off Congress. No one else can do better than me to call Congress out on their ineptitude. I mean, I'm sure South Carolina doesn't need my help protecting them from British invasions. As long as I'm alive and able to tell Congress how a horse's ass tastes, I am more than happy to be of valuable use to Washington despite doing jack shit this winter."

As Alexander went on a salty tangent about Congress's uselessness, a lavish lady passing by their table gave Alexander a curious glance and a flirty wink. Being the tomcat he was, Alexander acted appropriately—returning her cute gesture with a seductive wink of his own. That got a fluttering laugh from the woman as she continued walking.

"I'm guessing you know her," New York spoke up to remind him of his presence.

He smirked. "Polly is a beautiful, social butterfly, but she's a bit vain for my taste." He drank his glass of scotch.

He rolled his eyes. "Speak for yourself."

"To be fair, my future spouse should not only have to deal with my handsome looks, but they must also deal with my vanity. Because, let's face it, marrying myself will result in a short disastrous marriage."

"True. Although, what do you mean by a future spouse? I thought you detest the idea of marriage."

"Don't get me wrong. I still believe marriage brings a sense of bitterness to both parties involved, most of which end ugly. However, I'm keen to avoid such an unhappy fate. Which is why I'm careful to find the perfect half who'll compliment me for a stable union."

"Any specifics you're looking for in your other half?"

"Why, yes! In fact..." He brought a long list out of thin air, surprising New York.

"What the fuck?! You made a list!"

"Eh-hem." Alexander cleared his throat. "My future spouse must be young, handsome, and I would lay most stress upon a good shape. They must be sensible though a little learning will do. They must be well-bred although they must have an aversion to the word ton. Importantly, they must be chaste and tender. After all, I am an enthusiast in my notions of fidelity and fondness."

"So you say..."

He paid no attention to his snarky comment and continued, "They should have some good nature. For example, a great deal of generosity. They must neither love money nor scolding for I dislike equally a termagant and an economist. When it comes to politics, I am indifferent what side they may be. Though, I like to think I have arguments that will easily convert them to mine. As to religion, a moderate streak will satisfy me. They must believe in God and hate a saint. All of which is satisfactory, but as to fortune...the larger stock of that the better."

New York shook his head and sighed, "You poor college boy."

"D-Don't laugh!" he huffed. "To specify, you know my temper and circumstances and will, therefore, pay special attention to this declaration. Though I run no risk of going to purgatory for my avarice, yet as money is an essential ingredient to happiness in this world—as I have not much of my own and as I am very little calculated to get more either by my address or industry—it must needs be that my spouse, if I get one, bring at least a sufficiency to administer to their own extravagancies."

He sighed again, "Basically, you poor college boy."

"Don't make me sound like a loser!"

"But you are a loser."

"No, I'm not!" he whined and softly punched his arm.

"So, let me summarize what you want for a perfect spouse. They must be handsome, sensible, pure, kind, good-natured, and free of vanity or affectation. They must be enthused to raise some but not many children. They must follow but not preach the words of God. All such things are good. But if they happen to come from a notoriously wealthy family, that's a bonus. Is that what you want?"

He confidently nodded. "Yes. That's my ideal spouse."

'Sounds like Laurens,' New York thought to himself.

Alexander sighed, "If I could fall in love and marry someone of such character, I would be the happiest man alive."

As though the goddess of love heard Alexander's wish, the doors that led to the ballroom swung open, revealing a trio of ladies beholding an aura of elite beauty, power, and wealth. Everyone in the room, including New York and Alexander, gave their utmost attention to the new arrivals. Accustomed to the spotlight, the young women strode into the ballroom with raised heads, poised and confident. Every man ogled their attractive features. Every woman admired their majesty. As one could guess, Alexander ogled and admired the ladies for both their attractive features and their majesty.

'The Schuyler Sisters. What are they doing here?' New York wondered.

He was quite familiar with the Schuylers, prominent members of New York's elite. The notorious family of Dutch origins had settled in his home long before New York became an English colony. From Philip Pieterse Schuyler, the progenitor of the American Schuylers, to Philip John Schuyler, a general of the American Revolution, New York was accustomed to their affluential presence. Although, this was the first time he saw the Schuyler Sisters without their father around.

The Schuyler Sisters were General Philip Schuyler's eldest daughters amongst many of his children. There was Angelica Schuyler—the eldest sister wearing a rosy amber gown—leading her younger sisters through the awestruck crowd without a stumble to her steady steps. On her right was the second-eldest daughter wearing a light turquoise gown. Her name was Elizabeth or Eliza as she was sometimes called; she was also fine being called Betsey among close relatives and friends. Eliza stayed close behind Angelica, mindful of the stares of multiple unfamiliar faces. The youngest sister wearing a topaz yellow gown—Margarita aka Peggy as she was often called—appeared to be mouthing something to Eliza, easing her nerves a bit. Though their father wasn't around, the three sisters were capable of looking out for each other.

They were like valuable gems, admired by all for multiple properties. Not to mention once again, they were sought for their wealth and influence. If any man of humble beginnings could marry a sister, they would instantly be rich. Of course, they must also be crazy to try and court one, much less be successful in receiving her hand in marriage.

Unfortunately for New York, there was one crazy man of humble beginnings he knew was willing to sacrifice every fiber in his mangy coat to marry a Schuyler sister. His name was Alexander Hamilton. All it took was a single glance at Alexander's determined gaze for him to understand what he intended to do. All he could was pat the lovesick soldier on the back and mumble, "Go get her, tomcat."

Alexander shot back a smirk before downing the rest of his glass. "Wish me luck." He adjusted the collar of his coat before getting up from his seat at the table. He strode over to greet the oldest sister while New York watched the drama unfold, wondering if the poor idiot knew Angelica was already married to someone else.

He smacked his forehead, shook his head, and groaned, "That helpless bastard..."

~ Helpless... ~

"Eliza. Eliza. Earth to Eliza!" Peggy waved her hand in front of her sister's flushed face.

Eliza blinked her eyes and shook her head out of her love-struck gaze. "U-Uh, yes! Sorry, Peggy. What is it you want to tell me?"

Peggy pointed to the blond man sitting all alone at a table, "I'm going to ask him to dance with me."

"Really?" She immediately recognized the young man. "Isn't he a friend of our father?"

"Yeah, but he's so handsome! Look at him!" she squealed.

"He looks rather young, even for you." She frowned.

"Better than standing here doing nothing but stare at the man dancing with Angelica," she teased.

"I-I wasn't staring at h-him!"

"If you want to dance with him, you should ask him. Take the initiative!"

"I-I know that!" she huffed. "I was going to ask him once he was done dancing with Angelica."

She playfully rolled her eyes. "Okaaay! Wish you luck, Betsey!" She skipped across the room toward the table where the blond man was sitting.

Once Peggy was far enough away, Eliza breathed out a hopeless sigh. "I'm so helpless..." she whimpered, burying her burning red face in the palms of her hands.

'What is wrong with me? Why am I like this?' she groaned. 'Just a minute ago, I was watching Angelica dazzle the room with her presence. And then he came walking by, and I... My heart...' She held her hands close to her beating heart, feeling it go off like the boom of a cannon.

She recognized this strange feeling from two years ago. If her memories are correct, the young colonel was having dinner with her family at the family mansion. She couldn't remember the exact conversations, but they were no doubt formal. She hardly knew him other than his name, his handsome appearance, and his ties to the Continental Army. Besides that, this might as well be their first meeting.

Without her father around to enforce formal conversations between them, Eliza recognized this opportunity as a way to get to know the handsome colonel. Yet, all she could do was helplessly stand along the side of the ballroom, quietly watching him woo her married sister from behind a crowd of observers. She was confident Angelica wouldn't betray her marriage for that man. However, she didn't like the looks of the other women in the ballroom who hungrily watched the colonel like a hot slab of beef. As soon as Angelica was finished dancing with him, they would probably take turns dancing with him until he was tired to the bone. Then, it would be possible for any woman to sweep him off his feet. Maybe she, too, could sweep him off his feet.

"Ha!" she scoffed at such a stupid possibility. "That's impossible. I may be a strong woman, but I'm not vain. Out of all my sisters, I acknowledge I'm pretty bland. I'm better at bringing the spotlight to others than to myself. I doubt I can do better than my vivacious sister or any of the women in this room to impress him," she sadly sighed.

"Betsey!"

"Ah!" She grew startled as her eldest sister pranced over to her. "A-Angelica. Is there a problem?"

She shook her head and smiled. "Nope! Though, shouldn't I be the one asking you that question, hm?" She leaned closer to her sister's face. "Why are you standing here? You should be partying like it's the Fourth of July! Woo!"

"W-Well, I was looking for someone I could dance with." She wasn't entirely lying.

However, that didn't stop Angelica from raising a brow. "Where is he?"

"What are you talking about?"

She wrapped her arm around Eliza's shoulders and turned their gaze to the ballroom. "Point him out for me! I'll be your wing-woman!"

"Wing-woman?" Eliza snorted, "Don't be silly! I don't need your help. I may be your little sister, but I'm not a little girl anymore."

"Aw, come on, Betsey." She teasingly poked her puffed-up cheek. "I saw you looking my way. Tell me. Which one is your guy?"

"Well..." She turned her gaze away from the ballroom. "I can't tell you."

"Oh, come on. I won't judge...to an extent. Is he cute? Is he hot? Is he somewhere in-between?"

"I..."

"Blond-haired? Dark-haired? Does he have noticeable traits? Like, any freckles? Thick eyebrows? A funny-looking mustache? Anything that's making you stand here like a dumbstruck duck?"

"I... I can't tell you!" She forced herself away from her sister. "I just can't tell you..."

Angelica frowned. "If you're not going to tell me, then that's fine. If you need me, you can find me dancing with Alexander on the-"

"What?" Eliza glanced over her shoulder, giving her a dumbfounded look. "I thought you were done dancing with him."

She smirked. "I told him to wait a moment while I checked on you. It would be horrible for me to keep ignoring your constant staring." She shrugged. "Considering you're doing alright on your own, I won't keep Alexander waiting." She strode back to the ballroom floor.

"Wait a moment."

She continued walking. "Eliza, I'm trying to enjoy myself. You should enjoy this night, too."

"B-But you can't dance with him."

She tiredly sighed, "Eliza, I'm going to dance with-"

She grabbed her arm and whispered close to her ear, "This one's mine..."

"... Pfft!" Angelica suppressed her laughter.

Eliza's body temperature rose to feverish levels. 'Aaaaaaaaaah! Why did I say that? That came out wrong!' She tried to take her words back, but it was too late.

Angelica suddenly revealed herself to be Aphrodite. True, she had her own lustful desires. But like the meddling goddess of love and beauty, she loved to play matchmaker. With the ideal pairing in mind, she flew at the speed of Eros's arrow toward the lovely Adonis who happened to go by Alexander Hamilton.

Eliza tried to stop her, but she stopped when she saw her by Alexander's side, talking to him with a mischievous smile. 'Oh no. What's she going to do?' She squeaked when Angelica grabbed his arm and pointed her way. 'I'm through! I'm so through!' She wanted to flee from embarrassment.

But as she was turning around, she caught a rare sight—a set of blue-violet eyes looking at her and her only. Her head was melted cheese by this point, but her firm heart continued to beat, stronger than ever. And at the whims of her desperate heart, there was no longer any doubt. There was only the infatuation for one person. For him, she put on her best smile and got ready to make an impression on him.

~ Helpless! ~

"Where are you taking me?" Alexander asked Angelica.

She giggled, "I'm about to change your life."

He smirked. "Then, by all means, lead the way." He thought she was taking him to the place she resided during her stay.

As such, it came as a surprise to him when he escorted her to a young lovely woman in a turquoise dress. She curtsied and graciously introduced herself, "Elizabeth Schuyler. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Schuyler?" He glanced at Angelica.

"My sister," she confirmed with a smirk.

Elizabeth nodded. "Thank you for all your service. I know this war isn't easy to go through, but many people like myself appreciate your commitment to fight for us."

He humbly bowed. "If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it." His words made her heart flutter.

Watching the two start to connect, Angelica proudly smiled to herself. "I'll leave you to it." She quietly left them alone to themselves.

Alexander glanced at Angelica, wanting to call her back. But then he stopped himself when the orchestra started to play another song. He looked back at Elizabeth who patiently stood with a shy yet eager gaze. She softly smiled as though she agreed with him about this awkward meeting being somewhat forced upon them. He agreed and smiled back.

Though Elizabeth wasn't the prettiest woman in the ballroom, not the type to grab his immediate attention, she was interesting enough to be around. She held a special kind of modesty that was balanced between prudence and extravagance. Nothing about her seemed spoiled or fake. Her face was fair and true; she didn't have much makeup, nor did he felt she needed any. Her greeting, though formal, was honest which was quite refreshing. Alexander had been through so much, dealing with lies and criticism daily. To hear Elizabeth's simple yet sincere support for him and his hard work made him feel much better about himself. She was like a beam of light pushing the shadows of doubt out of his mind. He would be a horrible, unwise man to depart from such a warmhearted woman without getting to know her first.

He kindly offered his hand to her. "May I have this dance, Elizabeth?"

She quickly nodded. "Yes, you may. And please, call me Eliza." She gave him her hand, and they proceeded to waltz around the ballroom.

"Eliza..."

She quirked a brow. "What is it?"

"Oh. It's nothing to worry about. It's just such a charming nickname needed to be said aloud to fully appreciate its joyous majesty."

She blushed. "Why, thank you. I see you have a way with words, Mr. Hamilton."

"Mr. Hamilton?" He chuckled, "Quite formal of you to say. But since we're going on a first-name basis, I think it would be appropriate to address me by my first name. Though, I don't recall introducing myself to you."

"That's quite alright. My sister, Angelica, has kept me informed when she went to check on me."

"I see. I would like to hear you say my name, then."

She smirked. "How about this? My dearest Alexander."

"My dearest?" He blushed at the soft elegance of her voice when she called him that.

"If that's what you wish to refer to me, sure. You may call me that." She smiled smugly.

He chortled, "Then, I will, my dearest Eliza."

She softly laughed, "Now that we're on a first-name basis, how do you wish to proceed with this conversation?"

"Well, there's so much I want to talk about. Unfortunately, I'm quite a talker. I don't think I can say everything in a single night, much less in a single dance."

"I can say the same thing," she concurred. "To be frank, I have a request."

"What is it?"

"Well, this may sound selfish of me to say because of your position in the Continental Army. But whenever you're not busy, I like to see you again after tonight."

He smiled. "You say it's selfish, but I think that's thoughtful of you to say that. So far, I like your company very much."

Her eyes brightened. "You do? W-Well then, you accept my request?"

"Absolutely. Name the place, and I'll be sure to visit whenever I can."

"Whenever?"

"Yes."

"How about later tonight?"

"It'll be pretty late."

"That's fine. I'm no child."

"Of course, you aren't. Hehe."

Though the night was cold and dark, Alexander Hamilton and Elizabeth Schuyler were able to find warmth in each other during that dreadful winter. Despite their differences, they were able to quickly form a bond. Weeks of courtships blossomed into engagement by April. And less than a year since sharing a dance at the Ford Mansion, they became husband and wife.

It was all thanks to Angelica Schuyler who stood along the sidelines, watching her dear sister dance with Alexander for a few minutes before leaving the ballroom.

~ To be continued... ~

Hey, hey, papa, give me grape juice!
Hey, hey, mama, hey, hey mama!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Tomato pie I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Yo, I'm New Jersey!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Garden State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Sporting a six-pack and a tan!
I'm New Jersey!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

December 14, 1780—Albany, New York

After the wedding reception, everyone proceeded to partake in alcohol. Rum, whiskey, beer, wine: they drank until there was nothing left to drink in the mansion. If they weren't in the mood to dance, they could either go home or stay the night as a guest.

New York didn't plan on staying over. He had a lot of work to do, so he needed to stay sober for his travel back to the City later in the evening. As tempting as it was to guzzle wine without having to pay for any of it, he stayed moderate with a half-full glass of red wine.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay over?" Alexander asked New York for the eleventh time.

"No means no, Alexander. I have a bunch of work to do back at the City," he grumbled.

"Aw, come on! Who says you have work?"

"The British commander who'll have my head if he suspects me of working for the American patriots."

He scoffed, "Surely, the limey commander can cut some slack. Tell him your carriage got stuck in a frozen river or something like that."

"I may be a spy, but I can't lie all the time. Besides, our comrades are counting on me to find whatever intel I can gather. While I'm here, the redcoats are spouting vital secrets. Thus, I mustn't waste any more time."

He moaned, "Come on, man. Please stay." He leaned into his ear and whispered, "If you want, you have my permission to witness the final consummation of my marriage." He gave him a dirty look.

His face burned red. "Hell no!"

He pouted. "You're not fun. If Laurens was here, he wouldn't let me down."

"I doubt he would want to watch you and Eliza-"

Clink, clink, clink!

"A moment of your time please!" Everyone in the room turned their attention to the maid of honor, Angelica Schuyler, who stood up from her seat with a glass of champagne in hand. She turned to the bride and the groom, her sister and her brother-in-law, with a glistening smile. "A toast to the groom!"

"To the groom! To the groom! To the groom!" the room cheered.

"To the bride!"

"To the bride! To the bride! To the bride!"

"May you always...be satisfied!" she proudly proclaimed, shedding tears of joy.

Everyone continued to applaud and listen to Angelica's magnificent toast. There was no question her words were true. She spoke with such pride, love, and euphoria. Her words were so passionate, she could easily sway everyone to go along with this good feeling. She didn't seem at all troubled. She appeared, as always, to be a wonderful sister.

New York wanted to believe she was truly happy. Her smile was genuine. Yet, their conversation from earlier kept popping up in his mind, nagging him, and ruining what was supposed to be a merry moment. He stared down at his glass of wine and proceeded to drink all of it in a single gulp. He didn't remember anything after that.

☆☆☆☆☆

At the time, they said the wedding reception would be ready in an hour.

New York pulled out his pocket watch. Before he could read the time, he was interrupted by childish jabbering. He turned around and saw the heavily pregnant matriarch of the Schuyler family pull their stubborn five-year-old daughter to the foot of the stairs.

"But Mama! I wanna stay up longer!"

"Don't make this harder on me, young lady. Spare your mother and the guests from anymore screaming. It's time for you to get some shut-eye."

She crossed her arms and pouted. "No!"

"Cornelia..." Catherine Van Rensselaer groaned.

New York tucked his pocket watch away and went over to the mother and child. "No need to overexert yourself, Kitty." He went over and picked the little girl up over his shoulder.

"H-Hey!" Cornelia looked to her mother in protest.

She graciously smiled. "Thank you, young man."

"Promise me that'll be the last child you're popping out." He started to make his way up the stairs.

She simpered, "Be sure to tuck her into one of the spare beds. There'll be guests staying the night."

Cornelia moaned, "I have to sleep on the floor again."

"It's only for tonight, dear."

"Can they sleep on the floor instead? It's my bed!"

"Now, now. Don't be rude to your mother," he grumbled. "Weren't you taught any manners?"

She pursed her lips. "Are you staying over?"

He reached the second floor. "I am not."

"Good."

He was slightly taken aback by the sassy child. "For that, you deserve to sleep on the floor." He placed his hand on the doorknob to the children's bedroom.

"Hey. Why is my sister crying?"

He froze. Having become distracted by his silly argument with the spoiled brat, he didn't notice the pitiful sobs of a wretched woman happening closeby. He turned to where Cornelia was looking.

At the front of the salon was a set of glass windows. Anyone interested could get a view of the front property and the entire cityscape of Albany. The windows also had a view of a balcony that appeared to be placed there for that exact purpose. But no, it was merely decoration, currently collecting snow on its platform. Though, it was still accessible via the window. But at this time of year, it wouldn't be wise to go out there in the freezing weather. Yet, it would appear someone didn't mind the cold.

The walls between the windows were blind spots, hiding the weeping woman from hundreds of eyes inside the mansion. Anyone with a keen eye, however, could see her shoulder poking out at the corner of the right window. New York couldn't see the woman's face, but he recognized the sleeve of that rosy amber gown. He was certain it was her.

He placed Cornelia down and opened the door to the bedroom. "I'll take care of your sister. You get to bed now."

She grumbled, "Fine. You better not hurt my sister, or I'll beat you up."

"Just go to bed." He nudged her into the bedroom and closed the door.

His attention returned to the glass window. He thought over some words to say before making his way to the right window. He gave the chilled glass a hard tap, startling the sniveling woman. She glanced at him with frightened puffy eyes before turning her face away, attempting to compose herself.

"Hey. How long have you been out there?" he questioned through the glass.

Angelica wiped her eyes one more time before facing him. "I don't know. Two or three minutes, I guess," she croaked.

He raised a brow. "How much longer are you going to be out there?"

She shrugged, avoiding his stern gaze. "Well, that depends..." She looked up at him. "Do they need me for something? If so, I'll be there once I've composed myself."

"No, they haven't noticed your disappearance yet."

"Oh... Well, you don't have to worry about me then. I'm fine here." She faked a small smile.

He frowned. "No, you aren't fine." He pushed open the window.

"O-Of course, I'm fine. You don't have to join me."

Despite her protests, he went outside and felt the frosty air slap him in the face. "Fucking hell, Angelica. How are you not freezing?" He saw she wasn't wearing anything other than her rosy amber gown.

She glowered. "I said you don't have to join me."

He scoffed, "You know I can't leave you alone."

She irritably pursed her lips. "That's very kind and gentlemanly of you to say, but I repeat. There's no need to worry about me. I'm capable of handling things on my own."

"You say that, yet you're out here crying on your sister's wedding day."

She glared daggers at him. "This is none of your business. For the last time, I'm perfectly fine. Now, leave me alone." She crossed her arms and avoided his gaze.

"Angelica..." He watched the stubborn woman sulk in the snow in silence. He didn't intend to interfere with her issues. He just wanted her to come back inside the toasty mansion, so she didn't catch a cold. Instead, he only got on her bad side, unintentionally making her think he was insulting her. As much as he wanted to leave the conversation, he didn't want to leave Angelica alone.

He ended up sitting next to her on the balcony, draping his coat over her shoulders. He sighed at what might be a mistake that could sour their friendship. "I don't like crying," he told her. "It annoys the ears. It's ugly to watch. And it's a mess to clean up." He was keenly aware of the bundled fists in her lap.

He got straight to the point. "Nevertheless, crying is a part of life. It's necessary for expressing emotions. It's necessary for healing the wounds and scars of the human heart. And it's necessary for growth and development. At least, that's what I heard from students at Kings College." He looked directly into Angelica's eyes. "Cry as long as you like, I don't care. It's fine to cry by yourself. I'm sure you have your reasons. But surely, anywhere else inside the warm mansion is a better place to shed your tears than here."

"... I suppose you make a valid point," she mumbled.

"You're a strong woman, Angelica. You know that. I know that. So, whatever is on your mind, I trust you'll be able to handle it. But if there's something you have trouble overcoming, you always have people by your side who are welcomed to help you. Elizabeth can-"

She shook her head. "That's the issue."

"Elizabeth?"

"I know it's strange. How a woman like myself, daughter of a powerful family, wife to a wealthy husband, mother of two adorable children, can shed pathetic tears. From the mention of my sister's name, you may think I'm wailing out of distress or jealousy. But I'm happy. I'm very happy..." She sadly smiled on the contrary.

New York couldn't tell if her smile was forced or not, or what she said about her feelings was the truth or another lie. "If you're happy as you claimed to be, there shouldn't be a reason to hide from everyone. Unless...you do have a reason."

"To be honest, I'm still figuring my feelings out, recalling memories that have led me here."

"What kind of memories?"

"Well," she stared up at the starry night sky, "I know it began on that night..."

~ Rewind! ~

"At the Ford Mansion, I met with many American soldiers who were trying so hard to flatter me, tripping over themselves to win my praise. Dancing among them in the dreamlike candlelight, I nearly lost myself in that place. I would've had a wonderful time, but then I saw his face...

I have never been the same.

Easily enchanted by those intelligent eyes in that hunger-pang frame. When he came to say, 'Hi,' I forgot my dang name. I couldn't believe a stranger could easily set my heart aflame. I should be ashamed, deeply ashamed. But when he asked me to dance with him, I went along with his game.

'You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied,' he said as we danced around the ballroom.

At the time, I pretended to be indifferent. I coyly told him, 'I'm sure I don't know what you mean. You forget yourself.'

He must've seen through my mask for his smirk never wavered. He then told me I was like him, saying, 'I'm never satisfied.' That caught me by surprise.

'Is that right?' I curiously asked, already enamored with his way of words at this point. 

He made the cutest blush I had ever seen. 'I have never been satisfied,' he admitted.

I genuinely chuckled at his humorous statement.

Following our banter, we properly introduced ourselves. Or, we tried to introduce ourselves. I made my identity clear while he avoided many of my questions. He would always direct his gaze in a different direction. Not a word about his family. Not a word about his money. He tried to keep the focus on our dance. But it was easy to tell who he was—a penniless lad flying by the seam of his pants.

Deep down, I was laughing. But it wasn't scornful or disparaging. I frankly liked the handsome boy. He was quite a joy. Though a bit of a flirt, I decided to give him a chance. I would've taken him far away from the place, and that would've been the start of our romance.

But then I turned around and saw my sister's face and she was..."

~ Helpless! ~

Angelica winced, forcing back tears. "She looked so...helpless. She was all alone along the side of the ballroom, appearing restless. Her eyes looked so...helpless. She was looking my way, appearing all jealous..." She wiped her eyes. "I didn't want to see her in distress. I checked on her to see if there were any requests I could help her with. I wanted to know who she wanted to impress. The man she wanted to dance with, she wouldn't confess."

She sadly scoffed, "I didn't want it to be true, but I took a guess. I mentioned his name, and she spun around in her lovely dress. She didn't outright say yes. But she confessed. Alexander Hamilton was the cause of her sheepish distress. And just like that, my feelings for Alexander were suppressed..." She bitterly bit her lip, trying her best not to break down again. But try as she might, there were cracks in her eyes she couldn't block. A couple of tears inevitably dripped down her cold cheeks. She didn't bother to wipe them away.

New York placed his hand inside his coat pocket and handed her a handkerchief. "Are you okay with that?"

She nodded as she wiped her eyes. "I don't have a choice."

"You do have a choice," he disagreed. "I'm not suggesting any wrongdoing. But bottling your emotions can't be good for you."

"My thoughts and feelings will only be a bother to their union. If they get in the way of their love, I can't bear the guilt of ruining their happiness."

"But..." He sat in silence, unable to find anything reasonable to say.

"It's okay," she sniffled. "I acknowledge a romantic relationship with Alexander isn't possible without major setbacks."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Three fundamental truths are keeping me from being with him. The fact that I'm married is one of them."

He frowned. "Are you satisfied with your husband?"

She shrugged. "He's certainly no Alexander Hamilton. He doesn't have the wit or the charm. But he has money. And I love money."

"Same," New York admitted to a fault.

She chuckled, "You're Alexander's friend, right?"

He cleared his throat. "Without discussing in length about my complex relationship with that reckless idiot, for now, I'll reluctantly say yes."

"As you know, Alexander is penniless, therefore you can only imagine how much drama there'll be if someone like myself were to be with him," she simpered. "The eldest daughter of the Schuyler family, already married and a mother of two, engaging in a romance with an indigent foreigner. Society won't let me live in peace, nor will they let anyone related to me forget such debauchery. Try as I may, it's impossible to keep the relationship a secret; gossip will always prevail. As much as I love Alexander, I hate to bring any shame onto him, myself, and others close to us. Still, that doesn't mean I want him any less..."

"I see... I can't imagine the other truths keeping you from confessing your feelings. Or actually, I can imagine one of them."

She smirked. "I'll say this. Even if I wasn't married when I met Alexander that night, I still wouldn't be in a courtship with him."

"He's a broke bastard."

"That's one of the reasons. The other reason is his character."

"His character?"

"I've met many Alexanders before. Many men who despite their lesser backgrounds have the guts to speak to me," she snickered. "Such men might be attracted to me for my good looks or my personality. But realistically, they were only attracted to my status as a Schuyler." She looked to New York with cold eyes. "You were with Alexander at the Ford Mansion. I assume you knew why he went after me."

"... Yes," he reluctantly admitted. "Though, I don't think he knew you were married."

She laughed, "Oh! I'm aware many suitors wished to marry me despite the ring on my finger. Still, I thought everyone knew."

"Apparently not."

"Either way, whether he knew or not, he still flirted with me to elevate his status. It would've been naïve to set that aside. Maybe... Maybe that is why I introduced him to Eliza," she snickered, much sadder than before.

"I don't understand."

"Even with my doubts, I still liked him. I wanted to see him again. But any relationship with him would no doubt be looked upon with scorn and suspicion. Which brings me to the third truth..."

"Eliza," he mumbled.

She nodded. "To be honest, I didn't think she would fall for him. He didn't seem like her type. On paper, they seemed incompatible. Yet, here we are..."

"... You said three fundamental truths were keeping you from being with Alexander. But really, it's one truth. It's the only truth."

She winced. "She knows I love him. She's well-aware of my buoyant, flirtatious letters toward him. She knows such unusual ardor for her lover is abnormal. I know it's abnormal. Yet, she doesn't hold a grudge, nor does she tell me to cease such feelings. No resentment, no disgust, she's just...so understanding. She knows my desire to interact with Alexander, yet she still accepts me with a smile and open arms. Now that she's married to him, it's thanks to her I can see him whenever in my life. For that, I'm thankful. While at the same time, I feel somewhat selfish..."

He scowled. "And Eliza is entirely okay with this."

She glared at the disgusted look on his face. "I know my sister like I know my own mind. You will never find anyone as trusting or ask kind. If you think I would be so cold as to push my sister's feelings aside. You, sir, are blind." She promptly stood up and stomped over to the balcony's railing.

"Angelica..." He got his coat and went over to her side. "I didn't mean any offense. I shouldn't doubt your words or your sister's judgment," he apologized.

She huffed, "Imagine everyone heard what I just said. They would've screamed adultery, polygamy, and whatever bull they wanted to make up. Obviously, they don't know me or Eliza." She let out a deep breath. "Realistically, my relationship with Alexander won't go beyond flowery letters. As much as I love that intelligent bastard, never would I ever in my wildest fantasies hurt my sister. I would be a terrible sister if I ever betrayed her for a man I barely knew for less than a year."

He gazed up at the sky with her, absorbing what she just said. "You're a wonderful sister," he muttered.

"Thank you. I'm not sure if I deserve that title, but that doesn't matter to me," she sniffled. "What matters is Eliza. Without a doubt, I love my sister more than anything in this life. And whatever happens, I will choose her happiness over mine every time. And with Alexander by her side... At the very least, I know she'll be satisfied." She stared up at the starry night sky with saddened eyes.

"... I think we've been out here long enough," New York interrupted her peaceful satisfaction as he checked the time on his pocket watch. "The wedding reception should be ready soon. We should head inside."

She didn't argue with his logic. "I need to fix my makeup first before I head downstairs."

"That's fine. I'll wait for you, so we can go downstairs together."

She softly smiled. "Thank you. For everything."

"It's no problem, Angelica. As long as you're truthful with others and yourself, life will be less complicated."

She simpered, "I doubt that's true for spies."

"You know what I mean." He helped her get back inside the mansion.

Once they were ready, they went downstairs and attended the wedding reception. 

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me coffee!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Bagel and lox I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Yo, the name's New York!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Empire State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A beautiful world can be seen!
Home to the Statue of Liberty!
New York, New York!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

December 25, 1819.

'Twas the Makahiki season to honor Lono—the Hawaiian god of agriculture, rain, music, and peace. War was prohibited during this time, however, the threat of war had long been a thing of the past since the unification of the Hawaiian Islands. With Christianity taking over the islands, the old religion would no longer be worshipped from this year forward. Nonetheless, many Hawaiians celebrated Makahiki once more, spending much of their free time practicing sports, feasting, dancing, bonding, and making offerings.

While that was going on, British foreigners visiting Honolulu were observing a different kind of celebration.

Rumors of a generous Englishman giving gifts to children spread across the community like wildfire. Even the shyest kids couldn't resist such gossip that sounded too good to be true. But it was true. The Englishman was real. He was at the harbor. He stood at the end of a pier where his ship was docked. Every time he placed his hand inside the pocket of his navy uniform, he would pull out a shiny trinket and handed it to a child who would thank him before scampering off. He seemed happy doing such a nice thing.

"Aloha (Hello), England!"

The Englishman turned to the bay behind him and smiled at the aspiring figure heading his way in an outrigger canoe. He hollered, "Hello, Miss Sand-"

She flung a coconut at him, nearly hitting his head. "Don't call me that hideous name!"

He chuckled, "I'm only teasing, Miss Hawai'i." He knew she didn't intend to hurt him, so he held no ill-will against her or the coconut she threw. Far away from the enemies of Europe and the servitude of his colonies, she was truly a friend he respected and, on occasion, teased for his amusement.

As the representative of the Hawaiian Islands rowed closer to the pier, England noticed a little girl sitting amongst the hog carcasses and baskets of fruit and vegetables in the canoe. She was distracted—poking a white dumb-looking mutt's pudgy tummy—to notice his curious eyes staring intently at her. He couldn't believe the resemblance. He looked to his friend who seemed eager to hear what he had to say.

"Her likeness is striking. Who's she?"

She smirked. "She's your daughter."

"Wha-What?!"

She laughed, "Just kidding! You should see your face change colors when I said that."

"Ha. I could only imagine..." He calmly collected himself. "Anyhow, I noticed you brought hogs and vegetables. Are they an offering to one of your gods?"

"Actually, they're for you."

"Oh?"

She picked up and handed him a basket of taro. "I recall you have your own celebration dedicated to peace and a godly figure. I figure you need food for a feast, hence I brought you food for your feast!"

"Why, thank you." He smiled as he placed the basket down at his feet. "It wouldn't be fair for me to take such a bountiful gift without offering something in return."

"Oh, but you don't have to."

"Ah, I must insist. In the spirit of Christmas, I came prepared with a present for you." He took out a slim case from inside his coat and opened it for her to marvel.

She awed at the pearl necklace in the velvet box, "Oh my goodness! Those are the most beautiful pearls I've ever seen! So white and clean!"

He was quite flattered with her amazement. "These pearls look more beautiful around your neck, don't you think, my dear?"

She graciously accepted his gift. "Thank you. I shall—"

CRASH!

A giant wooden ship slammed into the side of the British ship as a historically inaccurate guitar rift synchronized to the melody of "The Star-Spangled Banner" played at full blast for the harbor to hear. Everyone gaped at the loud sight. A young man sporting blond hair and blue eyes stood tall on the stern, laughing at the top of his lungs for no particular reason other than to annoy everyone with his loud presence.

"My gods! Who's that?" She looked to England for an answer and saw his ears were fuming more smoke than a volcanic eruption. "Do you know him?"

"Sadly, I do," he grumbled. "That American is nothing but trouble."

That American laughed, "Woohoo! I'm finally here! I finally reached the Sandwich Islands!"

"America! You bloody wanker!" England grabbed his former colony's attention.

"Oh, shit! England?! You're here?!"

"Are you blind, you fucking idiot? You rammed my ship!"

"I did?" America narrowed his eyes at the blurry wreckage in front of him. "Damn. I should get some glasses." He shrugged. "Welp. That's for burning down the capital, I guess."

"Inexcusable! You're going to be responsible and pay for this mess!"

"Pfft! Suck my jingle balls, old man! I'm paying jack shit!"

"Now, now." Hawai'i did her best to calm their tempers before things got messy. "This is the season of Makahiki. No war shall be permitted here without upsetting Lono. So, stop this childish argument and settle down."

While peace talks were going on, Massachusetts appeared from below the deck of the American ship. "Hey, America. Did something happen? I heard screaming—" He looked down at the pier and gasped at the presents in the Hawaiian children's hands. "You pagan!" He pointed a finger at the man who cursed him with bushy eyebrows.

England scowled. "Pagan? I'm Christian."

"Only pagans celebrate Christmas!" He leaped off the ship and landed on the pier. "No presents! No more giving away gifts! From now on, Christmas celebrations are illegal on these islands!" he proclaimed while snatching trinkets from the Hawaiian children who proceeded to cry and complain.

"Dude, stop! You're making me look bad..." America frowned at the Puritan State.

"Hey! Stop that! Those gifts belong to the children!" Hawai'i argued.

"Don't think I forgot about you." Massachusetts eyed the pearl necklace in her hands and the canoe filled with baskets of food. "No excuses. I'm confiscating everything."

The little girl in the canoe—who remained quiet throughout the noisy affair—made a high-pitched cry seeing the Masshole grab a hog carcass. "No! Stealing is bad!" She took a coconut from a basket and threw it at his head, knocking him on the forehead.

"Ow!" He dropped the hog and held his head. "You little twerp!"

Eyes closed and fists clenched, Hawai'i briefly mumbled a few words to herself. "Forgive me, Lono. I must break from tradition and use violence to settle this dispute." She took up an oar and looked to the bush-browed American giving her cute sister a hard time. "It seems you forgot who owns these islands." She swiftly pounded his back.

"Ack! Stop that! Ow!" He tried to get away from a relentless beating.

"I own these islands!" she screamed with fiery eyes. "I am the Big Island of Hawai'i! You don't make the rules, American! I do!" She kept attacking him without mercy.

"A-America! Help me out here! Ack! Ah!"

"Dude, you kinda deserved that." America watched with disappointed eyes.

From that day forward, America's job to befriend Hawai'i became a lot harder than necessary.

☆☆☆☆☆

December 24, 1843.

Thanks to her big sister's connections, Hawaii was allowed to attend the Chiefs' Children's School for her basic education. Unlike most boarding schools, the students in attendance were the sons and daughters of royalty who may inherit the throne one day. Such potential must be given the best education. Therefore, they must be taught under rigid rules to ensure a prosperous future. At the same time, the pressure to succeed was a burden on the royal students who were, after all, still children.

"I'm so booored!" the nine-year-old prince named Alexander groaned at the dinner table. "I read somewhere the Hawaiian Islands used to worship a god named Lono at this time of year. Instead of learning English or American history, we could play sports like surfing, wrestling, canoe racing, lava sledding—"

"And studying for the upcoming etiquette exam."

Alexander glared at the seven-year-old girl with the snarky British accent sitting across from him and his brothers. "Shut up, Emma. I wasn't speaking to you."

She scowled. "That's not a very nice thing to say. If Mother Cooke heard what you said, she would be very disappointed."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't care. I just want to take a break from studying."

"We'll have our break next week for Thanksgiving."

"I want a break now!"

"You're so impatient."

"At least I'm not a prune."

"I'm not a prune!"

Their argument would've escalated weren't for Hawaii who came running into the dining room, holding a box over her head. "Hey, cousins! Look at what I found at the front door!"

The kids gathered around her and the box.

"Who's it for? Is it for me?" Alexander asked with bright eyes.

"Erm, I don't think so." Hawaii placed the box on the table. "There was no card or label that came with the box, so I don't know. I don't even know who brought the box here in the first place."

"Well, we should leave the box alone," Emma suggested. "It's probably for one of the educators, so it's best we tell them about the—"

"Hey! There's a cake inside!" Alexander exclaimed as he opened the lid.

She gaped at him. "What have you done?! I said to leave the box alone!"

"Don't worry, Emma." He brushed her off. "There's no harm in taking a quick look."

Inside the box was a white-frosted cake decorated with bright red berries and spiky dark green leaves at the center. The aroma was intense, filling their nostrils with an indistinguishable smell of rum and raisins, ingredients the children weren't familiar with. Confusion regarding the strange smell lessened their appetite slightly. Nonetheless, it was still a cake—a sweet dessert that was meant to be eaten for special occasions. But with Thanksgiving a week away, it seemed strange to celebrate early.

"I think... I think I know what that is," Emma softly spoke up, sounding unsure of herself.

Hawaii cocked her head. "What do you think it is?"

"My grandfather once told me about this special cake he used to eat at this time of year. He called it a Christmas cake."

"Christmas?" Alexander raised a brow.

"It's a celebration dedicated to the birth of Jesus Christ," Hawaii explained. "My older sister once told me she used to celebrate it, but the dumb Puritans made Christmas celebrations illegal for some reason." She also recalled her sister beating up an American, but that was irrelevant.

"Really? Since when?"

While the children were chattering amongst themselves, Mother Cooke—an educator of the school—walked into the dining hall. "What's this ruckus I've been hearing?" she questioned the commotion.

"Mother Cooke!" Alexander was the first to approach her. "Are we going to jail?"

"Jail? What for?"

"Well, " he and the children looked over at the opened box, "someone sent this Christmas cake to the school. Christmas is illegal, so... Are we in trouble?"

Mother Cooke went over to inspect the cake. She looked back at the worried eyes on her students' faces and softly smiled. "No, you're not in trouble. Though, I wish you informed me or any of the educators about this cake that was sent to us."

"So, we're not going to be punished?" Emma cautiously asked.

She shook her head. "Of course not. Punishing children over a cake goes against the spirit of Christmas."

"But I thought Christmas was illegal?" Hawaii questioned.

"That's somewhat correct. Some Christians like the Catholics celebrate Christmas, but Puritans are one of a few Christian groups who discourage the practice." She looked at the cake on the table. "However, whoever sent the cake was probably in a charitable mood. It would be rude to throw such a beautiful gift away." She looked back at the children. "What do you think? Should we let this cake go to waste?"

"No!" said all the children at once.

She chuckled, "Okay, then. Take your seat at the table, so we can consume this cake together."

"Yay!" the children cheered.

Though the cake was slightly burnt, everyone ate their slices up in merriment, thankful for the amazing treat.

~ Hetalia! ~

December 24, 1858.

At night on Christmas Eve, Hawaii and her older sister arrived in front of Washington Place, a Greek Revival palace whose name was based on its resemblance to the first American president's home in Mount Vernon. They were invited by Mrs. Dominis, the owner of the palace who was hosting a Christmas party despite disapproval from Puritans. Hawaii wanted to go to the party because they were offering presents for children. Hawai'i didn't mind going, however, she was reluctant to adhere to the party's dress code. Victorian dresses were the antithesis to the plain skirts the sisters usually wore. As one could imagine, it was an uncomfortable struggle to move around in these large flamboyant dresses. But hey, at least they looked stylish and elegant!

Hawaii was the first to hop out of the horse-drawn carriage, stepping onto the ground with ease. "Look, Tita (slang for sister)! I look like a princess!" She twirled around in her ruby red dress.

"That's wonderful..." Hawai'i grumbled as she wrestled with the multiple layers of her broad skirt, taking her more time to get out of the carriage.

She giggled at her sister's struggle. "You look lovely in that dress, Tita."

"Geez! Thanks!"

She laughed, "Let me help you."

Once Hawai'i got used to walking around in a Victorian dress, she and her young sister entered Washington Place at the chime of bells. The first person they saw and greeted was Mrs. Dominis—the hostess. When asked about the other children that were invited, the widow told them they were upstairs, getting ready to meet Santa.

"Santa? Who's Santa?" Hawaii looked to her sister who didn't seem to know the answer to her question.

Mrs. Dominis smiled in amusement. "Santa is a jolly man who brings presents to good children every year."

"Really?"

"Have you been a good girl this year?"

"Um..." She recalled a time she accidentally took pineapples from a plantation. Otherwise, she behaved properly more or less. "I think so..."

She tittered, "Wonderful! Santa will be happy to reward you for your good deeds."

With that, the hostess brought the sisters upstairs, introducing them to a festive display. Before their very eyes was a tall magnificent evergreen that nearly touched the ceiling. From top to bottom, the tree was decorated with colored candles, toy soldiers, delicate dolls, and silver bells. It was colorful and brightly lit. Hawaii and the other children awed at the spectacular tree.

"Wow! So pretty!" Hawaii went up to get a closer look at the Christmas tree.

While everyone marveled at the tree, a loud thud occurring closeby suddenly grabbed their attention. The room turned to a pair of doors creaking open, revealing a short chubby man dressed in a red and white suit. He had a pudgy rosy red face which half of it was covered in fluffy white facial hair. Truth be told, the beard was fake. It was especially noticeable on the young man trying to imitate an older character. Fortunately, the Hawaiians weren't at all suspicious because —up until this point—they had never seen St. Nick in their lives.

"Is that Santa?" Hawai'i asked the hostess, getting this feeling there was something different about him.

"Erm, I think that's him. Although, he looks a bit young for the role..." Mrs. Dominis mumbled.

"Moi, moi (Hi, hi), little children of the Hawaiian Islands! Merry Christmas!" Finland— I-I mean, Santa brought out and opened up a magical burlap sack filled with toys, getting a delightful squeal from the girls and boys.

The children eagerly awaited their present from Santa. They would either get a small bag of marbles, wooden blocks, a toy soldier, a cute doll, or even a yo-yo. Alongside a toy, they also get a handful of candy. To receive so much in a single night without having to offer anything but a thank you in return, the children would never forget this charitable moment.

When it was Hawaii's turn to receive her gift, she asked him, "Are you really Santa?"

"Yes, little one." He smiled.

"Then, it's true you bring presents to children every year?"

"Yes, but only to good children."

She frowned. "What about my tita?"

"Tita? Who's that?"

She pointed to her older sibling. "She has been good all year. She has worked hard to support us while taking good care of me. She deserves a present, too."

Santa scratched the side of his head. "Well, she looks a bit old for toys..."

"What's the problem, kaikana (little sister)?" Hawai'i went up to them to see what the fuss was about.

"I'm asking Santa to give you a present," she explained, "but he says you're old."

"OLD!"

"A-Aaah!" Santa panicked at the sight of a woman in a fiery rage. "I-I don't mean it like t-that! I mean to say, you won't find much enjoyment in having a toy meant for children."

"Hmph. I guess I'll let it go." The flames surrounding Hawai'i slowly died down to wispy smoke.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad to hear that." He looked inside his magical bag and pulled out a colorfully-wrapped box. "At the request of your sweet sister, here's a present for your hard work."

"Thank you." She politely accepted the gift.

Hawaii smiled. "Now, how about a gift for Hoku?"

"Hoku?"

"My doggie! He has been a good... Well, actually, he did shred my sister's favorite woven mat and peed in the canoe. He also bit a haole's (foreigner's) ankles, but it wasn't his fault. Besides that, he has been a good— Ah!"

"I think we asked enough from Santa," Hawai'i grumbled as she dragged her little sister away from the jolly man.

"But tita!"

"I'm sending you back home."

She moaned, "Hoku will be very sad if he doesn't get a present for Christmas."

"The dumb mutt will be fine. Just feed him taro paste, and he'll be happy as a pig in mud" She escorted her back to the horse carriage. "When you get home, you can ask one of the aunties to help you out of the dress before you—"

"No!" Hawaii stomped her foot. "I'm not going home!"

"Kaikana..." She scowled.

"I won't go home until I get Hoku a present!" She pouted.

She groaned, "Fine. You win. I'll get the stupid mutt a present."

"You promise?"

"Yes, I promise. Just go home and get some sleep. It's late." She forced her into the carriage.

She smiled. "Okay, Tita. Have fun at the grand ball." She waved as the carriage departed from Washington Place.

Hawai'i grumbled to herself, "If not for her, I would've given the lousy mutt the sweet gift of death."

~ Ho, Ho, Ho! ~

December 24, 1862.

"Joy to the World; the Lord is come! Let earth receive her King! Let ev'ry heart prepare Him room! And Heaven and nature sing! And Heaven and nature sing!"

King Kamehameha IV, the bishop of the Hawaiian Reformed Catholic Church, a choir of twenty singers, and twenty torchbearers marched down the streets of the Hawaiian capital, filling the night with glowing lights and joyous song. Bystanders watched the procession in awe of the festivity. Whenever the king came their way, they would smile and cheer. The king would smile and wave back, yet he kept marching on. On occasion, he would stop and give special greetings to individuals. Once he lit their green candles, he continued onward—repeating the same custom—until he reached the palace.

"Alex! Over here!"

Hearing his name being called, King Kamehameha IV searched the street until he saw a short girl waving at him. She was sitting on the shoulders of a young woman who didn't seem at all pleased with the girl.

"You can't address him like that," Hawai'i argued.

"But that's his name!"

"Yes, that's his name. But you must address him by his royal title."

"Why? He's still Alex." 

King Kamehameha IV went over to greet them while they were arguing. "Aloha ahiahi (Good evening), ladies."

Hawaii smiled and waved at her former classmate. "Mele Kalikimaka (Merry Christmas), Alex! I wish you happiness for you and Emma!"

Hawai'i bowed her head out of respect. "Mele Kalikimaka (Merry Christmas), my king. Excuse my young sister for her loud behavior."

He chuckled, "It's fine. She has every right to be excited. After all, tomorrow will be the first official Christmas for the Hawaiian Islands." He proceeded to light their green candles. "Mele Kalikimaka to you all." He continued marching down the street.

From the palace grounds of the 'Iolani Palace, Queen Emma watched the parade make its grand arrival. The torchbearers placed their torches around the fountains whose flames were reflected onto the clear water. Coupled with the brilliant moonlight above everyone's excited faces, it was a remarkable sight. However, a greater sight was about to come.

Once King Kamehameha IV returned to his queen's side, together, they and the Hawaiian people watched a great fireworks show. White sparkles and red rockets went boom, boom, boom in the starry night. Over their deafening shouts, everyone joined the choir in one last carol to "Good King Wenceslas". Glasses of champagne punch were raised as the national anthem played in the smoky silence. Soon, it was time for bed. But before the end of this festive night, there was a round of applause and hurrahs.

"Mele Kalikimaka and a Hau'oli Makahiki Hou (Happy New Year)!"

~ Hetalia! ~

Aloha, papa, give me pineapple juice!
Aloha, mama, aloha, mama!
I cannot forget the taste of those
Malasadas I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
My name's Hawaii!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Aloha State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A beautiful world can be seen!
Paradise of the Pacific!
I'm Hawaii!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

1787—Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

On the 25th of May, Pennsylvania and Virginia were thrilled to finally start the Constitutional Convention with the arrival of five more states: Delaware, New York, North Carolina, South Carolina, and New Jersey. They had a short session—assigning roles and setting rules. Once that was done, they called it a day.

Pennsylvania offered to buy everyone drinks in celebration of the progress that was made. The others thought the progress they made was trivial, but they didn't refuse free drinks. They followed her to the Indian Queen Tavern, spending the rest of the day drinking and talking with their fellow states and their delegates.

New York sat beside Alexander Hamilton at a table, sharing a bottle of wine while planning speeches for the next session.

"I can't believe I was chosen for the Constitutional Convention," Hamilton spoke whimsically, still amazed to be given the honor to influence what might be the most important document in history.

New York wasn't as fascinated, reminding him, "The reason you were chosen was because of your father-in-law."

"That's one of the reasons, okay!" he huffed. "He also chose me for my extraordinary intelligence, my excellent skill with a pen, and the way I eloquently speak before an audience."

"If you say so..."

As they were chatting, a pair of hands grabbed their shoulders, startling them. "Heeelllooo, my fellow New Yorkers!"

Recognizing that indistinguishably rich tone, New York swatted their hand away and glared daggers at the rakish man. "You! What the hell are you doing here?"

Hamilton cocked his head at his friend's repulsed reaction. "You're familiar with Gouverneur Morris?"

"Of course, he knows me! Every New Yorker knows me!" Morris laughed as he took a seat at their table. "To answer the former question, I was a New York native, but a series of dramatic events forced me to reside in Philadelphia to rebuild my career. Though I didn't live in Philly for very long, I was invited to become a delegate for Pennsylvania. Thus, here I am. Anyway," he turned to the bar, "can I get a bottle of red wine?"

While Morris poured himself a glass of wine, New York snuck a glance at the peg leg the Pennslyvania delegate sported. He didn't intend to ask questions concerning the cause of his missing leg, preferring to stick to discussing future sessions. However, Morris caught his glance and smirked. "Surprised? I know you're dying to know what happened to my poor leg."

"Not really..."

"Did you lose it during the war?" Hamilton asked.

"Technically, yes. I did lose my leg during the war."

"Then, which battle?"

"Philadelphia."

"I see." He assumed he was referring to the failed campaign to protect Philadelphia from the British invasion. "You must've fought valiantly."

He smirked. "Indeed, I fought valiantly. It was one of the greatest battles I fought in."

'Bullshit.' New York knew him to be a lover—not a fighter. Yet, he decided to play along and pretend to be like Hamilton and be intrigued by what he had to say. "Care to explain how that battle went?" he asked.

Morris chortled, "Well, it was during a late afternoon..."

☆☆☆☆☆

"My opponent was quite unique. They had a docile appearance: dark curly locks, plump cheeks, average height, broad chest, and a bit of fat around their hips and thighs. They were panting very hard from the muggy swelter, yet I could tell from the fiery look in their glowing eyes they had me where they wanted. It was just me and my adversary, trapped in the same room while the world continued to move around us. I understood what must be done; there was no intention to run like a coward.

I charged first and fought my opponent to gain the upper hand. Admittedly, they fought valiantly to keep me on my toes. Even so, in the end, I proved to be the stronger person out of the two of us. When I came on top, I pinned them to the ground with my weight. I fetched out my loaded musket and placed the muzzle close to their mouth. I wanted to blow them away in a single shot. I wanted to shoot a large load into the back of their throat.

I was about to pull the trigger until they began to laugh at me. They dared me to do it. They dared me to put it in. They dared me to put my musket into their mouth and blast them to smithereens. I hesitated. I couldn't believe such audacity. There wasn't an ounce of fear in their bold command. They didn't even act at all shameful to admit what I was going to do to them. I was tempted to let them have it, yet I knew deep down a short blow to the mouth wouldn't be satisfactory.

I brought the tip of my weapon down to their belly. Their eyes grew wide when I showed them where I planned to put the bayonet instead of their mouth. Yet, they continued to maintain that audacious smile, telling me to go ahead and do it. They probably assumed I would go soft on them. Hmph. Quite foolish of them to think I was a soft man. I was hardline when it came to challenges. I loved proving such people wrong. Without hesitation, I showed them what I was capable of doing. I dug the tip of my bayonet deep into their fleshy navel."

Hamilton gulped. "Oh, shit..."

"Oh, shit, indeed," Morris chuckled. "I couldn't believe how deep my bayonet went. It almost went completely inside them."

"You didn't have to include that insignificant detail," New York grumbled.

"Small detail? Ha! That detail was anything but small, my dear New Yorker." His chest puffed up with pride. "If that detail were small, my opponent wouldn't have felt the penetration and mocked me for being incompetent. I would've been ashamed if that happened. But fortunately, my bayonet pierced through my opponent without a snag, turning them into a screaming, moaning, and writhing mess. I would never forget the feeling of their insides gushing around my weapon. The liquids that came out were indescribable."

"That sounds..." Hamilton shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Morris laughed. "As I was pulling the tip of my blade out, my opponent told me to leave it in. They begged me to keep it inside them. They begged me not to pull out. Such a request I couldn't ignore. With that, I did as they desired. However, I didn't plan to go easy on them. Each time I pulled out slightly, they groaned. Each time I pushed in deeper, they cried out in tearful gasps. Torturing them was music to the ears."

"Are you done with the details yet?" New York grew increasingly irked by the length of this story.

"Okay, okay. I'll skip the dialogue and get straight to the point." He cleared his throat for a second. "Anyhow, I was almost done with the job. My opponent laid tiredly across from me, panting heavily for an end to this madness. With one more thrust of my mighty weapon, I would've dealt the final blow. I would've made the final shot... But then her husband came home."

"WHAT?!" Hamilton exclaimed, grabbing the attention of the tavern around him. "I thought you said—"

He sighed, "Honestly, I underestimated myself. I didn't think gossip concerning my sexy reputation would reach the ears of married Philadelphians so quick." He shrugged. "Oh, well. It couldn't be helped."

New York stood up from his chair. "I think I heard more than enough."

"Wait a moment!" Morris grabbed his wrist. "I haven't even told you how I lost my leg."

"Don't care." He pulled his arm away. "I knew this story was going to be about another one of your lewd adventures, and you prove me right."

"Oh, come on! You must hear the ending of this escapade at least!" He forced New York to sit back down before continuing his story. "To clarify, the opponent I met was a lonesome woman who grew distant from her husband's long absences from home. Naturally, she sought company, therefore I was obliged to comfort her until we were satisfied. We didn't attempt to hide our little affair, so I half-expected her husband to discover my unexpected visits one of those days. Unluckily, one of those days happened to be when I was most vulnerable."

He sighed, "Thank goodness the bedroom was on the second floor. While her angry husband took his time stomping up the stairs, I spent that time getting my trousers on. By the time he barged into the bedroom, my shirt was buttoned halfway. My lady friend held him off long enough for me to make my escape out the window.

Miraculously, I didn't break any bones when I fell back to Earth. There was some pain in my ankles, but that wasn't a major concern. However, I wasn't out of the woods yet. Her husband cursed my name from the window above me, threatening me with various methods of torture and execution. Not wanting to die just yet, I hurried down the street, ignoring the stares of multiple bystanders along the way. On occasion, I glanced over my shoulder, wary to keep away from him as well as make sure he wasn't following me. I planned to go home once I was sure I was out of harm's way.

As I thought of that, ironically, I ended up getting in harm's way. I didn't notice the horse carriage heading toward me as I was looking in another direction. The driver of the carriage tried to warn me, but it was too late. I was knocked onto the ground by the horses. I managed to avoid getting trampled, however, I failed to pull my left leg away from the incoming wheels of the carriage. There was a loud snap that notified bystanders to come to my assistance once the carriage stopped moving. The pain was unimaginable.

I was taken to the nearest hospital for the doctors to evaluate my injury. At the time, I figured it would take a couple of months for my leg to heal. Sadly, that wasn't the case. The doctors told me the only option was an amputation below the knee. While that sounded awful to think about, I knew it was the better option over a nonrecoverable broken leg." He lamented as he leaned back in his chair. "Thus, that was how I lost my leg."

"That's terrible." Hamilton frowned. "Although, you had it coming."

"Indeed," New York agreed, "your lecherous reputation has always gotten you into trouble. Sleeping with wives, running away from angry husbands, getting called a hellraiser, it's about time your actions caught up to you. Hopefully, losing a leg has taught you a valuable lesson to steer away from the pleasures and dissipations of life." He drank his glass of wine.

Morris laughed. "Ah, you argue the matter so handsomely and point out so clearly the advantages of being without legs that I am almost tempted to part with the other," he quipped.

"I'm tempted to wish you had lost something else instead," he grumbled.

While the New Yorkers argued over the morals of sleeping with married women, the Pennsylvanians playing with cards at their table mused over the story they overheard.

"They believe him?"

"I'm not surprised. Those New Yorkers love to listen to gossip."

Pennsylvania chuckled, "Nonetheless, he told quite an entertaining story. Though fictional, it was more interesting than what actually happened."

~ Hetalia... ~

The delegates of the Constitutional Convention continued to work hard to create a constitution that would enable a strong stable government for Americans to rely on. Ideas were pitched. Plans were made. Speeches were given. And votes were taken. Not every session was successful, but progress continued to be made.

At the end of one session, some of the delegates attended an evening reception—a formal yet relaxing distraction from the Convention.

Gouverneur Morris was socializing with his fellow delegates when Alexander Hamilton brought up a topic regarding the President of the Convention—George Washington.

"Were you not his right-hand man? I thought you got along with Washington like good friends?" Morris questioned.

Hamilton chuckled, "Yes, I was one of the General's most trusted allies during the war. Even after the war, we remained good friends. However, that was concerning formal affairs. When it comes to personal matters, I can't say we're close."

"Why? And how come?

"Well, it's because he's Washington. Normally, men separate themselves into two halves: a persona for formalities and another for informalities. But in all my years of working beside the General, I honestly believe he's born without an informal side."

"Nonsense!"

"But it's true! Every informal gathering I had with Washington had some formalities, usually out of respect toward him. Even when he's with Martha, he's still the General if you get what I mean."

He scoffed, "Of course! It's all a mere fancy. Washington has a reputation to uphold. A demigod of elite prestige and noble background can't simply speak or act like a commoner." He smirked. "Nonetheless, I'm sure Washington has an easygoing side he rarely shows. He's partially mortal, so he must have emotions underneath that stoic mask he always wears."

"And how do you suppose we expose Washington's mortal side?"

"It's easy! All it takes is a big smile, a casual greeting, and a pat on the shoulder. Such a method works every time on every person I've encountered, including the most serious folk. Surely, it can make Washington relax his stiff shoulders and act like the rest of us," he boldly claimed.

Hamilton smirked. "If so, during the next evening reception, you will gently slap Washington on the shoulder and say, 'My dear General, how happy I am to see you look so well!' If you do, a supper and wine shall be provided for you and a dozen of your friends." He offered his hand.

Without thinking twice, Morris shook his hand on the offer.

~ Challenge accepted! ~

At the next evening reception, Alexander Hamilton spoke in front of a large gathering. Gouverneur Morris thought his speech was rubbish, but that wasn't his concern. The only thought on his mind was the bet he accepted.

George Washington was standing with his arms behind him; his back to the fireplace. He was with a beautiful brunette who could easily be mistaken as his daughter. Of course, she couldn't be his daughter by blood. And certainly, he wasn't the type of man to go behind his wife's back. They were simply good friends—a pair of aristocratic Virginians discussing their progress in the Constitutional Convention while listening to Hamilton's speech.

"Isn't he the man who suggested the nation have a President-for-Life?" Virginia asked out of curiosity.

Washington sighed, "His intentions are ambitious, but he means well."

As he said this, Morris approached Washington with a confident smile. "My dear General," he paid his respects with a bow and a handshake before making his move, "I am very happy to see you look so well!" He let out a laugh as he laid his hand on the General's shoulder.

It would appear Hamilton was finished with his speech because the room was completely still. Their eyes were on Morris and the General, nervously watching to see how this strange interaction would turn out. For sure, they knew this wasn't going to end well for Morris. It was a cringeworthy moment.

Washington glared at the uninvited hand on his left shoulder like it was a pesky mosquito. He didn't call Morris out for laying a hand on him, but he certainly didn't like what he did. He fixed his stone-cold gaze on Morris and scowled in disapproval. Without speaking a single word, he peeled Morris's palm off his shoulder and took a sudden step back.

"... Ain't I right, General?" Morris asked in a nervous chuckle.

Washington maintained a silent scowl and stone-cold glare.

He gulped. 'Oh, shit! How I wished the floor would open and I could descend to the cellar!'

Virginia softly chuckled to herself. 'Oh, that poor man.'

Morris laughed uncomfortably, "Pardon me, but I must leave. Have a good evening, General." He retreated abashed and sought refuge in the silent crowd, bumping into Hamilton at the back.

"Looks like you won the bet." Hamilton gave him a bottle of wine.

Morris chuckled gloomily with a tear running down his eye, "I have won the bet but paid dearly for it, and nothing could induce me to repeat it..."

~ Hetalia... ~

In the final days of the Constitutional Convention, the Committee of Style and Arrangement had the job of revising and arranging the articles for the final draft. They were almost finished with the task. All they needed to do was come up with a preamble before sending the document off to be printed.

"How about this?" Gouverneur Morris wrote while speaking aloud. "We the People of the states of New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia, do ordain, declare, and establish the following constitution for the government of ourselves and our posterity."

Alexander Hamilton raised a brow. "What kind of order is that?"

"Well," Rufus King—delegate for Massachusetts—explained, "that's the order of states from north to south. Nothing too complex."

"This will no doubt upset the South," James Madison—delegate for Virginia—mumbled.

"Wouldn't it be better to list the states in alphabetical order?" Hamilton suggested.

Morris shrugged. "I suppose we can try alphabetical order." He brought out a blank document, redipped his quill in the ink well, and proceeded to write again. "We the People of Connecticut, Delaware, Georgia, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, South Carolina, and Virginia, do ordain—"

"Hold up!" Madison interrupted. "Why is Virginia last?"

"Duh. Because Virginia starts with the letter 'V', and it's near the bottom of the alphabet," Hamilton explained condescendingly.

"There's no need to explain the alphabet to me. I'm not a little child," he grumbled.

"You're certainly little like one," he remarked.

He held himself back from slapping him across his handsome face. "I mean, the dear state of Virginia deserves better. After all, they're the eldest state—the land where America began."

Morris breathed, "Okay, then. I guess the states can be listed in order of when they were founded." He repeated the same routine while writing again. "We the People of Virginia, Massachusetts, New York, Maryland, Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, Connecticut, Delaware, New Hampshire, North Carolina, South Carolina, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Georgia, do ordain, declare—"

"Wait a moment." William Samuel Johnson—delegate for Connecticut—stopped him from finishing his sentence. "Why did you put Rhode Island before Connecticut?"

"According to the history of the colonies," Morris handed him a history book, "Rhode Island was founded before Connecticut."

"Bollocks!" He flipped through the pages of the history book. "Connecticut was established as a royal colony before that puny lot of land became a royal colony!"

"Then, do you want me to list in order of when the colonies were established?" Morris grumbled as he got out another blank document. "We the People of Virginia, Maryland, Connecticut, Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, Delaware, New York, New Hampshire, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, New Jersey, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia, do ordain, declare, and establish..."

King grumbled, "That doesn't look right..."

"Can you at least put New York before Delaware?" Hamilton asked.

"But that wouldn't be fair for Delaware," Madison pointed out.

"You had it fair for Virginia."

"As long as Connecticut comes before Rhode Island, I'm fine with this," said Johnson in content.

"Well, I'm not!"

"Pipe down, Hamilton!"

Morris watched his fellow delegates pointlessly argue over the best state in disappointment. "You know what. Screw you guys. We're running out of paper and ink, and my wrist is getting sore from constantly writing every state's name. I'm going to write the preamble by myself." He got out a fresh document. "We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect union..."

~ To be continued! ~

Hey, hey, papa, give me root beer!
Hey, hey, mama, hey, hey mama!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Shoofly pie I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Yo, I'm Pennsylvania!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Keystone State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The Liberty Bell tolls for freedom!
Pennsylvania!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

December 12, 1798—Newport, Rhode Island

It was dirty weather out there. Snow and rain fell from the darkened skies for endless hours; it thundered on occasion. Empty ships in the harbor creaked and moaned, enduring the surges that came crashing their way. Other than the howling wind, the port was ghostly quiet. Everyone did what was best during such tumultuous weather—they stayed indoors.

At the local tavern and inn, Rhode Island sat with his head down at the bar. The low-quality scotch he had wasn't strong enough to knock him unconscious, leaving him bored out of his mind. He didn't feel like doing paperwork for his boss. He would rather go fishing, but the stormy weather made it impossible without setbacks. Setting aside his better judgment, he looked to the local tavern for some kind of comfort in this miserable winter.

"Hey. Are you listening?"

He glared up at a man in his late forties whose most distinguishable traits were his wooden peg leg and aristocratic sense of fashion. He didn't know the traveler who claimed to be Gouverneur Morris, nor did he care to know about his romantic travels across Europe. Their interaction was by coincidence, commenced by Morris's desire for an audience. He chose the person closest to his seat at the bar to tell his story, and that happened to be a grumpy midget.

"Are you finished talking yet?" Rhode Island grumbled.

Morris huffed, "Are you kidding? I'm not even close to finishing my story."

He groaned, "Then, hurry up and finish your story before I change my mind on the free drinks."

"At least show some interest in my story," he fussed. "But as I was saying, my lady friend and I were getting ready to depart from the Louvre in Paris..."

☆☆☆☆☆

October 19, 1789.

At the time, the Louvre was the residence, studio, and gallery of many artists under royal patronage. Among the various apartments, there was one that belonged to a 28-year-old woman who went by the title of Madame de Flahaut; she was also the French romance writer known as Adelaide Filleul. She was able to have her own apartment thanks to her husband—a wealthy count who was at least thirty years her senior. She rarely saw her husband. His apartment was next door, yet he was far too busy working as one of the king's secretaries to pay much attention to her. Like many bored wives of old men, she turned to others around her age for company.

Recently, she had taken a peculiar liking for an American by the strange name of Gouverneur Morris. Their friendship began in early spring, yet they had since become intimate in thoughts and physical contact. Morris would often meet her at her salon, sometimes with a request to judge and edit his written letters to French-speaking associates. She was more than happy to help him while commenting on his bad French over dinner. On occasion, they would travel across Paris and its rich attractions: visiting the sociable salons of other madames, meeting monsieurs at elaborate estates, attending grand opera houses, etcetera. It was no secret they were close. They enjoyed each other's company very much.

Today, the Madame de Flahaut wanted to go to the Bois de Boulogne—a large park that was formerly reserved as a hunting preserve and a pleasure garden for the king and his family. She wanted to make a short visit to the convent that was located there. Morris didn't mind making the detour as long as they were on time for their appointments with various companies.

But as they were setting out in an ornate carriage, heading down the Rue de Rivoli to the park, they were stopped by a rambunctious mob. "Get the hell out of there, Englishman!" the mob hollered in French. "We know you've been spying for the royals!" They pounded the sides of the carriage; some of them carried a rope on hand.

Peeking from behind the curtained window, the Madame de Flahaut turned to her companion out of concern for the threats that were being made. "What are they talking about?"

"I don't know. Those reptiles are prone to believe all sorts of nonsense." He proceeded to take off his peg leg.

"What on Earth are you going to do? You're not going to fight them, are you?"

He looked back at her with a smirk. "Why fight when I can woo them."

She frowned. "I hope you know what you're doing..."

The mob watched the presumed Englishman open the window of the carriage. A pair of men got close to the window with nooses in hand, eager to drag him out. But a wooden peg forced them to fall back. The rest of the mob took a few steps back from getting hit by the wooden leg.

"What is with the ruckus? Why did you stop my carriage?" Morris complained in French.

Someone from the crowd stepped forward. "We know you came from England to spy on us!"

"Yeah, that's right! You're a rat!"

"You should be hanged for going against the common people of France!"

Morris bonked the nearest person with his peg leg. "You dunces! First off, I'm a proud American! Second, you should know I fought and lost a limb in the fight for America's freedom! And third, on the contrary, I came here to this beautiful country to support the fight for liberty!"

The mob didn't know what to make of that information. They were still skeptical, and Morris knew it would take more effort to gain their trust. He thrust his peg leg high in the air and shouted, "Vive la Révolution (Long live the Revolution)! Vive la Révolution!"

Somehow, that worked.

The mob slowly joined in and chanted, "Vive la Révolution! Vive la Révolution! Vive la Révolution!"

While the mob celebrated calls for revolution, Morris signaled the driver to continue driving. The carriage moved forward, and the mob moved away, watching them pass.

The Madame let out a sigh of relief. "That was quite an act you put on."

"You think so?" Morris put on his peg leg. "Did I convince you?"

"Certainly." She smiled playfully. "If I hadn't known the truth about your accident, I would've pitied you."

"What about admiration for my bravery on the battlefield?"

"That, too. I would be swooning, knowing I was facing a brave hero who fought for America's freedom."

"Well, when you put it that way, I wish I actually lost my leg in the war." He acted hurt.

"Oh, don't say that."

"Oh, but you wounded my pride." He dramatically held a hand to his heart.

She tittered, "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better about yourself?" She smirked.

"Well..."

The carriage creaked and moaned as it continued to down the Rue de Rivoli.

~ Vive la Révolution! ~

October 28, 1789.

"Adelaide!" Gouverneur Morris delightfully called her name as he arrived at her salon on time for their appointment. "I have another letter for you..to..." He grew quiet when he realized he stumbled into an awkward position at what appeared to be a family party: a mother, a child, and a...lover.

The other lover, the only man at the dinner table, was the Bishop d'Autun—Charles Maurice de Talleyrand was his name. Indeed, clergymen were discouraged from being in intimate relationships. Yet, the Bishop had exquisite tastes he couldn't suppress for an abstinent lifestyle he deeply loathed. His loyalties toward the clergy were based on power and wealth, nothing more than that. As one of the few clergymen to support the revolutionaries' anti-clerical position, he hoped to gain a seat in the revolutionary government as well as maintain a luxury-filled lifestyle. Morris doubted that was possible, yet the Bishop continued to be involved in government affairs with the assistance of one of his lovers, the Madame de Flahaut.

The Bishop stood up from his seat and walked with an inherent limp to greet him. "Bonsoir (Good evening), Monsieur Morris." He gave him a bow and firm handshake. "What business do you have with the Madame today?"

"Bonsoir, Bishop. I came as usual with a letter for the Madame to read and correct," he explained. "I would've scheduled a different time if I knew you were having dinner with the Madame."

"Thank you for your consideration, but that wouldn't be possible. I prompted her to have dinner with me, so you wouldn't have known until your arrival." He glanced at the pocket watch in his hand before putting it back in his coat pocket. "Fortunately for you, I won't take any more of your time."

"Is that alright?"

"I have to meet someone for business later this evening." He went over to the Madame. "I'll be taking my leave."

She graciously nodded with a sad smile, appearing to whisper something to him that Morris couldn't hear. Whatever it was, the Bishop reacted with a polite peck on the cheek.

The Bishop looked over at her four-year-old son who was finishing his stew. "Charles Joseph." He got the boy's attention. "Be good to your mother while I'm away."

He nodded. "Yes, sir!" He grinned, showing the missing gaps in his teeth.

The Bishop took another bow before taking his leave, passing Morris on the way. "I'll be sure to meet with you later this week. For now, I'll leave you to do business with the Madame."

"Indeed, I will." He smirked.

The Bishop grimaced, however, he didn't say anything back as he left the salon.

Once he was gone, Morris went over to the dining table to properly greet the Madame de Flahaut. "Bonsoir, Madame. I'm sorry to interrupt your time with the Bishop."

She forced an apologetic smile. "That's quite alright. Dinner with the Bishop was unexpected, but he insisted on having dinner with me and my son." She looked over at her child. "He rarely gets the chance to see him, so it's quite nice to see them interact..."

He frowned. "Is everything alright, madame?"

She brushed her eyes and nodded. "I'm alright."

"Mère (Mother), why are you crying?" Her son noticed the tears falling down her cheek.

"It's alright, Charles. I'm fine," she sniffled.

Morris thought otherwise. "Charles, it would appear your mother is feeling under the weather. Do you mind waiting in the salon while I take her to bed for a bit of rest?"

The boy quietly nodded.

Morris escorted the Madame to her bedroom. The moment he closed the door behind them, she began to weep uncontrollably. She tried to apologize, but Morris shushed her not to fret. He slowly set her down on the soft bed and brought out his handkerchief. He gently wiped away the tears as they fell down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. It's just..." She looked away ashamed.

"There, there. It's alright." He wiped away a tear at the corner of her eye. "What's on your mind?"

"... My son, Charles..." Her lips trembled. "I always assumed he would live his entire life in Paris. I thought I could provide everything for him, but I'm not so sure. With the Revolution going on, my income has been cut drastically." She stared into his eyes, disheartened and afraid. "I don't want to leave Paris."

"What about the Monsieur?"

"He intends to stay in Paris," she grumbled bitterly. "He's loyal to the king."

"And the Bishop?"

"He also intends to stay in Paris." She scowled. "I know what you're thinking. But no, I have no intention to marry him."

"He fathered your son, didn't he?"

"He did, but..." She bit her lip. "My relationship with the Bishop at this point is an exchange of pleasures and information. Even if he doesn't mind the idea of marriage, I can't imagine marrying the man who oversaw my wedding to the Monsieur. Such a marriage will arouse scrutiny, and I don't want that to happen to either of us."

"Is there no one else you can turn to?"

She shook her head. "My friends plan to either stay in their homes or flee the country secretly. They're too afraid of the mobs to help me at the moment... It's bad enough to think about leaving this place. But the thought of life elsewhere, that's what truly scares me. Abandoning familiar comfort to an unpredictable landscape, I can't imagine it being easy. And certainly, my son... I don't know how we'll be able to manage on our own." She broke out in tears.

"Adelaide..." Morris wiped away more tears. "Everything will be fine. You're a strong intelligent woman. I know you'll find a way to support yourself and your son. Your writings, I'm sure you'll find some way to make money off them."

"I doubt it will be enough."

"It'll be enough to support yourself and your son. I know." His hands softly held the sides of her face, making her look directly at him. At the same time, he can't help be mesmerized by her alluring gaze. His lips drew closer to her. "Adelaide..."

"Gouverneur..." she whispered back, drawing her lips closer to his until they softly touched. She pulled away first with flushed cheeks. "Je t'aime (I love you). I want to go with you to America."

"... Je t'aime aussi (I love you, too)," he kissed her again, "but I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Why not?" She sounded more confused than offended.

"America is not like France. And certainly, Morrisania isn't like Paris." He kissed her once more. "Believe me, Adelaide. I wish I could help you. But I have to stay here for the United States needs someone to observe what's going on around here. And I know such an excuse makes me no better than the Monsieur or the Bishop. However, it's for the better we stay like this."

"I understand, but... It doesn't change the situation I'm in." She sulked.

He sighed, "Paris is indeed a wonderful city. So gay, full of men and things to interest and amuse. Philosophers, patriots, men of letters, rioters, beautiful women, clever and witty, leaders of society and politics, they're all there. Everything, nearly, can be found in Paris. Yet, nothing here can last forever." He affectionately rubbed his thumb over her pouty cheek. "You may have to abandon your friends and your hopes when this city falls deeper into chaos. But whatever happens, I'm sure you and your son will be alright."

She softly smiled. "I hope you're right, Gouverneur. I hope you're right..."

~ ........ ~

November 13, 1789.

Late in the evening, Gouverneur Morris arrived at the Louvre to meet with the Madame de Flahaut. He briefly spoke with Monsieur de Flahaut and the Bishop d'Autun downstairs before heading up to her apartment. When he got to her door, a female servant told him she was having a bath. He didn't mind waiting until she finished. But after waiting less than a minute, the servant told him the Madame was ready to receive him before heading down the hallway. He was impressed with the Madame for finishing her bath so quickly, but that was an assumption.

When Morris entered the salon, the Madame was still in the bath, laying in a deep copper tub. The water in the tub was mixed with milk, making it opaque. The only parts of her body he could see clearly were her head, neck, and upper torso; her breasts remained beneath the water. Although, he could imagine what the rest of her body looked like. Nonetheless, he tried to maintain eye contact despite the odd predicament.

The Madame quirked a brow. "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't properly greeted me."

He scoffed, "My apologies, madame. I'm flabbergasted to see you in the bath."

"Is that a problem?" She smirked.

"Not at all. Though, the bath is a strange place to receive a visit."

"Not in Paris." She seductively crossed her legs. "Here, it is usual to receive in the bath."

"I suppose it is..."

She chuckled. "Can you help me with something?"

"What is it?"

"The servant forgot to wash my back, but I sent them away." She tossed him a washcloth without waiting to hear his answer.

Seeing that he had no other choice, Morris went to work. He got behind the tub and kneeled. She slowly leaned forward, showing him her entire backside, so he could wash the places she couldn't clean by herself. Though she didn't hear a word come out of him, she knew he was enjoying this shared experience. She could imagine the rakish smile on his face.

"I forgot to mention this before," she spoke up. "The servant also forgot to clean my bosom."

He quirked a brow. "Did the servant even clean you?"

She chuckled, "Why are you complaining?"

"Well, I can't fathom anyone careless enough to forget the bust you carry." He smirked. "But I'll certainly not be careless to forget them." His hands slide across her sides, making her fidget and giggle.

"W-What are you doing?"

"I'm washing your bosom, Madame. Now, stay still before you splash more water out of the tub." He grasped her left breast, inciting a moan out of her mouth.

"Hey. Be gentle now." She breathed out a sigh as he fondled her chest. On occasion, his fingers moved around the perky rosebuds, getting a cute squeak out of her.

"Is there another spot I missed?" he breathed closed to her ear.

"U-Um..." A scarlet flush grew across her face. "I think that's everything..."

He kissed the nape of her neck, sending a shiver down her back. "I'll bring you a towel then." He went away for a moment.

When he returned with a clean towel, the Madame slowly rose from the tub, recreating The Birth of Venus in front of Morris. She attempted to hide her feminity by covering her breasts with her right arm and her dripping honey pot with her left hand. It was out of modesty, but it wasn't necessary for Morris already seen the entire picture before. Nonetheless, her divine figure still took his breath away. If he was to be a part of Botticelli's masterpiece, he could fulfill the role of Zephyr, helping her out of the opaque water. Or, he could take Flora's role and provide a cloak of sorts to cover the goddess with. He could fulfill both roles instead of being paralyzed with awes and his mouth agape like a dumbstruck virgin. He did nothing but stupidly marvel at her like a radiant painting that had come to life.

"When you're done ogling me, can you help me out of the bath?" She snapped him out of his daze.

"M-My apologies." He quickly helped her out of the tub.

She giggled, "While you're at it, I need you to dry me off."

When she said this, a smirk returned to his face. "As you command, my goddess."

He started drying her off from the top of her body, going from her shoulders down to her arms. He then proceeded down her torso, albeit he was busy drying her chest. He couldn't take his eyes off them.

The Madame did her best not to break her composure while he dried her off with the towel. She was amused by his adolescent-like reactions. It was rather entertaining. However, she was also growing anxious, growing aroused for more than his touch. She could feel herself getting hotter as he moved the towel down her stomach and back, watching him get on his knees to get to the lower half of her trembling body.

"Such beautiful skin. "He patted along her inner thighs. "So soft and plump."

Her breath hiked up in excitement as he placed the towel on her mound, pressing gently to her rosy core. "Careful, monsieur," she hissed.

He chuckled, "You're pretty sensitive today."

"Oh, please~" She stifled a moan.

"Be patient, Madame. You're wet down here."

"D-Don't say that! Ah~" She grabbed his head, unintentionally pushing his face closer to her.

"You know I can't get the job like this," he mumbled.

"Yes, you can," she panted, her eyes full of lust.

"... Very well." He placed the towel down on the floor and proceeded to, well, use his tongue wisely for several minutes.

She moaned, "Mon Dieu (My God)!"

He licked his lips clean. "Let's take this elsewhere, madame."

She looked at him confused in her daze. "You mean the bedroom?"

"No, that's too mild."

"Where then?"

"The Passage." He looked to the unlocked door.

"B-But people will see us. And the Monsieur..."

"We'll make it quick." He stripped away his pants and underwear before grabbing her hand. "Come on, Madame. Let's go celebrate."

She sighed, "Oh, alright."

The Madame followed Morris out to the golden hallways of the Louvre where they proceeded to have—

"That's enough!" Massachusetts barged onto the scene, interrupting the story.

"Hey! I was actually listening!" Rhode Island protested.

"I was about to get to the good part!" Morris groaned, having yet inserted his—

"Don't describe any more smut, Jade! Think of the children!" Massachusetts drew a black curtain over the sexual act, censoring everything that might offend the audience.

"Hey!" Morris poked his head out from behind the curtains. "I have yet to finish my story!"

"Too bad. You're never going to finish your story because you're hereby banned from being featured in another episode ever again, you rake."

"You can't do that!"

"I can't, but the author can! Roll the ending song!"

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me coffee milk!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Calamari I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I am Rhode Island!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Ocean State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The anchor of the soul is called hope!
I'm Rhode Island!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

February 1864—Portland, Oregon

The world seemed to hate Oregon for some reason. Rather than grant peace for her New Year's wish, it granted the opposite.

Disappointingly, the Snake War didn't involve stealthy gun-wielding snakes. It was guerilla warfare between settlers and the 'Snake Indians' who lived along the Snake River. Oregon wished for both sides to reach a compromise, wanting them to get along and live respectively. Unfortunately, that wouldn't be possible without bloodshed. Unable to prevent violent conflict, she was forced to stay in town for her safety. She felt useless doing nothing to stop any war once again.

She slumped across the couch and sighed, "Does peace even exist?"

"Who knows," California mumbled, sitting atop a red cushion at the coffee table.

For a brief moment, Oregon completely forgot about California. The golden brunette with eyes as blue as the Pacific Ocean came to her house to protect her from the Indian raids, or so she claimed. Most likely, she came to her house because she was bored and lonely. She was usually a hyperactive chatterbox, yet she hadn't once gotten on her nerves today.

'That's weird. She's isn't usually quiet.' Oregon keenly watched her use a sharp paper-knife to precisely cut a pattern out of a red piece of paper, one of many out of a stack of scarlet.

She jolted in surprise when the Californian made a high-pitched squeak. "I did it! I didn't rip it!" California laughed as she raised the finished product above her head, marveling at it with sparkling eyes.

Oregon raised a brow. "What's that?"

She showed off her creation. "It's a paper-cut!"

"That's weird. I don't see any paper cuts on your hands."

"My hands are fine, dummy. I mean, it's Chinese paper-cutting. It's a window flower."

"Chinese paper-cutting..." Oregon remembered the Chinese man who was dragged by Cali to stay over at her house. She figured it must've been him to introduce this kind of craft to her. "Did he force you to make them?"

"Of course not!" she huffed. "China planned to cut them out by himself, but I figured I could cut them out for him." She looked back at the window flower with pride once again before setting it down on the table. "Once I'm done cutting them, we can paste them all over the windows."

"Why?"

She giggled, "You sure are asking a lot of questions."

"W-Well, this is my house, you know. You can't just go decorating my house with red sheets of paper without my permission."

"But we have to! If we don't, Nian will come and eat us!"

"E-Eat us?" Her face grew pale. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't know Nian?"

"Should I know them?"

"You should!" She suddenly stood up, looming over her with a scary face. "Nian is a giant ferocious beast with big teeth and sharp horns that dwells in the darkest part of the sea. And every night before the New Year, they come ashore to hunt people and their livestock. They especially like to eat naughty children."

"So, I'm safe?"

"No way! Nian will tear your body apart like jerky without remorse!"

She gulped. "T-Then, what should I do? I don't want to get eaten."

California handed Oregon a paper-knife and a sheet of crimson paper. "If you want to live, we'll need to decorate your house with window flowers. Nian hates the color red. So, when Nian sees your house all bright and red, they'll run away like a scaredy-cat."

She frowned at the knife and the sheet of paper in her hands. "But I don't know how to—"

"Do you want to get eaten alive?"

"N-No!"

"Then, hurry up and cut out the window flowers!"

"Eep!" She frantically got to work.

☆☆☆☆☆

Oregon took a short break after cutting out her third window flower. She looked over at California who was struggling to cut out her second window flower. She asked if she needed help, but California told her she could do it on her own. Not wanting to be a bother, she left the Californian alone to admire her handiwork. Even though this was her first time cutting out patterns with a knife, she did a decent job. Although, she noticed the patterns she cut out were pictures of rodents. They were elaborate and undeniably cute. However, she always heard people complain about rodents being pests. She worried these patterns might send the wrong message to people passing by her house.

"Hey, Cali. Why do some of the window flowers feature mice?" she asked.

California paused her paper-cutting. "Well, first off, they're rats. And second, this upcoming Chinese New Year is going to be the Year of the Rat."

"What?" Question marks appeared above her head.

"You know the Western zodiac, right?"

"Sure."

"There's also a Chinese zodiac. This zodiac features twelve animals, all of whom represent a year in a twelve-part cycle. This year is the Rat. After them is the Ox, the Tiger, and the...erm..." She scratched the side of her head. "I know there's the Dog. A-And the Pig's last!"

"Is the Beaver in the Chinese zodiac?"

"Um, I don't think so."

"Then, what about the Cat?"

"Um, I don't think so either."

"What?!" Oregon gaped at her. "The Chinese zodiac has a rat, but it doesn't have a cat!"

"I mean... Yeah. I don't know why that is, but maybe China knows."

She huffed, "He better have a good explanation for why there isn't a cat in the Chinese zodiac. I'm going to ask him when he gets back from work."

~ Hetalia! ~

After working in the mines all day, China got back to Oregon's house on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. But the moment he walked through the door, he was barraged with girly screams.

"China! China! I finished the paper-cuts! Can we paste them on the windows after we eat? Also, I'm hungry! Cook me something! I'm in the mood for some noodles and egg rolls! Can you stop standing there like a dum-dum and make me some tasty Chinese food? I'm freaking starving!"

He groaned, "Can I rest for a bit?"

"... I'll give you ten minutes," California relented grumpily.

He trudged to the living room and crashed onto the sofa. He moaned into the cushion, wishing he was given better treatment.

"China," said a timid voice.

He sighed, "What now, aru?" He lifted his head, expecting to answer another dumb question from California. To his surprise, it was the state who was obsessed with beavers. "Is there a problem?"

"Um," Oregon twiddled her fingers, "I was wondering if there's a beaver in the Chinese zodiac."

He softly smiled at such an innocent question. "Sorry, little one. There's no beaver in the Chinese zodiac." He sat up properly on the sofa. "By the way, how do you know the Chinese zodiac?"

"Cali told me."

"Really?"

"Yep!" California hopped onto the couch. "I told her everything about the Chinese zodiac."

"No, you didn't. You barely remembered half of them," Oregon refuted.

"Hey! What matters is knowing the first three animals, the Dragon, and the Pig being last. And there's also the Dog which is my Chinese zodiac animal."

China sighed, not in the least surprised to hear the girl with the memory of a goldfish not remember the twelve animals of the Chinese zodiac in order. "I'll tell you once more, so listen carefully, children. The Chinese zodiac starts with the Rat. Then, they're followed by the Ox, the Tiger, the Rabbit, the Dragon, the Snake, the Horse, the Goat, the Monkey, the Rooster, the Dog, and the Pig."

"What about the Cat?" Oregon asked the most important question on her mind.

"The Cat didn't make it into the Chinese zodiac."

She gasped, "But why? There's a rat, a dog, and a dragon in the Chinese zodiac. But not a cat? That doesn't make sense."

China suppressed an amused chuckle. "Well, little one, let me tell you a long story..."

~ Hetalia! ~

"A long time ago, the Jade Emperor ruled Heaven and Earth with great wisdom and justice. But having lived in Heaven for so many years, they realized they never had the time to visit Earth personally. They were familiar with humans, but they were curious to know what the other creatures of Earth looked like.

Thus, the Jade Emperor made a declaration from Heaven to the animals of Earth. They called for a great race. The first twelve animals to reach the heavenly gate would be invited to a great banquet hosted by the Jade Emperor himself. With that, the animals of Earth prepared themselves for the Great Race that was to come.

Amongst the animals, there was the Cat and the Rat. They were best friends. They were kind to one another, spending almost every waking hour by each other's side. When news of the Great Race reached their ears, they decided to work together, planning and preparing ahead of the other animals.

From what they gathered about the Great Race, they must cross a river to reach the heavenly gate. Both animals acknowledged they were poor swimmers, however, they were also very intelligent. The Rat suggested they team up with a large animal who could help them cross the river. The Cat agreed with their idea. Then, the Cat suggested they sleep early in the night, getting all the rest they could gather before waking early to set off for the race. The Rat agreed with their idea. Once everything was in order, they were set on becoming the first animals to meet the Jade Emperor.

On the night before the Great Race, the Cat and the Rat got ready to get some good sleep as planned. But then, the Rat noticed their best friend had trouble sleeping. That was odd because the Cat loved to sleep. When asked why they couldn't sleep, the Cat expressed their concerns regarding their tendency to oversleep. They were afraid they would miss the race if that were to happen. The Rat assured the Cat with some tea to soothe their nerves, promising to wake them before the Great Race. Hearing that from their best friend, the Cat trusted the Rat and was able to fall asleep without trouble.

But little did the Cat know the Rat, too, had a hard time going to sleep. The Rat was too excited to get any rest. The only thought on their mind was to be the first animal to reach the heavenly gate. While the Cat dreamt of partying with the Jade Emperor and the other animals, the Rat grew anxious from nightmares about missing out on the banquet. As the hours of the night came and went, unable to get an ounce of sleep, the Rat decided to get up earlier than intended.

The Rat looked back at the Cat who was still asleep. Though the Rat held great respect for the Cat, they also held some jealousies toward them. Amongst the animals, the Cat was known to be incredibly handsome. The Rat grew worried about looking ugly in comparison, afraid of becoming overshadowed at the banquet. Such a displeasing thought upset the Rat, leading them earlier to put something in the tea that would ensure the Cat wouldn't wake easily. Their mind made up, the Rat went away to participate in the Great Race, forgetting their promise to the Cat who was left alone to continue dreaming about the banquet.

On their way to the heavenly gate, the Rat stumbled upon the Ox who had woken early in the morning for the Great Race as well. Having studied the contenders beforehand, the Rat knew the Ox to be a strong animal who would be able to cross the river without too much trouble. However, the Ox had a weakness. The naive Ox was known to be kindhearted, even to the most fiendish creatures. The Rat knew they could take advantage of the Ox's good nature for their benefit.

The Rat whistled a merry tune to get the Ox's attention. The Ox took notice of the tiny Rat, praising them for singing so beautifully. The Rat thanked the Ox, telling them they planned to sing at the banquet. While expressing their desire to see the Jade Emperor, the Rat pretended to sound scared about the river ahead of them, expressing tears at the thought of getting swept up in the river. The Rat's pitiful cries moved the Ox's heart. When asked if they could carry them across the river, the Ox agreed without hesitation. As long as the Rat continued to sing for them along the way, the Ox carried the Rat on their back as promised and headed down the road together.

Within the hours of the morning, most of the animals had begun to make their way to the Jade Emperor.

As expected, the first animal to be ahead was the Dragon whose natural gift to swiftly fly across the sky gave them a huge advantage. But as the Dragon flew ahead of the other animals, they detected a human village in the distance. They noticed the inhabitants were struggling to grow crops due to a drought that was affecting the region. Rather than ignore the poor villagers, the benevolent Dragon sidetracked from the Great Race to go bring rain to the village.

With the Dragon temporarily out of the race, the Horse was able to gallop ahead of the other animals with their natural gift of speed. But as they were galloping down the road, they stumbled upon a cemetery. The sensitive Horse froze at what they thought were spirits rising from the graves. They were too spooked to budge. Unintentionally, they allowed some of the animals to catch up and run ahead of them.

Taking first place was the Rabbit. Though small in stature, the Rabbit was naturally gifted with agile feet, allowing them to leap ahead of the larger animals. When the Rabbit realized they were in the lead, they kept running faster and faster until they reached the river. Having gone so far ahead, the haughty Rabbit thought the other animals wouldn't be able to catch up to them. Their hubris led them off to the side of the road where they proceeded to take a nap, intending to rest up for a bit before attempting to cross the river.

But while the Rabbit dreamt of sitting in the seat closest to the Jade Emperor, the Tiger became the second animal to reach the river. Without hesitation, the fearless Tiger lunged into the river and began swimming, taking advantage of this opportunity to get ahead of the other animals. Proud of their strength, the Tiger thought they could power through the river's currents. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. The Tiger failed to recognize the spot they dived into was the deepest part of the river that had the strongest currents. As such, the Tiger struggled not to get swept downstream.

The next animals to reach the river were the Ox and the Rat. Because of the Ox's poor eyesight, the Rat had to help the Ox find the easiest path to get across the river. Once they found the perfect spot, the Ox slowly went into the water and started to swim across the river, passing the Tiger along the way. Upon arriving ashore, the Ox and the Rat became the first animals to reach the other side of the river.

They were heading up the hill to get to the heavenly gate when the Rat proceeded to sing the most beautiful song it ever knew. The Ox was so mesmerized by the song, they were caught off-guard when the Rat hopped off and landed in front of them. Without looking back, the Rat scurried to the Jade Emperor, becoming the first animal to arrive at the heavenly gate. Praised by the Jade Emperor for their cleverness, the content Rat was given the first seat at the banquet.

Shortly after the Rat, the Ox arrived at the heavenly gate, becoming the second animal to meet the Jade Emperor. At first, the Ox was depressed for being tricked by the Rat. But the Jade Emperor assured the Ox they should be proud to come in second, having worked so hard with such honesty. Hearing such wise words, the kindhearted Ox gratefully thanked the Jade Emperor and accepted the second seat at the banquet.

Following the Ox was the Tiger who had finally overcome the river's strongest currents to reach the heavenly gate. At first, the Tiger was bemused to come in third. They thought the Ox was the first animal to meet the Jade Emperor. But much to their surprise, they learned the tiny Rat came first using the Ox to carry them to the finish line. Despite their protests, the adamant Tiger had to settle in the third seat at the banquet.

After the Tiger, a loud thumping sound was heard from the distance, and the Rabbit arrived at the heavenly gate with a frightened face. When asked why they were so out of breath, the Rabbit told the Jade Emperor about a path of stepping stones they found upstream after waking from their nap. While hopping across the stepping stones, they slipped and fell onto a floating log in the river. They clung onto the log for dear life until the log took them to the other side of the river. Though lucky to come in fourth place, the Rabbit was more fortunate to be alive after that near-death experience. Once the lucky Rabbit finished catching their breath, they hopped over to the fourth seat at the banquet.

The next set of animals to arrive at the heavenly gate came in a confusing order.

After passing through the cemetery with closed eyes (I'm not kidding), the Horse galloped at full speed, crossed the river, and headed up the hill. Before reaching the heavenly gate, however, a scaly serpent slithered out of one of the Horse's hooves. The Horse grew startled and fell back as the sly Snake entered the heavenly gate ahead of them. The Snake attempted to get the Jade Emperor's attention when their greeting was cut short by the Dragon who flew down from the sky to land in front of the Jade Emperor.

The Jade Emperor expressed their confusion, wondering why the Dragon arrived so late when they were expected to come in first. The Dragon explained they saw a village suffering from a drought. Rather than ignore them, they decided to take its time to summon rain for the village. Afterward, they continued the race. But before reaching the finish line, the Dragon saw the helpless Rabbit cling onto a log in the river. Rather than ignore them, they decided to help the Rabbit by pushing the log to shore with a puff of air. Thus, that was why the Dragon came later than expected.

Despite giving reasonable excuses, the Dragon apologized to the Jade Emperor for not fulfilling their expectations. Expecting disappointment, the Dragon was surprised to hear praises instead. The Jade Emperor applauded the Dragon for having a benevolent heart. For all their good deeds, the Dragon was honored as the fifth animal to reach the heavenly gate, granting them the fifth seat at the banquet.

The Snake was unamused. They didn't hold a grudge toward their good friend, the Dragon. However, they had an issue with the Jade Emperor for failing to recognize them first because of their small size. They were having a hissy fit until the Horse told them to stop complaining. If not for them, said the Horse, they wouldn't have made it to the heavenly gate. As such, they should be grateful to come in sixth. The Snake, though stubborn, conceded and settled in the sixth seat at the banquet. After them, the Horse became the seventh animal to meet the Jade Emperor, therefore they took the seventh seat at the banquet.

By late afternoon, the next trio of animals to arrive before the Jade Emperor was the Goat, the Monkey, and the Rooster in that order.

Upon seeing the Goat, the Jade Emperor questioned the somber look on their face. The Goat explained they originally traveled with a friend, the Deer. But when they arrived at the river, the Deer became intimidated by the river's enormous size. Already tired from the race, the Deer gave up and went home. Admittedly, the Goat couldn't cross the river alone and considered giving up as well.

Fortunately, the Goat met the Monkey and the Rooster. They arrived at the river after helping a minor god defeat evil spirits in another country. Recognizing their desire to meet the Jade Emperor, the three animals agreed to help each other get across the river. The Rooster crowed when they found a bamboo raft hidden amongst the weeds of the riverbank. The Goat ate the weeds to clear a path for the raft to get into the water. And the Monkey floated them across the river using a bamboo pole. The Jade Emperor was impressed with their teamwork to overcome this obstacle. As a reward, they gave the Goat the eighth seat, the Monkey the ninth seat, and the Rooster the tenth seat at the banquet.

A while later, the eleventh animal to arrive at the heavenly gate was the Dog. Knowing the Dog to be a great runner and swimmer, the Jade Emperor asked why they took so long to get here. The Dog told them they originally joined the Monkey and the Rooster in the race when they were sidetracked to help a minor god defeat evil spirits in another country. Their fur was already dusty from a dry spell affecting the region, and it became dirtier after fighting evil spirits. Wanting to look their best for the Jade Emperor, the Dog told their friends to go ahead without them while they took a bath in a stream. The Dog nearly lost track of time from playing in the water. But luckily, the Dog made it in time and got to sit in the eleventh seat at the banquet.

As the sky grew dark, the Jade Emperor assumed no more animals would come and decided to close the race. But as they were about to close the heavenly gate, they heard oinking. They looked down and saw it was the Pig.

When asked why they arrived so late, the Pig had an explanation. The Wolf destroyed their house, so the Pig had to rebuild their home before they could set off for the race. But during the race, the Pig grew hungry. They stopped to eat, and they ended up falling asleep afterward. By the time they woke up, the sun was starting to set. They suspected the race was over, however, they decided to continue to make their way to the heavenly gate, hoping to at least greet the Jade Emperor before heading back home. But much to the Pig's amazement, the Jade Emperor announced them as the twelfth animal to meet them. The Pig squealed in excitement as they took the twelfth seat at the banquet.

Once all twelve seats at the banquet were filled, the Jade Emperor closed the heavenly gate, officially ending the Great Race. The Jade Emperor then took their seat at the head of the table and proceeded to thank the animals for coming all this way to meet them. For all their efforts, they decreed the years of the Chinese calendar be named for each animal in the order they arrived. With that, the Jade Emperor and the animals of the Chinese zodiac celebrated with a great banquet."

"But what about the Cat?" Oregon interrupted.

China sadly smiled. "The Cat eventually woke up from their long slumber. They realized the Great Race had begun long ago and hurried to get to the heavenly gate. They hoped to make it to the banquet. But sadly, the Cat didn't make it. The heavenly gate was closed. No matter how loud they meowed to be let in, the Cat couldn't get inside the heavenly palace. They could only listen to the animals have fun at the banquet without them.

And amongst the sounds they heard, the Cat recognized the Rat's songs. When the Cat learned the Rat finished first in the Great Race, they were devastated and furious. The Rat tricked them and broke their promise out of selfishness. The Cat could never forgive the Rat for betraying them. Thus, the Cat swore to always hate the Rat forever." He took a moment to catch his breath. "And that is why cats hunt rats."

"Wow. The Rat is such an asshole," California grumbled.

"That's so sad." Oregon teared up. "The Cat must've been so lonely being unable to attend the banquet. They didn't deserve to be treated like that."

"Aw, don't cry, little one." China stroked the top of her head. "At least the Cat in this version lived."

"Lived?"

"In another version, the Cat and the Rat were riding the Ox to get across the river when the Rat pushed the Cat off the Ox's back, causing the Cat to drown in the river."

"That's terrible!" She broke into tears. "Why are we even celebrating the Year of the Rat? We should be celebrating the Year of the Cat instead!"

"But the Cat isn't a zodiac animal."

"So what if the Cat isn't a zodiac animal," she sniffled. "The Cat deserves to be recognized. If not the Jade Emperor, then I'll be the one to celebrate the Year of the Cat!"

"Me, too!" California joined her. "I'll celebrate the Year of the Cat, too! I'll even be a Cat instead of a Dog!"

"Yeah! I'll be a Cat, too!"

California and Oregon continued to make plans to honor the Cat while China listened with an amusing smile, grateful to be given more rest before he had to go cook for them.

~ Happy New Year 🐭 ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me a latte!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Marionberry pie I ate before!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
My name's Oregon!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Beaver State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Let's go biking around Crater Lake!
Go, Oregon!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

"Man, it's so weird watching the Super Bowl on TV..." Massachusetts pouts on the living room sofa.

"It's honestly kinda refreshing." Maine hands her brother a plate of buffalo wings to snack on. "As much as I like the luxury suites and the loud atmosphere, watching the game at home is a nice change of pace."

"I guess. I still haven't forgiven the Dolphins for ruining everything," he grumbles.

She rolls her eyes playfully. "It's always Florida's fault."

He groans, "I'm going to miss the GOAT if he does decide to leave the Pats. It's not going to be the same without him."

"Cheer up, Mass. At least he got us six Super Bowl wins."

"Yeah. No one can take those away from us..." He cuddles his six Lombardy trophies.

☆☆☆☆☆

In a luxury suite at Hard Rock Stadium, Florida and her friends watch the Super Bowl Halftime show, enjoying the performance until the second half of the game resumes.

"That's my flag! That's my flag!" Puerto Rico hops up and down, full of pride and excitement.

"Do you know what she's saying? I don't know Spanish!" Kansas yells above the noise.

"Just know those hips don't lie! Woo! Go, Shakira!" Florida sways her hips to the music.

California and Missouri get some drinks at the bar while continuing to argue over football.

"No, I'm not a bandwagoner. I'm truly a 49ers fan. I've always rooted for them," California stubbornly maintains.

"What about last year then? I don't recall seeing you wear a 49ers jersey when they were the second-worst team that season. Oh, that's right. You were wearing a Rams jersey when they were actually good," Missouri points out.

"Oh my god! Why are you still hung up over the Rams? They were originally from Los Angeles."

"They were originally from Cleveland, but whatever. Though I'll miss having a football team in St. Louis, at least they won a Super Bowl during the twenty years they stayed in that city." She smirks.

She huffs, "Don't be too proud of yourself. The 49ers are going to get the job done and win the Super Bowl for me once they beat the cursed Chiefs."

"Cursed?"

California cackles, "Once the second half of the game starts, you'll see what I'm talking about."

~ Hetalia! ~

"3rd and 6, Mahomes throws a pass toward Hill— It's intercepted by 49ers cornerback Tarvarius Moore who returns it to the 49ers 20-yard line!" the announcer shouts in astonishment.

"Fuck!" Missouri and the rest of the Chiefs Kingdom have their hands clasp on the back of their necks, completely in disbelief of this second interception.

"Yeah! We got this in the bag!" California and the 49ers nation cheer and clap to what looks like the ultimate victory over the golden horizon.

Kansas frowns. "Is this the curse California was talking about?" she asks her neighbor.

"Of course not!" Missouri scoffs. "Curses aren't real."

"But this one is real!" California smiles confidently with a pointy nose. "It's called the Madden Curse. Any player to be featured on the video game cover of Madden will have shit happen to them. So, it isn't surprising, at least to me, Mahomes is performing like diarrhea right now."

"The Madden Curse is a fallacy," she insists.

"He suffered a sprained ankle and a knee injury during the regular season. That's proof the Madden Curse is real!"

"Injuries are typical in football!"

"Then, explain why he hasn't thrown three touchdowns already."

"This is his first Super Bowl. Of course, he's going to be cautious."

"He just threw two interceptions!"

"So, what? There's still time left for them to make a comeback."

"With the way they're playing now, there'll be no comeback which is fine by me," she titters. "Florida! Get the champagne ready! I'm about to redeem myself!" She gets up from her seat.

"Sit back down and watch!" Missouri yells at her. "Cursed or not, Mahomes is a talented quarterback who has been through this before. He'll prove to you, the 49ers, and the rest of this country this game isn't over yet."

She scoffs, "Whatever." She sits back down in her seat. "Go ahead and keep denying the Madden Curse. Either way, the 49ers are in the lead 20–10. They got this hands down!"

~ Hetalia! ~

"After review, the call still stands. Touchdown," the referee confirms.

"Yeah! Go, Chiefs!" Missouri and the rest of the Chiefs Kingdom loudly cheer; their team has taken the lead 24–20 in both their following drives.

"Fuuuck..." California and the rest of the 49ers are now the ones in a state of anxiety. With less than three minutes left on the game clock, the 49ers need to start scoring points in the fourth quarter if they want to win. California takes in a deep breath to calm her nerves. "That's okay. There's enough time for the 49ers to retake the lead."

Sadly for California and the rest of the 49ers fanbase, their team will only take the ball halfway down the field in their desperate drive and stop there. After three incomplete passes and a quarterback sack, the Chiefs get the ball back. With 1:33 left on the clock, the 49ers are rapidly losing hope for a comeback in their favor.

She subconsciously bites her fingernail. "Okay. The defense just needs to stop them. Then, there should be enough time for one more drive to score—"

"Williams breaks free from a tackle and takes off!" the announcer screams. "He's running. He's... Touchdown!"

"YEEEAAAAAH!" Missouri and the Chiefs Kingdom roar in excitement as the Chiefs extend their lead 31–20 after the kicker made the extra point.

California groans, "Fuuuck my life!"

"Seems like you're the one who's cursed," Missouri remarks smugly.

"No way!" She shakes her head. "There's, like, a minute left on the clock. The 49ers can score a touchdown and do an onside kick to get the ball back. Then, they can score another touchdown and—"

"Interception!" the announcer interrupts her argument. "The Chiefs get the ball and can run out the clock!"

California stares solemnly at the replay on the jumbo screen. "... I'm going to beat traffic." She gets up and quietly leaves the suite.

When the last second of the clock ticks to zero, the stadium erupts in cheers and red, white, and yellow confetti to the conclusion of the Super Bowl. Some of the fans—having waited fifty years for this moment—have finally got the chance to relive the excitement, shedding tears with their friends and family. At long last, the Chiefs are world champions!

"Finally! The Chiefs won the Super Bowl!" Missouri laughs.

Kansas smiles. "Yeah!" She offers to hug her.

But Missouri moves past her to hug Florida instead. "Thank you, Florida! You may suck at football, but I think you're the best!"

"Ay, don't sweat it. The Dolphins will always get your back," Florida chuckles with a blush.

"Ah... I see how it is..." Kansas awkwardly watches them hug it out.

"I should make a tweet about going to Disney World tomorrow." Missouri hums, scrolling through Twitter on her smartphone. "Let's see... What the?!" Her face turns sours. "It's MISSOURI, not Kansas, you stone-cold idiot president!" She furiously replies to the offensive tweet.

"I mean, there's also a Kansas City in my home..." Kansas mumbles.

"Shut up! That doesn't excuse him!"

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, get me a beer!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Gooey butter cake I ate before!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hey, I'm Missouri!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Show-Me State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Let's rock 'n' roll to the rhythm!
I'm Missouri!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

Once upon a time, there was a young princess named Matoaka who lived two different lives. To the Powhatan Indians of Werowocomoco, she was Amonute—the favorite daughter of Wahunsenacawh. To the English settlers of Jamestown, she was Pocahontas—the frolicsome girl who brought food to them in their time of need. A mediator between both villages, the young princess was able to get along with everyone. She was loved by everyone. And she loved everyone in return.

But one day, the people of Jamestown noticed Pocahontas hadn't visited them the past two weeks. They thought she was busy. Perhaps, she was sick. Either way, they were sure she was alright. Yet, two weeks became three. And three weeks became four. Four weeks became a month. And autumn turned to winter within two months. Not once had Pocahontas appeared at the fort to see them.

Virginia knew something was wrong. Pocahontas promised she would see her whenever she had the time to visit the settlement. If she was going to be gone for a long time, she could've told her beforehand. That way, she wouldn't have to constantly worry whether she was okay or not. She tried to recall Pocahontas's last visit, pondering the reasons she wouldn't come to Jamestown.

"What do you mean?" Pocahontas trembled in disbelief at what she just heard. "How could he be dead? He was fine five days ago."

"But it's true. John Smith... He's dead," Virginia sadly muttered.

"Can I...see him? His body, I mean."

She turned her gaze away. "I'm sorry. His body is being sent back home to be buried. He's currently out at sea."

"... I'm not in the mood to play." She turned around with a drooping head.

"Wait!" She grabbed her hand. "Where are you going?"

"I need to tell my father—- I mean," she pulled her hand away, "I need to tell the tribe what has happened to John Smith. They need to know."

"But..."

John Ratcliffe—the council president of the colony—held Virginia back by the shoulder. "We understand. You're quite close to Smith, so I'm sure you need time to recover and mourn."

She nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Without speaking another word, Pocahontas and her escorts left the fort to return to the tribe.

Virginia scowled, unable to hide her discontent any longer.  "Did we have to lie to her?" She glared at Ratcliffe.

"It's better this way," he claimed as he went back inside the fort, appearing not at all bothered by his actions.

'But was it?' Virginia questioned while walking around the settlement.

Coincidently, since Pocahontas's last visit to Jamestown, the Powhatan stopped trading with settlers. It was a big problem because the Indians were the sole provider of food. Countless times, the settlers offered any valuables they had for corn. The Powhatan would always refuse to trade with them; sometimes they threatened the settlers to stop pestering them with their demands. Without allies, it would seem the settlers were on their own to survive the winter.

Virginia approached John Ratcliffe at the front gate. "Where are you going?"

He looked down at her and answered, "I'm going to the Powhatan capital to convince the savages to resume trades with the colony."

"I see. If you see Pocahontas, by chance, can you tell her something from me?"

"What is it?"

She gulped. "Tell her I miss her a lot. And I want to see her again. If she's sick, tell her I pray she gets better soon."

He patted the top of her head. "Take care of the others while I'm away."

She obediently nodded. "I will. Good luck on your mission." She prayed as she watched him and his party head off to Werowocomoco, optimistically hoping they succeed in their mission.

Sadly, that wasn't the case. This would be the last time Virginia saw Ratcliffe and his party.

☆☆☆☆☆

"S-Stop! AAaaaAAAUuuGHH!"

Tied naked to a wooden stake, Ratcliffe could do nothing to stop his torturers. The Powhatan women continued to cut the skin off his body using mussel shells, throwing pieces of skin into a fire before his wretched eyes. They showed no mercy. What made it worse were the indifferent eyes observing his agony.

At least a hundred Powhatan warriors were in attendance of this bloody spectacle. They sat and stood around him, watching him suffer pain and humiliation. He hated them. He especially hated Chief Powhatan who sat amongst them, sitting comfortably on a platform directly across from him. The chieftain hadn't once blinked an eye at the barbaric cruelty he was causing.

Ratcliffe gritted his teeth. "You fucking savages are going to pay for going against the English! We'll fucking destroy your villages and slaughter your aaAAaaUagghh!"

Pocahontas winced at the sight of his skin getting peeled off his chest. "Father, please..." She turned to him with pleading eyes.

Wahunsenacawh didn't look her way, but he knew what she was thinking. "My daughter, you've done well to befriend the pale-faced people. But you must not let your sympathies get in the way of what's best for the tribe."

She scowled. "I know. I know the tribe comes first before Jamestown. But this isn't necessary. That man has learned his lesson."

He shook his head. "No, he has yet to acknowledge his wrongdoings. He continues to curse my name, make threats against our people, and scream at us to go to Hell. If he can apologize and recognize his faults, I'll show mercy. But right now, he remains indignant of his innocence."

"Can you blame him? He came to us to trade for corn. That sounds innocent enough. Surely, we could've given him some corn to feed him and his village."

"How much would you have given them?"

She thought about the question for a moment. "Maybe a couple of bags."

"That's too little for them."

"Then, how much would you have given them?"

"Nothing," he said coldly. "Last winter, I gave the pale-faced people enough corn to last them until spring. Yet, they continued to ask for more and more until there was no more corn left to give. Even when told there was no more food to give them, they threatened to hurt our people if their demands weren't met." He breathed out in frustration. "I've tolerated their presence and pardoned their misdeeds for long enough. In the end, I realize it's always never enough for them. Jamestown will continue to grow as long as they continue to feed off us."

"Is that why we decided to stop trading with them?"

He nodded. "I've given the pale-faced people a choice. They leave the land. Or, they can stay and face death. Either way, their presence will continue to be a nuisance to our people until they're vanquished from the land for good."

"... I still believe we can live alongside them," she quietly mumbled, turning her face away.

"... Me, too. I've given them a chance to live alongside us, but it was never meant to be." He watched Ratcliffe scream again before looking down at his daughter. "Remember, Pocahontas. The pale-faced people of Jamestown are no longer our allies. As such, you can't ever see them again, or they'll harm you and the village. Do you understand?"

She made a small nod. "Yes, Father."

Ratcliffe panted, feeling sweat and blood trickle down his trembling body. "Y-You...s-s-savages!" he shouted with a fiery hatred in his eyes. "You're going to pay! You're all going to aaauugggh!"

The Powhatan women skinned his face last. They burned him at the stake after that.

~ .......... ~

When the Powhatan laid siege on Jamestown, it was clear Ratcliffe and his party failed to negotiate a deal with Chief Powhatan. It was bad enough for the settlement to lose a leader. Even worse was the inability to hunt or trade for food. The warriors surrounding the outer walls of the fort would shoot arrows and spears at any settler who dared to venture outside the fort. Trapped within the walls, the settlers were safe.

However, there was no clean water to drink, nor was there anything to consume, albeit it wasn't food they would normally eat. The settlers had to eat whatever was inside the fort. Dogs, cats, horses, rats, and even poisonous snakes were killed, cooked, and eaten. Some people were desperate to boil and eat the leather of their shoes. Sadly, it wasn't enough to feed the entire colony.

Virginia was still hungry after eating half a pound of horse meat. She kept quiet when she was being tucked into bed, afraid of getting scolded like last time. Yet, her stomach kept hurting. She turned and twisted in bed until she was up on her feet. She sneaked out of her cabin and went for a walk under the moonlight.

'Maybe I can find something in the forest...' Virginia wondered as she went in the direction toward the gate. She knew it was risky, yet she didn't think about the consequences. Her mind was her stomach. Food was the only thing she could think about.

Thud!

'What was that?' She stopped and looked around.

It would appear she wasn't the only person unable to sleep. There was a light coming from inside a cabin as well as some grumbling sounds. Virginia wondered what they were doing to stay up this late. Perhaps, they were cooking. If they were, she wanted what they were having. A small portion would cure her aching belly, and she could go to sleep without stomach pains. That would be wonderful.

She was about to knock on the door until she heard a woeful howl.

"I-I-I can't! I can't do it! I just can't!"

"Then, give me that knife! I'll do it!"

Virginia backed away from the door, unsure what to make of what she heard. She looked over at the barred window by the door and tiptoed to get a peek of what was going. She nearly let out a gasp at what she saw.

There was the emaciated corpse of a blonde fourteen-year-old girl who died this morning. She laid across a wooden table like an animal carcass. Accompanying the body were two grown men, both alive and standing on each side of the table. They were arguing about the morals of what they were doing. The man with the knife argued it was necessary for survival. The other with tears in their eyes said it was a sin.

"This isn't like that man who killed and ate his pregnant wife. This girl is already dead."

"S-Still, this is a human being. What we're doing is just...wrong."

"Do you want to die then?"

"..."

He took a deep breath, clasping his hands around the knife in prayer. "Forgive me. What I'm about to do to your body is immoral. Yet, it's necessary during these dire circumstances. May your kind spirit in Heaven bless us with the nourishment of your..." He took a hard gulp.

Virginia watched the man carve the corpse's face in terrified silence. She should look away, yet she remained on her toes, observing their struggles to cut pieces of cheek meat from the human head. Why they were only cutting open the head was a mystery she didn't want to know. It was bad enough to see them scoop out the head and throw pieces of the brain into a boiling pot. The smell was...peculiar. Yet, she continued to watch until the man who spoke of morals caved in to the idea of cannibalism. He licked up some blood, and that was enough to set her off.

She quickly ran back to her cabin and went to bed. Her appetite went away that night.

~ Six Months Later... ~

From winter to summer, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse laid waste onto Jamestown until there was one inhabitant left. Pestilence, War, and Famine left three days ago, having done their job. The only harbinger left was Death who stood in Virginia's shadow, waiting for her to accept her demise.

In her weakened state, Virginia managed to lumber out of her empty house with the help of a walking stick. She had plenty of rest, yet she felt more tired than yesterday. She didn't know why she was still exhausted. She could hardly think about the reasons. Neither could she breathe or lift her head properly. It felt like carrying a burdened weight on her shoulders. It was trying to bring her down to the ground. Yet, there was no pain. There was only fatigue and loneliness.

Virginia took in a deep breath before taking a small step forward. She passed by the burnt empty houses within the fallen palisades of the fort, leaving the unhinged gates to meander around the forest. She had yet to encounter the Powhatan warriors who were supposed to be in the area. So far, there were none to see. She didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. At this point, she wasn't afraid to see them.

"You're still in denial," said a familiar voice behind her.

Virginia didn't flinch. She dropped the firewood she was collecting onto the ground. Using her walking stick, she slowly stood up, trying to appear tall and poised despite lacking the energy to do so. She then turned around to face the ghost who had been haunting her since the day she was born.

The ghost stood before her in the form of a girl around her age, maybe older. Like Virginia, she appeared to be made up of skin and bones. She could see her skeleton through the pale dress she wore. It creeped her out a bit, yet she remained composed. The only feature that made the ghost girl stand out was her blood-red hair, tucked away with her eyes behind a white bonnet. She considered asking her to remove her bonnet, so they could meet eye to eye. Then again, the ghost hadn't once been kind to her. She doubted they came out of concern for her well-being.

She was right.

The ghost sneered, "Aren't you tired?"

"... I am," she reluctantly admitted.

"Then, why are you walking around?" She cocked her head. "Do you know why you're still tired? Or, do you even know what's happening to your body? I'm sure those questions have been on your mind lately."

Virginia tightened her grip around her walking stick.

The ghost took notice and smirked in cynical amusement. "So, I'm right. You've been thinking about this feeling of 'fatigue' you've been struggling to understand. Perhaps, you're also wondering when it'll go away. Or, when you'll get better." She snickered to herself. "How disappointing. I thought you were smart enough to know what's going on."

"You have no reason to be concerned for me," she grumbled.

"Oh, but I do have a reason." She peered close to her face. "You and I are the same."

"N-No!" She took a step back. "No, we're not the same!"

She cackled, "But we are! We're both failures as colonies. Our fate is the same: abandoned, left to rot, and disappear. Right now, you're rotting away like that rotten fort you pathetically call home. Soon, your body will collapse, and you'll no longer be able to take another step on Earth."

"You're mistaken. They'll come back for me."

"No, they won't. They don't care about you anymore."

"You're lying."

She sighed in disappointment. "Then, where's John Smith? Didn't he promise to return to you? Where is he? Why isn't he here to save you?"

"..."

"What about your people? Some of them stuck around long enough to watch their closest family and friends die from sickness, slaughter, and starvation. They could've stayed and learned from their mistakes. Instead, they gave up on you as soon as the ships came to take them far away from this cursed place." She shrugged. "Though, I can't really blame them for leaving after everything they've been through. Still, they could've at least told you the truth instead of leaving you with false hope for three days and possibly more. Quite heartless of them to do."

"..."

"And what about Pocahontas? You still remember her, right? Well, it has been nine months since the last time she saw you. Most likely she has forgotten you."

"No." She shook her head. "There's no way she forgot me. She promised she would see me when she had the time."

"Then, where is she?" She looked around. "I don't see her anywhere. Where could she be?"

"I... I don't know. She's probably—"

"Stop making excuses!" she shrieked. "The truth is you've been abandoned! No cares about you!"

"T-That's not true!"

"It's the truth!" she hissed. "You can try and pretend to idle around in whatever peaceful lie you've made up. But one day, you'll find yourself unable to leave your house."

"Stop! I heard enough! I don't want to hear another word out of you!" She covered her ears, yet she could still hear every word coming out of the ghost's mouth.

"One day, you won't be able to get out of bed. One day, you'll lose your voice trying to be noticed. At that point, you give up. You lay there alone, hoping for someone to come. Days and nights will come and go. You'll lose track of time. Eventually, you'll lose your mind and stop thinking altogether. By then, you'll cease to take another breath. All that'll be left—"

"Shut up! Shut up!" She collapsed onto her knees and sobbed, "Why are you tormenting me? What did I do to cause you to hate me so much?"

The ghost stood in cold silence. "... It's easier to accept the truth than deny it. Either way, it's only a matter of time until you disappear."

"But... I don't want to disappear," she sniffled. "I want to live."

"... Me, too. I wanted to live, too." The ghost turned their back on her.

"W-Wait. Please don't go. I don't want to be alone." Virginia got up and attempted to hobble over to her. She quickly ran out of breath and began to cough. She ended up falling back down on her hands and knees again.

The ghost girl stopped and pitifully looked over her shoulder at the sick Virginian. "If you want to join me, accept your fate."

"But..."

"You have no reason to live any longer."

"Still, I don't want to disappear. I... I want to live."

"... Goodbye, Virginia."

The ghost disappeared into the shadows of the trees, leaving Virginia alone to cry for a long time.

~ .......... ~

After watering the grass with her tears, Virginia found herself unable to gather firewood. She was too tired to lift the bundle in her arms. She didn't have the energy to try and decided to go home instead. It was getting late anyway.

'I'm really going to disappear.' Virginia bit her lip, trying not to cry again. 'I've barely lived for three years. I've suffered so much, seeing more bad than good. Yet, why am I still walking...?' She winced. 'I don't know. I don't know...'

Somehow, Virginia was lucky to leave the forest without getting hurt. Without firewood to cook, she considered eating the same thing as yesterday—nothing. She wasn't in the mood to eat. She just wanted to go to bed and sleep. How depressing.

She had yet to lift her eyes from the ground until she heard shouts inside the fort. Her eyes grew large at what she saw.

There were people in Jamestown. They were colonists. There were old faces. There were new ones. They were all colonists.

'They came back. They actually came back.' She couldn't close her agape mouth.

She suddenly found the energy to lift her feet off the ground. She stumbled and slipped as she ran across the settlement, passing by many settlers on the way. She kept running until she was out of breath, feeling actual exhaustion in her feet and legs. As she was panting, a pair of boots came into view. She looked up and came face to face with a tall man standing in front of the harbor.

She gulped. "Are you God?"

He stared at her for a few seconds. "... No. I'm Thomas West, 3rd Baron De La Warr. You may call me Lord Delaware."

"Lord..."

"Are you Virginia?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"I've brought a doctor here who can nurse you back to health." He kneeled to meet her eyes, giving her a soft pat on the head. "Don't worry. Everything is going to be alright."

When he said that, Virginia felt the burdened weight being lifted off her shoulders. A warm wave of tears overcame her eyes as she let out a long wail. 

~ .......... ~

When the quiakros (priests) of Werewocomoco first heard the rumors about the pale-faced people plotting a kidnapping of the royal daughter, they took every precautionary measure to make the female coming-of-age ceremony, the huskanasquaw, as discreet as possible. Nonetheless, Werowocomoco was in a state of jubilation for today a powwow was being held for Wahunsenacawh's favorite daughter.

The Powhatan Princess had recently made the transition from a child to a woman. Henceforth, the eyes of the tribes would treat her as such with respect. No longer would she be called Matoaka or Amonute for they were names of her former self as a child. From this point forward, she chose to be called...Pocahontas, a name that held meaning to her and everyone around her.

Now a woman, Pocahontas could dress like most Powhatan women. For the ceremonial occasion, she wore a fringed, off-the-shoulder, deerskin dress and a pair of moccasins made out of the same material. The quiakros' wives offered to braid her long glossy hair, but she opted to let her hair flow freely down her back. Some accessories she wore included a necklace made out of seashells and a pair of turkey feathers attached to her hair. Her favorite was a pair of copper earrings, once belonging to her birth mother.

Her father gave them to her when she was getting her ears pierced. When he saw her put them on for the first time, he couldn't contain his emotions. He shed tears with a smile. He said she looked just like her mother. And that if her mother were here, she would've been so proud to see her daughter become such a beautiful woman. His words touched Pocahontas's heart with joy and a bit of sadness. Though she was only an infant when her mother died, she wished the woman who brought her to this world could see what she had become. But hopefully, her mother was still watching over her and her father as a spirit.

"Have you decided?"

Pocahontas shook her head out of her thoughts. "I'm sorry, Mattachanna. I wasn't listening."

Her older half-sister rolled her eyes. "Let me clarify. Have you decided which warrior you want to dance with?"

She shrugged. "Does it matter who I choose?"

Pocahontas anticipated the courtship dance between her and the warrior she chose to dance with since being rehearsed for the event. Unfortunately, she didn't have the time to think about love and marriage. Watching the single warriors dance around the fire before her eyes, it was difficult to pinpoint a suitor from looks alone. They were all so handsome. They were also strong and well-built, having been trained to fight and hunt for the tribe. She was sure any of them could impress her and her father. Yet, she remained indecisive, unable to point at the warrior she wished to dance and possibly be with for the rest of her life.

She was about to ask her sister for suggestions until one warrior appeared on the other side of the dancing circle. He looked like most of the warriors. He had a slender yet muscular built. His black hair was styled in a long mohawk with only a single white feather attached to the back of his head. What set him apart were two features. The most notable was his tattoos. Across his bare chest was a pair of bear pawprints, symbolizing his strength and commitment to protecting the tribe. The other feature that caught her off-guard was his eyes.

Amid the feasting, socializing, and dancing, his eyes remained sharp and stern. He didn't seem like the kind of man who would laugh or smile easily. His serious personality might not suit her playful, optimistic attitude. However, it was possible he could hold a softer side. There was a warmth to his eyes she liked. She could tell underneath that hardened demeanor, he was a reliable man whose loyalty deserved to be recognized.

She didn't realize he was coming toward her until Mattachanna shook her arm and pointed him out with a squeal. "Ooh! He's coming this way! He's coming this way!"

"I-I can see that, Mattachanna! Stop shaking me!" She forced her to let go of her arm.

"Pocahontas," the warrior addressed the Powhatan Princess, kneeling and bowing his head out of respect, "it would be an honor to dance with you."

She wasn't sure how to respond. She looked over her shoulder at her father to see how he would react. However, there was no emotion on his face. She wondered why until she came to a realization of her independence as a woman.

Pocahontas returned her gaze to the warrior and smiled. "I would love to dance with you." She gave him her hand.

Together, the warrior and the Powhatan Princess performed the courtship dance, dancing in front of everyone around the fire.

~ To be continued... ~

Hey, hey, papa, give me moonshine!
Hey, hey, mama, hey, hey, mama!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Derby pie I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hey, I'm Kentucky!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Bluegrass State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
See the Thunder Over Louisville!
I'm Kentucky!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

February 13, 2020.

Today was Palentine's Day—a celebration of love amongst friends.

Wisconsin usually celebrated Palentine's Day with Michigan and Minnesota. This year, however, she chose to switch things up a bit. Instead of spending time with her Midwestern sisters, she decided to take the time to appreciate her friend/neighbor, Iowa, through her love of baking.

"After all, the best way to earn their heart is through their stomach!" Wisconsin winked at the audience.

"I think you ruined my appetite..." Iowa stared at the gigantic heart-shaped pastry laid across the kitchen counter, unsure if he could handle eating such a humongous sugary treat.

She gave him pats on the back and laughed, "Don't brie scared. At least I didn't ruin democracy."

"D-Don't remind me of the caucus!" He covered his face in shame.

Wisconsin was dividing the kringle into smaller pieces when she heard the doorbell rang. "Oh? I think my order from Amazon arrived early." She skipped over to the front door and was surprised to see Ohio instead of a package. "Oh, hiyo! It's gouda to see you!"

Ohio cringed at the puns, but he didn't groan. Instead, he got down on one knee and presented a bouquet of scarlet carnations in his hands, proclaiming, "Please go out with me tomorrow!"

She blinked her eyes. "Huuuuuuuuuuh?"

☆☆☆☆☆

For some reason, Iowa felt like the third wheel in this awkward gathering despite sharing the loveseat with Wisconsin while Ohio sat in the lonely recliner. He was told this conversation didn't involve him, yet he couldn't help worry for Ohio. "Is it that important to find a date for Valentine's Day?"

Ohio gave him an absurd look. "Of course, it is! Unlike you, I have this emotion called pride I can't afford to lose. If I don't' find someone to spend time with on Valentine's Day, I'll be labeled a loser. Besides, spending Valentine's Day alone is the saddest and lamest thing to do." He turned to Wisconsin with desperate eyes. "Though your puns are something to be desired, your kindness is always the reason you're so well-liked. Can you do me a favor and spend Valentine's Day with me?"

"Well, I'm quite mooved by your words, but..." She avoided his gaze with a guilt-ridden smile.

"You're turning me down, aren't you?" He scowled.

"Sorry, bud. I still haven't gotten over the Buckeyes beating the Badgers."

"Technically, it's the Badgers' fault for choking so hard at football."

She chuckled in contempt, "That aside, I have plans for tomorrow."

"You better not be lying."

"It's the truth! I'm taking Butters on a puppy playdate." She lifted her adorable blonde miniature dachshund with doting eyes.

"Great. Even your dog has a date for Valentine's Day," he grumbled.

"Have you tried asking Pennsylvania on a date?"

"I already did. She was the first person I asked." He sadly sighed. "She told me she was hosting a cooking class with Virginia for couples wanting to learn how to make chocolate desserts."

"What about Indiana? I don't think she's the type to celebrate Valentine's Day, but she may be available if you ask nicely," Iowa suggested.

"She was the fourth person I asked," Ohio revealed, appearing even more depressed. "Illinois got to her first, so she couldn't accept my invitation."

"That's unfortunate." Wisconsin frowned. "Then, what about Kentucky?"

"I'm only interested in girls."

"... Michigan?"

"I said I'm only interested in girls."

She shrugged. "Worth a try."

Ohio groaned into the palms of his hands, "I'm never going to find a date at this rate."

"... You know," Iowa spoke up, "you don't necessarily have to go on a date."

He glared at the Iowan. "There's no way I'm spending Valentine's Day alone."

"That's not what I mean. I heard the Four Corners Gang (Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, and Utah) are celebrating Arizona's birthday this year. Maybe you could join them."

"No way! They're going skydiving!"

"I thought you weren't afraid of heights."

"There's a big difference between flying 10,000 feet in the sky versus falling 10,000 feet from the sky." He got up from his chair.

"What do you plan to do?" Wisconsin questioned.

"Find a date, obviously. I'm running out of time, and I can't afford to let Michigan drag me in the dirt for being the 'least romantic' state again."

She smiled. "Well, thanks for the carnations."

"Wish you luck finding a date." Iowa waved as Ohio went out the door.

~ Happy Palentine's Day! ~

With little time left to find a date for Valentine's Day, Ohio started making desperate phone calls.

"Naw-uh! I got no time for love, cupids, and roses! I have Mardi Gras this weekend!" Louisiana huffed.

"Isn't Mardi Gras on the 25th this year?" Ohio looked at his calendar.

"That's the end of Mardi Gras, dummy. Mardi Gras season is still going strong since January. I'm about to party and get wasted again this weekend!"

"Well, since Mardi Gras doesn't end 'til Ash Wednesday, can you take a break from partying for a day? Specifically, tomorrow?"

"Hell no! Don't count on me for smooches and sappy shit." She pouted.

"How about—"

"Enough with the stupid questions!" She stopped him from making another pathetic plea. "I'm not interested in celebrating Valentine's Day, nor are you going to change my mind. That's my final answer."

"But—"

"Au revoir (Goodbye)~" Louisiana hung up. "Laissez les bons temps rouler (Let the good times roll)!" She chugged down a bottle of rum.

"Yeeeaaah!" Everyone in New Orleans resumed the party atmosphere.

~ Let the good times roll! ~

Georgia was watching a romantic movie on TV when her phone rang. "Hello," she answered the call as she paused her movie.

"Hey, Georgia," Ohio greeted at the other end. "By chance, are you free tomorrow?"

"No."

"Oh... Are you serious?"

"Why would I lie to you?" She frowned. "Are you having trouble finding a sweet girl again?"

"N-No! Of course not!" he scoffed with a tomato-red face. "I don't need your help. I'm perfectly capable of finding a date for Valentine's Day."

"Then, who's your date?"

"Uh..."

She clicked her tongue in disappointment. "You're so hopeless."

He whimpered, "Are you really not free tomorrow?"

"I've prepared seminars on Georgia Douglas Johnson for Black History Month. I can't just cancel the presentations."

He sighed, "If that's the case, I won't force you to go on a date with me."

Hearing his heartbreak, Georgia couldn't help feel sorry for him. "Have you asked Mississippi?"

"She was busy."

"South Carolina?"

"She was already taken."

"North Carolina?"

"She wasn't interested."

"... Florida?"

He groaned, "I gotta go. I can't afford to waste any more time."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Oh, alright... It was nice talking to you."

Ohio ended the call. "Maybe I should start asking the guys their plans for tomorrow..."

~ Hetalia... ~

"You're kidding me." Ohio couldn't believe what he just heard on the phone.

"Singles Awareness Day is a valid celebration." North Dakota stood by his statement.

"That's the saddest thing I ever heard. Only losers celebrate that pathetic holiday."

"It's not so bad. I'm going camping with Oklahoma and Rhode Island. It should be an enjoyable experience." He looked back at his fellow states, making sure they weren't having trouble packing the car with camping supplies.

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of Singles Awareness Day?"

"Not really. We're all friends who don't intend to do anything for Valentine's Day. That's all."

'I guess that's better than spending the weekend alone,' Ohio thought to himself. "As depressing as that sounds, by chance, can I join you guys?"

"Hang on for a minute." North Dakota muted the call before turning to his friends. "Guys, Ohio wants to join us on our camping trip."

Rhode Island burst out in derisive laughter. "You're fucking joking, right?"

"No. This isn't a joke."

"Doesn't he have plans for Valentine's Day?" Oklahoma questioned.

"He usually does. From what I can tell in our conversation, he sounds desperate for company. To be honest, I kinda feel sorry for him."

"I'm not," said Rhode Island nonchalantly. "That natural-born loser keeps wasting so much time and money on this so-called 'love' for attention. It makes me nauseous just thinking about the unfortunate boobs who have to put up with his ego every Valentine's Day."

He frowned. "Should we let him accompany us on our camping trip?"

"Do you want him to join us?"

"Well..." North Dakota recounted the various nicknames Ohio called him, including 'a depressing version of Kansas' and 'a lesser Minnesota' to top the list. "... Not really."

"I don't care if he joins us or not," said Oklahoma with a shrug.

Rhode Island smirked. "Looks like it's all three of us against Ohio's inclusion in our SAD camping trip."

North Dakota unmuted the call. "Hey, Ohio. I'm sorry, but you can't come with us on our camping trip."

Ohio raised a brow. "Why not?"

"Well..." He tried to come up with a polite excuse when Rhode Island suddenly grabbed his phone.

"It's because you're lame!" Rhode Island shouted into the speaker. "There! I said it!"

"What? I'm not lame!"

"Dude, you always bring the mood down with your pathetic presence. And I'm a cynical dickwad, so that's saying a lot."

"That's not true! I can name a hundred reasons why I'm a cool state, especially in comparison to a speck like you."

"Knock yourself out, fuck face. You still won't change our decision."

"Our?"

He placed the call on speaker. "Tell him."

"North Dakota?"

"I mean, calling me 'the Dakota without the Rushmore' rubbed me the wrong way."

"Dude, it was only a joke."

"Ha! You see! You bring depression wherever you go!"

"Fuck off, you dick-obsessed dwarf!" he huffed. "Fine then! Go and have fun on your SAD camping trip! I'm better off enjoying the company of a lovely lady who won't ever call me lame or depressing!" He promptly ended the call.

Ohio fell back on his couch and groaned into a pillow. "What am I going to do? I wasted all that time, and I still don't have a date for Valentine's Day."

~ Happy Singles Awareness Day! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me some milk!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of those
Giant cream puffs I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hey, I'm Wisconsin!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Badger State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
A little cheesy but still grate!
I'm Wisconsin!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

On the night of Valentine's Day, America and Washington D.C. went to the cinema, looking for a movie to watch together.

"What movie do you want to watch?" America asked.

"Hm... I'm quite interested in The Lodge." She stared at a movie poster of an eerie-looking cabin window surrounded by cold darkness.

"Y-You want to watch that?"

"That or Fantasy Island." She turned to a brightly-colored movie poster of a tropical island from an aerial view.

"What's that?"

"It's a hodge-podge of supernatural, fantasy, and horror."

He gulped. "Eheh... You sure are interested in horror."

"I'm quite fond of the psychological aspect regarding a mysterious evil lurking underneath the surface of humanity."

"Oh."

"That and the sight of idiots getting murdered for dumb decisions is why I love horror."

He awkwardly laughed, "How about we watch Sonic the Hedgehog instead?"

She shrugged. "Alright."

"Yay!" 

☆☆☆☆☆

"What the fuck did I get myself into?" New York scowled, forced to snap photos of California in a wine red cocktail dress straddling New Jersey's lap.

'Threesomes are a bad idea.' New Jersey gritted his teeth on one end of the chocolate bar while California seductively bit the other end without shame.

If they had known behind California's words were brazen intentions to have their rival join them on this date, they wouldn't have come to the wine and chocolate pairing tasting. They didn't mind becoming one of California's handsome accessories for her sake of upholding her attractive status on social media. However, they didn't agree to do this stint, especially in front of their rival. If they could, they would've gone home immediately without looking back. They wouldn't have to suffer the embarrassment of this photoshoot in front of public eyes. Sadly, they couldn't leave—not until she deleted that video.

California giggled, "Love triangles are, like, so hot. My Instagram is going to skyrocket in popularity after this."

"You better delete that video after we're done with this tomfoolery," New York grumbled.

"That depends on how well the photos turn out." She broke off her side of the chocolate bar in a single chomp before shifting over to New York's lap. "Okay! I need you to feed me a piece of chocolate. But make it sexy!"

"Hmph. You have two hands. Do it yourself."

"You heard him," New Jersey muttered without batting an eye.

She pursed her lips. "Looks like the Internet is going to have a field day when I post that video of you two sharing a hug on New Year's Day."

New York groaned in regret of getting wasted on that day. "Let's get this over with." He slid California's phone across the counter to New Jersey.

She smiled in triumph. "You better get my good side."

New Jersey messed around with the camera, zooming on New York putting a piece of dark chocolate into California's mouth. Weren't for New York's distinct scowl, they would've looked like the perfect power couple. "Hey, Yorkie. Can you try smiling? You look like you're not enjoying yourself."

'That's because I'm not,' he thought as he forced a smile on his face.

"And Cali, can you lean toward Yorkie a bit more? It needs to be more intimate."

"Sure thing!" California did as she was told for the sake of the photo.

"Hey. That's a bit close." New York leaned back and away.

"Relax, dude. I won't bite," she giggled.

"Cali, continue to lean forward. And Yorkie, keep leaning back more. I think I'm onto something." New Jersey focused the camera on them, shifting over to the next seat to get a better view. "More... More... More..."

"I can't lean back anymore..." He was nearly perpendicular across the stool.

"Stop fidgeting. This photo needs to be perfect."

New Jersey hid his amused smile behind the phone. "I think that's good." He gave New York's wobbly stool a slight tap with his leg.

"W-Wah! Aah!" California and New York fell off-balance from the chair, crashing onto the floor.

"That's a nice shot," New Jersey chuckled.

"What?" California looked over her shoulder in a daze. She gasped when she realized he had been filming them the whole time, recording the argument, the fall, and her exposed rear which she quickly covered up with rosy cheeks. "P-Pervert! Give me back my phone!" She confronted him.

He raised her phone above his head, out of her reach. "I will give it back once I post the video of you acting like an idiot. As a head's up, your account may get disabled because of that lace thong you're wearing."

She fumed, "Are you seriously blackmailing me?"

"You started it first."

She pouted. "Ugh! What do you fucking want?"

"Let me delete the video of that hug. Then, you can have your phone back. We'll call it even."

"Hmph! Fine."

"Asshole." New York slowly got up from the floor. "You could've warned me."

He chuckled, "You should be thanking me for getting that video deleted."

He huffed, "Whatever. I'm done with this shit." He stomped out of the restaurant.

"Hey! You could've at least paid for the tab as a thank you!" New Jersey tried to call him back to no avail.

"This is, like, the worst Valentine's Day ever." California sulked, drinking her chocolate martini and feeding on chocolate without a date to entertain her.

~ Hetalia... ~

"I think we stand out too much..." Indiana mumbled, realizing they looked a bit young among the members of the swing dance club.

"I think we look great." Illinois smiled, assuming she was referring to their semi-formal attire.

This was one of the rare times Indiana wore something outside of a short-sleeved top and a pair of denim jeans. He recognized the pink floral swing dress she was wearing was the same dress she used to wear in the 1950s. Ideally, he preferred she wear a flapper dress since this was the 'Roaring 2020s', but he didn't complain. Though, he wished he wore a pink instead of a violet dress shirt and tie underneath his gray vest, so they could match. Nonetheless, he was impressed to see her dress up so feminine and pretty. She even wore perfume that smelled like peonies which was a nice touch. He couldn't wait to relive the Jazz Age with her.

"Come on, Indy! Let's get our swing on!" He marched onto the dance floor, ready to shake off the rust and show off the dance moves he prepared for this moment. However, he noticed she had yet to move her feet to the upbeat rhythm. He gave her a quizzical look. "Something wrong?"

"Well..." She shifted her feet awkwardly. "I don't really dance, so..."

"What are you talking about? We've spun, swung, and swayed back in the old days."

"That's a long time ago."

He frowned. "If you didn't really want to dance, why even come?"

She sighed, "I won't lie. It was either you or Ohio."

"Ah, that figures." He went up to her. "Well, moping isn't going to make you a better dancer."

"You can dance. I'll just watch and observe for a bit."

"Oh, come now. Don't be shy."

"I insist. I'm fine where I am."

He sighed, "Oh, well. That can't be helped." He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the dance floor.

"H-Hey!" She nearly tripped on her feet.

But Illinois was quick to prop her back up, having her meet his confident gaze. "Come on, Indy. I can't be the one to move your feet." He smirked.

"I don't even know how to move my feet." She looked down at her shoes with a frown.

"Just copy what I do for now. Once you get the hang of it, we can speed things up to the proper tempo."

"... Alright. You better not laugh if I mess up."

"I won't."

"I mean it!"

"I won't!" He took her other hand as they slowly sway to the jazzy swing music, having a lot of fun.

~ Hetalia! ~

"Do people live around here?" Texas asked.

"Probably. Why?" Tennessee questioned.

"Because you're the only ten I see."

He stifled his laugh, shaking his head in disbelief he didn't see that coming. "How could you betray me like that?"

"It was an opportunity I couldn't let pass," she chuckled.

The dark sky above Obed Wild and Scenic River was a hidden gem to stargazers in the Eastern United States. Far from major sources of light pollution, anyone could stumble in the darkness and find themselves in awe of a starry show. Millions of twinkling lights could all be seen at once, all in great detail. The smaller bluer newborns brightly contrasted the larger yellows, oranges, and reds of older stars. Depending on the month, it was possible to see planets in the sky as well. At the moment, Texas was concerned with finding this chunky star guy named Orion among the constellations.

"Big Bend is still better."

"Shut up, Tex. We can still see the Milky Way out here."

"Yeah, but the stars are way bigger and brighter in my home."

"That's your opinion. But you have to admit, the stars are still amazing out here."

"I guess." She looked across the sparkling sky. "Ah-hah! Found it!" She pointed at Orion's bright red shoulder.

Tennessee peered up at Betelgeuse aka the Valentine's Star. "Are my eyes going bad?" He narrowed his eyes.

"Your eyes are fine, dude. Betelgeuse is just glowing dimmer than usual lately."

"Why's that?"

"Either the star is going through another dramatic phase, or it's dying and getting ready to go out in an epic supernova explosion."

"That's cool. If it does explode, when will that happen?"

"Probably sometime in the next hundred thousand years."

"Oh... I see Venus." He pointed in another direction.

"Ooh! Where?"

The pair continued to gaze at the stars until morning.

~ Hetalia! ~

In the final hour of Valentine's Day, Ohio arrived home in a state of depression.

The blind date he had planned with a random stranger didn't go so well. He waited for her to show up for at least an hour before the manager of the restaurant pressured him to give up the table for another couple. Even then, he waited for another hour outside the restaurant, hoping their date's tardiness had something to do with them getting dressed or stuck in traffic. He messaged her multiple times for an answer. And after waiting for thirty more minutes, he finally received a short reply to his list of messages: Cancel the date.

He didn't want to believe he had been ghosted on Valentine's Day. He continued to message her for an explanation. He even asked if they could reschedule their blind date for tomorrow or even Sunday. He hated to sound annoying and persistent, but he had every right to know after all the trouble he went through to set up their date. Sadly, he received no further responses from the person. He was forced to head home when the restaurant stopped serving customers for the night.

Ohio stepped out of his car, about ready to die from a broken heart. "What a disaster," he moaned morosely. "Hopefully, Michigan goes easy on me. I'm not in the mood to deal with her snide comments after..." He looked up and saw the Wolverine sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch. "Fuck."

Michigan waved at him with a cheeky smile. "Sup, loser! How did your date go?" She hopped off the chair and went up to him with her arms around her back.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned tiredly, "I'm not in the mood to hear you brag about how much fun you had at the Quebec Winter Carnival." He tried to move past her, but she blocked his way.

"What's with the gloomy look on your ugly face?" She cocked her head. "Did your date not go well? Did your date ditch you or something?" She kept pressing him with more annoying questions.

He gritted his teeth. "Ugh! Get out of the way!" He pushed her away from his face and yelled, "If you really want to know, I'll tell you! My date ghosted me!"

"Really? That sucks," she said dully. 

He sneered, "That's all you're going to say? Come on. Go ahead and laugh. Call me a loser. Call me an idiot for accepting a date with a stranger. I know you want to. I know deep down you want to—"

"I got this for you." Michigan showed him a small pink and white heart-shaped box, tied together with a red bow.

He blinked his teary eyes a couple of times, both at the box and at his archenemy. "What? You think this is funny?"

"Kinda. You can thank Wisconsin for pestering me to get you something sweet since she figured you need a bit of love in your life." She grinned. "Happy Valentine's Day, loser."

He brushed his eyes. "You're a piece of shit. I can't believe you made me sweat from my eyes."

"Wow. Not even a thank you. No wonder you're the least romantic state." She pursed her lips.

"Well, I guess... I..." For some reason, he couldn't say the proper words of gratitude. He simply nodded and accepted their gift. "I don't have anything to give you at the moment."

"That's not necessary."

"But it is necessary. I can't just accept your gift and..." As he was uncovering the lid of the box, he gaped at what was inside. His face turned fifty shades of red. "I knew it! You sick bitch! I fucking knew it! I should've known!" he swiftly snapped at her.

Michigan bit her lip, trying hard not to laugh. "Why are you yelling? It's just fudge."

"It's a pair of vaginas!" Ohio furiously showed her what was inside: vagina-shaped fudge.

"You don't like it?"

"No! Why the fuck would you get me this?!"

She burst out laughing. "Because that's the only pussy you'll be eating tonight!" She ran off with tears in her eyes.

"Fuck you!" He threw the box in her direction.

She flipped him off. "Have fun spending Valentine's Day alone, Suckeye! Enjoy your fudgeina!"

He threw messy snowballs at her. "You piece of shit! I hate you! I hate you! I fucking hate you!"

~ Happy Valentine's Day! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, make me a cocktail!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Pumpkin pie I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Yo, I'm Illinois!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Prairie State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The view from the Sears Tower is
Magnificent!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

July 4, 1863—Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

Though an hour past midnight, Virginia continued to take account of the casualties in the Confederate Army until she was summoned by the Confederacy's orders to meet him inside his tent. Knowing her commander, she predicted she would have to face him either having a violent tantrum or a glass of whiskey. Truthfully, she wasn't in the mood to deal with another tirade. Unfortunately, she had little choice on the matter. An order was an order.

She stepped inside her commander's tent without announcing her presence. The Confederacy was slouching on a wooden stool, looming over the military strategy table that was in disarray. He was still in his gray uniform, still stained with grass, dirt, and gunpowder. In his left hand was a handkerchief stained with blood. In his right hand was a half-full glass of whiskey. He promptly took a large gulp of his whiskey before slamming the glass on the table.

"Damn it! Where did it all go wrong?" he growled.

He didn't notice Virginia until she spoke up, "Pickett's Charge was a mistake."

The Confederacy looked over his shoulder, glaring daggers at her. "Ya sayin' it's my fault?"

She didn't flinch. "A charge this massive had multiple flaws. To begin with, we underestimated the distance between our offensive line at Seminary Ridge and their defensive line at Cemetery Hill. It was longer than expected. We also didn't expect the fences and the uphill slope to slow our charge greatly. As a result, our defenseless troops were easily gunned down by the enemy. Despite the losses, however, the charge could've worked with more manpower to overcome the casualties and break through the defensive line. If we had more time to plan this charge out, it might be possible to beat the odds and—"

His glass smashed into pieces on the ground behind her. "Shut up!" He smashed his fist on the table. "Fuckin' Union bastards! They think they won! But really, I won! I won the first day and did well on the second day! Surely, if I had more soldiers, this battle would've been mine to boast!"

"Commander," she interrupted his outburst, "what's the plan now?"

He grumbled, "I hate to say it, but we need to retreat. We don't have enough able soldiers to continue the battle or break through their defenses."

"Understood, sir."

"We'll begin the retreat later in the evening," he quickly added, taking her back by surprise.

"Sir, I understand we need to retreat as soon as possible. But there are thousands of soldiers scattered across the battlefield. It's going to take us more than a day to take account of the casualties and load the wounded onto the wagon train."

"I don't care. If the Union decides to attack us again, we're finished." He shunned his face away from her sight. "If we must, we'll abandon the soldiers who won't be able to travel with us."

"But..." She held her tongue. "May I leave, sir?"

"... You may leave."

She bowed her head and left the tent.

He rumbled to himself, "This is only a setback, America. I ain't done fighting yet." He coughed onto the sleeve of his uniform, scowling at the blood on his arm.

☆☆☆☆☆

On a muggy and humid morning, Vermont encountered a pale-faced Wisconsin while moving through the Union camp. He asked where Pennsylvania was because the Union Army's makeshift hospitals were short-staffed. She told him she was still sitting on that hill before proceeding to throw up behind a tree. That prompted him to worry about her health, yet she claimed she was alright. It was the smell that was the problem.

The summer air above the bright green fields of Gettysburg used to be fresh with the light aroma of aster and goldenrod. That changed after the three-day battle. It was difficult to tell how many bodies were left on the blood-soaked field, veiled by the smoke that accumulated from the hard-fought conflict. The Union soldiers did their best to take account of casualties for both sides. Injured soldiers for the Union were carried off in cots. Injured soldiers for the Confederates were dragged off as prisoners of war. The bodies of the dead were quickly buried in shallow graves in the hopes they could be given a proper burial later on. Their names were unimportant right now. All they needed to know was the uniform they wore and the notion they died in the act of valor.

In addition to death among humans, there were also casualties among mules and horses. Thousands of dead equines littered the fields, getting cooked under the heat of the sun for multiple days. It was near impossible to give their bloated corpses a burial without puking from the putrid odor. Especially in fear of the spread of various diseases, the living soldiers decided it was best to burn the corpses instead. They hacked, dragged, and stacked the body parts into one of the multiple pyres before setting them ablaze. That seemed like a good idea until the horrid foulness of cooked rotten horse flesh permeated the air. Anyone within the radius of the burnings became nauseously sick of the toxic miasma.

Shockingly, the burnt smell from hell didn't bother Pennsylvania. She remained sitting on a hill that overlooked the bloody landscape, writing in her journal with dark bags underneath her dull eyes. Her hearing was slightly impaired after hearing rifles and cannons go off for three straight days. Thus, she didn't hear Vermont call her name until he hunched over by her side.

"P-Penny!" Vermont panted. "Why are you still here? You can get sick if you continue to sit around here. Blurp!" He quickly covered his nose and mouth.

She shrugged as she continued to write. "How are the others doing?"

"We're doing alright for now. Wisconsin is likely sick from the stench, but she's being a trooper, providing meals for the soldiers. As for America and New Jersey, they're currently arguing whether to stay put or lead another attack on the rebels."

"I see."

He gulped. "The makeshift hospitals are short-staffed. We need help tending the wounded."

"... Alright." She closed her journal and stood up from the ground. "I'll see what I can do."

"I'll lead you there." He quickly scurried down the hill while Pennsylvania followed behind him at her own pace.

Not long after they left the hill, it began to rain heavily.

~ .......... ~

The small town of Gettysburg—with a population of 2,400—was suddenly transformed into a hospital caring for over 20,000 soldiers, both Union and Confederate. There was not enough food, not enough clothes, not enough supplies, and not enough room for everyone. Yet, there was a critical need for everything.

A free biracial woman by the name of Lydia Smith was riding into town, manning a borrowed horse and wagon full of food and clothes. She parked the wagon in front of a makeshift hospital, guarded by Union soldiers who recognized her immediately. After greeting her, one of them went around to the back of the wagon. The other went inside the hospital to get more hands to help distribute the supplies inside.

"Thank you, Lydia," said Pennsylvania as she and Smith carried boxes of canned peas and beans inside the crowded hospital.

She smiled kindly. "No need to thank me. Thank the good Lord that put it in my heart to try and do something for these poor creatures." They placed the boxes down on the floor before walking back to the doorway.

"I'm guessing you plan to head over to the Confederate camp next."

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

She shrugged. "I've already told you many times. Those rebels have done horrible things toward your kind. They won't hesitate to grab you and put you in shackles, even if you're a free woman. Give them all the food and supplies they need, but they won't think or treat you any better than cattle."

"I know," she acknowledged with a slight shake of her head. "I know the irony of helping the captors of color. I'm not blind or stupid. Everyone can complain about their differences by pointing fingers and talking politics. Whatever kind we claim to be, underneath our skin, we bleed the same color.  We're all children of God. We're all suffering because of this war."

She sighed, "If only there were more people who think like you, this war might've never happened."

"Maybe. It's easy to lose compassion toward fellow man. In spite of everything that has happened, I believe everything will turn out fine in the end. I may not be able to stop the war, but I'll do whatever I can to minimize everyone's pain." She smiled.

She softly smiled in return. "If you happen to see a woman with glasses and long brown hair at one of the Confederate field hospitals, can you give her this letter?" She pulled a small envelope out of her apron pocket and handed it to her.

"Gladly. I'll be sure to give this to her when I get the chance." She walked back out in the rain.

"Thank you." Pennsylvania bid her farewell.

~ Hetalia! ~

In the cold and wet evening, the Confederate Army prepared to make their retreat back to the South. Thousands of wounded men were loaded up onto wagons. Those who still had both legs and the ability to move them were forced to join the other able soldiers on foot through the mud and swampy grass. From a certain view, marching in the rain after a devastating loss might seem sad and pathetic. Yet, surprisingly, there was a sense of relief and optimism.

This would've been the perfect opportunity for the Union Army to attack them and possibly put an end to the Civil War. But as General Lee said earlier, "The Union commander is a coward." If this was a defeat, they would've all been prisoners. Instead, this was a setback. There were no Union soldiers in the area other than the ones they captured. Therefore, they could make a successful retreat and fight another day.

Unfortunately, not every rebel could join them heading back to the South.

"Are you sure?" Virginia spoke with a surgeon in front of a farmhouse that temporarily acted as a field hospital for wounded Confederates.

He groaned, "I still have surgeries to do on multiple men." He looked back inside the blood-stained house full of amputees and soon-to-be amputees. "It's going to be another sleepless night for me."

"Please." She clasped her hands together. "Save these men. You're their only hope."

"I'll try, ma'am. I may save some of them from their wounds. However, I can't guarantee they'll survive in the days that follow. Pray to God the prisons in the North aren't as bad as the ones in the South."

As she was thanking the surgeon for his services, a wagon ridden by a woman strode up to the farmhouse. Four Confederates immediately surrounded the wagon. They were about to aim their rifles at her until the surgeon ordered them to put their guns down for it wasn't necessary.

He cautiously approached the dark-skinned woman who remained atop the seat of the wagon. "What business do you want with us?" he questioned.

"I bought food and supplies for the wounded."

"We don't have money for you."

"This is free of charge." She hopped off her wagon and went around to the back to show him, Virginia, and the Confederates what she had was true.

"... Alright," he relented. "Men, bring these boxes inside the house."

Virginia was helping the Confederates unpack the wagon—carrying a box of clothes inside the house—when her name was called. "Excuse me?" She looked back at the woman.

"By chance, are you Virginia?"

"Yes. How do you know?"

She pulled out a small envelope from her apron pocket and handed it to her. "A woman wanted me to give this to you."

Virginia wasn't sure whether to open the envelope or not. She looked around the area and decided she might as well read what it contained without the Confederacy around to rip it away from her hands. She tore open the envelope and pulled out a written letter addressed to her.

Virginia,

You'll be relieved to know some of your men are alive. Their wounds are being treated while I'm writing this letter. Regarding your commander's request for a prisoner exchange, however, I'm afraid that's not possible after everything that has happened. I can tell you more about the reasons, but that's not the purpose of this letter to you. I 'm writing this letter to you as Pennsylvania—your neighbor, comrade, and friend for more than a hundred years.

On the Fourth of July at dawn, I look across the smoky red fields of Gettysburg, wondering why so many people have to perish on America's birthday. I wonder, why can't we aim our cannons toward the sky instead of our fellow man. We're all Americans. We're all lovers of freedom, no matter the color of our uniform or the color of our skin.  I don't know what's going through your head in the aftermath of the battle. I don't know if you feel remorse, resentment, both, or neither. I want to believe you're the same person I fought alongside in the American Revolutionary War. I want to believe you're the same person before the Civil War.  However, that may be wishful thinking.

You may consider me to be your foe at this point. That's understandable. I, too, see you as the enemy. At the moment, I can't forgive you, the Southern states, and the Confederacy for the suffering of hundreds of thousands. At the same time, I want this war to end, so we can put our differences aside for the love of humanity. However, that won't happen until one of us admits defeat. Hence, I refuse to lose and let freedom die. Whatever you decide to do, you better remember this battle for this will be the last time the Confederates invade the North.

Pennsylvania

P.S. America still misses you and the Southern states very much.

"... Why are you helping us?" Virginia looked back at the woman.

She softly smiled. "I'm doing what the Lord asked me to do, and that's to help people."

"Is that so?" She glanced back at the letter soaked by the raindrops in her hands. "What's your name, ma'am?"

"Lydia Smith."

"... Thank you, Lydia Smith." She folded the letter back into the envelope and placed it in her breast pocket. "I'll be taking my leave now." She walked past her, heading to a wagon that was rounding up wounded soldiers.

Smith watched the Virginian depart with the wagon of wounded rebels back to the South. She was allowed by the Confederate surgeon to leave the field hospital, and she did just that. She rode the wagon back home, so she could get some rest. For tomorrow morning, she planned to gather more donations and continue helping field hospitals around Gettysburg, aiding both Union and Confederate soldiers.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me a switchel!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Freshly-baked apple pie I ate before!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hello, I'm Vermont!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Green Mountain State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A beautiful world can be seen!
Let's go skiing down a mountain!
I am Vermont!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

"What's up, dudes! Welcome to the 50☆Stars Q&A 2—Electric Boogaloo! I'm your host, America. Joining me in answering your questions are my 50 States and Washington D.C."

The audience cheers and whistles in excitement.

America smiles. "Without further ado, let's get this Q&A started!"

☆☆☆☆☆

"The first question goes to...me!" America gasps. "Holy shit! Thanks, DanielaCruz918, for the question. I'll be happy to answer it." He clears his throat. "They ask: Do I know Popham Colony?" His forehead sweats slightly. "Um... I think that's in New England, right?"

"That's correct." Massachusetts nods.

"Well, I don't know them. Do you know them?"

"Not really. Plymouth told me back in the colonial days Popham was born before us, but they disappeared before their first birthday."

"Um..." Maine shifts awkwardly in her seat. "I've seen Popham a few times back then. They seem rather quiet and lonely. Yet, they always disappear before I get close to ask them anything."

"I see. To sum things up, none of us know Popham very well," America laughs jokingly.

"I'm not sure that's a good thing or a bad thing..." Massachusetts mutters.

~ Hetalia... ~

"Next question goes to California! FoxGamer429 wonders: What are your thoughts on Nevada?"

California chortles, "He's the perfect bad boy."

"Bad boy?" Nevada gives her a dumbfounded look.

"Totally!" She brings out a pen and a checklist on a clipboard. "Stoic? Check. Silent? Check. Wears black leather jackets? Check. Owns a motorcycle or a cool-looking car? He has both, so that's a double checkmark right there. Criminal record? Definitely."

"You know, I'm more than a stereotype..."

America coughs into his fist, interrupting the Californian from finishing her list. "This isn't a question, but personwithnolaifu has this to say: Cali, we all know you like Nevada. Ask him out puss—"

"Don't call me a pussy!" she huffs. "First off, Nevada isn't the only person I like. Even if I want to, say, date him or any of the states, they always put me in the friend zone which is so lame! I don't get why they don't want to date me. I'm fucking hot."

"Yeah, but you're also bothersome."

"And entitled."

"And shameless."

"Don't forget irresponsible."

She gives her fellow states repulsive looks. "Can you, like, stop attacking me?"

~ Uncool! ~

"akOOHLAALAAA has some questions for Delaware to answer. Their first question: During the New Sweden days all those years ago, were you the personification of the Swedish colony? If so, were you ever intimidated or feel a certain type of relation by the others in that general area at that time? Examples include Virginia, New Haven colony, Maryland, New Netherland, etcetera."

"Yeah, I was formerly New Sweden," Delaware admits. "Compared to the other colonies, I certainly stood out being the only Swedish colony. I wasn't particularly strong, so I was really vulnerable once Sweden left North America. For a while, I was pushed and pulled around by New York, New Jersey, and Maryland until England decided I was better off living with Pennsylvania. She treated me a bit better, but I much preferred being my own colony."

"That's cool," America mumbles, flipping over the notecard. "Second question from them: Which New Sweden governor was your favorite?"

He thinks long and hard. "I think his name is... Johan? I remember him having a big belly."

Washington D.C. looks up New Sweden governors on her tablet. "There are three New Sweden governors named Johan."

"Uh... The one with the longest term?"

 "Johan Björnsson Printz."

"Y-Yeah! That one. I guess he's my favorite."

~ Hetalia? ~

"Got a question for you, Florida. A reader named Sadie wonders: What's your favorite ride at Disney World?"

"Great question." Florida smiles. "I love all the rides. My recent favorite is Star Wars: Rise of the Resistance. But the ride that'll always have a special place in my heart is Pirates of the Caribbean."

"Why?"

"Because pirates are fucking cool!" She suddenly sports a pirate hat and an eyepatch.

~ Argh! ~

"A reader named Jess has a question for Illinois: Why do you bring Indiana into stuff with you?"

"Yeah, Illinois." Indiana crosses her arms. "I also want to know why you drag me into your problems."

"Oh, come on, Indy. You're the only person in the Midwest I can count on to get me out of trouble. Besides, your life would've been a snoozefest without me to spice it up a little."

"On the contrary, my life would've been peaceful and productive without you wasting my time on your dumb antics."

"What are you talking about? I'm not so bad."

"On New Year's Day, you crashed your car after smoking a bunch of weed."

Illinois awkwardly chuckles, "It wasn't so bad. At least you didn't have to bail me out of jail now that I legalized weed."

"I'm so proud of you, man." Colorado gives him a fist bump.

"Don't encourage him," she groans.

~ Hetalia... ~

"Speaking of Indiana, you also have a question to answer."

She sighs, "As long as it doesn't relate to Illinois, I'm more than happy to answer it."

America reads the notecard aloud, "Sadie wants to know: Do you wish Purdue would win an NCAA championship since they don't have any?"

"Technically, they do have NCAA championships."

"Can you clarify which ones?"

"... Two for golf and one for women's basketball."

Kentucky bursts out laughing.

"S-Shut up! it's better than nothing!"

~ Hetalia... ~

"JetBlackHarpsichords asks Massachusetts: As a Mass native myself, what's better—Dunkin' Donuts or Honey Dew Donuts? I personally like Dunkin' better, but don't let that sway you."

Massachusetts sighs, "You don't have to sway me. I like Dunkin'. They have good donuts and coffee."

"Okay, but you don't sound too happy." Connecticut senses the disappointment in his answer.

"I do like Dunkin'. But lately, I only go to Dunkin' for their coffee drinks. Their donuts don't taste as good nowadays, especially when compared to local donut shops around Boston. Not since they decided to ship frozen donuts to their shops..."

"I think Honey Dew has better donuts," New Hampshire speaks his mind.

"Well, they both suck compared to Krispy Kreme," says North Carolina.

Massachusetts scowls. "Did the question ask about Krispy Kreme?"

"No."

"Then, shut the fuck up."

"Rude..."

~ Hetalia... ~

"Good news, Michigan. You're Jess's favorite state."

"Of course, I am. Who doesn't like me?"

"Well..." Ohio mumbles inaudible words.

America quickly gives her the question before she decides to beat up her rival: "Your home is stereotyped sometimes as being a bad place because of cities like Detroit's bad reputation. What's your home really like?"

She simpers, "Looking past my largest city, there are other cities of economic and cultural importance. Ann Arbor and East Lansing are some wonderful examples—both places have college sports teams capable of getting wins than Detroit's sports teams nowadays. Plus, you're also less likely to get killed or carjacked in either city than Detroit, but that's beside the point. I think it's also important to recognize me as the Great Lake State. In that sense, I'm pretty much like Maine. Lots of people like to go on vacation in my forests, lakes, and beaches. The only differences are the lack of sharks and saltwater which I think are positives. Overall, I'm at least a better state than Ohio."

~ Not true! ~

After breaking up a fight between Michigan and Ohio, America asks the next question for Nevada to answer. "FoxGamer429 wonders: What do you do in your free time?"

"Let's see..." Nevada ponders. "I like to box at the gym. I also like to drive around Las Vegas, looking for random places to see and visit. Sometimes, I gamble, however, it's usually for fun than winning money. But if I'm too lazy to go outside, I relax and play video games, mainly Call of Duty, Rainbow Six, and Fallout."

"You play Fallout 76?" West Virginia asks.

He makes a contemptuous smile. "We don't talk about that game."

~ Fuck, Bethesda! ~

"Hey, New York. You have a question about Hamilton."

"The Founding Father or the musical?"

"The person."

"Aw, fuck."

America chuckles, "DanielaCruz918 asks: How did you react to the Reynolds Pamphlet? Did you scold Hamilton for that?"

"Oh, boy." He shakes his head in disappointment. "I was well-aware of Hamilton's affair with the Reynolds when I happened upon their letters about blackmail. I did confront Hamilton and scold him for being reckless, but that was it. I thought he was capable of fixing the mess he was in until years later when I heard rumors about the affair in public." He sighs. "There was no reason for me to scold him again since he was already suffering the consequences of admitting his love affair to the public. Nonetheless, I didn't give him any comfort for what he had done."

"Oof!"

~ The Reynolds Pamphlet! ~

"So, North Carolina. Jess wants to know: Who is better—North Carolina Tar Heels or Duke Blue Devils?"

"Oh, boy." North Carolina tugs the collar of her shirt. "I know I'm gonna catch a lot of flak for what I'm about to say, but I'm not gonna lie. I'm a fan of the Tar Heels, and I'll always be a fan of the team. With that said, I was briefly on the Zion hype train."

"That's understandable," says Louisiana. "Pretty much everyone was on the Zion hype train."

"Not me." Oregon pouts. "Nike lost over a billion dollars of stock because of him."

"That's what happens when you ask China to make your shoes."

~ Hetalia! ~

"What's so funny?" Oklahoma stares confusingly at America's funny-looking face.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just reading what's written." He quickly recollects himself. "personwithnolaifu wonders: How would you react if someone shipped you with Texas?"

His face warps into disgust. "Why would they ship me with Texas? She's crazy!"

"That's a harsh thing to say." Kansas frowns.

"Seriously, why would they ship me with Texas?"

"Probably because you two share some similarities."

He scowls. "We fought over a bridge—a freaking bridge."

"It's true," Texas grumbles. "At least I'm winning the football rivalry."

~ OK Boomer! ~

"Speaking of Texas, you have some questions from personwithnolaifu."

"Fire away." She makes a finger gun gesture.

"Their first question: Do you ever miss your old family—Mexico and the Mexican States—before you were annexed into the United States?"

"Nah."

"Not even in the slightest?" New Mexico scowls at what he thinks is a cold thing to say.

She shrugs. "Back when I wasn't so awesome, Mexico and the other Mexican states barely noticed me because of how weak and insignificant I was. That was their mindset when Mexico lumped me with Coahuila into a single state. Coahuila always spoke for me which was fine at first. But as I was becoming stronger and more populated, I wanted to become my own state, so I could speak for myself. But Mexico kept denying my requests. One time, he promised he would, but he lied. And then, he made things worse..." She sighs, "Any more questions?" 

"Yeah. Their second—" A ringtone interrupts America from asking the question. With an awkward chuckle, he turns to his annoyed capital. "Can you give this question to Texas? I need to take this call." He hurries behind the stage.

D.C. takes his notecards off the desk. "personwithnolaifu asks: Do you have a crush on America?"

"W-W-What?" Texas's face becomes redder than the Republican Party on steroids. "Hahahaha! N-No way! America is only a friend! A friend! We're only friends!"

"Just friends?" Tennessee raises a brow.

"Yep!" She nods. "Just friends! He may be an idiot, but I admire his bravery and strength!"

"And his muscles, apparently," Montana mumbles while flipping through the pages of Hetalia: 50☆Stars (Vol. 1).

"Shut your trap, Montana!" She punches the book out of her hands.

"Hey, guys!" America returns to the stage. "Anything I miss?"

"Fuck you, America!" Texas points at him as well as everyone around her. "And fuck y'all, too! I didn't come here to be embarrassed like this on international television!"

"C-Calm down, Tex! What are you talking about?"

She shakes her head. "I'm done! I'm leaving!" She stomps off the stage.

"W-What do you mean by that? Leaving the studio or the Union?"

"Both!"

"You can't do that!"

"Watch me!"

~ Secession! ~

After Wyoming used his lasso to pull Texas back on stage—tying her up to prevent her from leaving—the Q&A can proceed as usual.

"I don't get why Texas is all red in the face, but we need to move on." America reads the next notecard aloud, "DanielaCruz918 asks Utah: Out of Arizona, Colorado, and New Mexico, who do you like to hang out the most?"

"Ooh. I like New Mexico because we have similar personalities. Although, I like Colorado because we share some hobbies. Though, I don't really like him drinking and doing drugs."

Arizona raises her hand. "What about me?"

"You're a sinner," says Utah with a straight-up smile.

~ Hetalia! ~

"akOOHLAALAAA has a question for Virginia: How do you feel about your historical land grants that were given to you? Specifically, the one granted to you in 1609-1611?"

"What are they talking about?" Kentucky asks the question on some people's minds.

"When Jamestown was founded, I was granted ownership of a large amount of land," Virginia explains. "At the time, I didn't fully understand or appreciate how much land was given to me because little exploration was done beyond the coast. There were no maps to give an idea of what I own until centuries later. By then, I already established concrete borders around my home. But if the land grants from 1609 and 1611 were still enacted, I would've nearly taken up the entirety of America as well as half of Canada and a third of Mexico."

"Are you kidding me?" Texas gapes at the map on the projector screen. "You could've been the biggest state in America!"

"Fuck being a state! You could've been a goddamn country!" California exclaims.

Florida scowls. "That doesn't make any sense. Why does part of your grant include me?" She points at the penis-shaped peninsula.

"You existed?" Alabama questions.

"Yeah. I was a Spanish colony."

"Man, you're old."

"Hey! At least I look good being around 500 years old."

~ Hetalia! ~

"akOOHLAALAAA also has two questions for West Virginia. Their first question: If you could go back in time and fix the shape of your state, would you? I think the shape of your state is honestly amazing."

South Dakota cocks her head. "What kind of question is that? What does your home even look like?" She looks up the shape of West Virginia on D.C.'s tablet. Her jaw drops. "What the heck? Did you hire a preschooler to draw your borders?" She pulls the map up on the projector screen.

"It's definitely not a rectangle." North Dakota observes.

"It kind of reminds me of a rock-on hand sign." Ohio tilts his head.

"It looks like a paper crane with the wings folded down." Hawaii points out.

"I think it looks like a roasted bird. Like, a chicken. Speaking of chicken, I could go for some KFC after the end of this show," says Kentucky with a growling stomach.

"Well, I think it looks amazing." West Virginia smiles smugly. "My home is great. There's nothing I won't change about its shape."

America chuckles. "Moving on to the second question: Have you heard the song 'West Virginia Underground'? Does it make you feel powerful and superior at all?"

"As a warning to the audience, this song contains vulgarity." D.C. plays the song on the speakers.

West Virginia nods his head to the music. "This song resonates with my mountaineer spirit. I like it."

"But the song sounds so mean and aggressive. It constantly makes me feel attacked, and I don't like it," Oregon complains.

"Then, don't listen to it."

"But—"

~ Keep your damn mouth shut! ~

"Hey, Wyoming. Sadie wants to know: What do you like most about Yellowstone National Park?"

"There's a lot to like about Yellowstone," says Wyoming. "Personally, I like watching the free-roaming bison. I wish there are millions of them like in the old days, but I'm nonetheless happy to see the few thousands strive in the park."

~ Hetalia! ~

"Jess asks Washington D.C.: Do you have a favorite state that doesn't annoy you?"

"Excellent question." She adjusts her glasses. "Certainly, the least annoying state is Virginia. Unlike Maryland, she doesn't complain as much, nor does she have any national sports teams to brag to my face. She's always calm and collected. And with great wisdom, she has aided me through many obstacles. If I have to name a downside, I think her retirement philosophy is a bunch of bull."

"I'm just channeling my inner George Washington." Virginia smiles coyly.

~ Hetalia... ~

America flips to the next notecard. "Oh! This is a first. We have a question for Puerto Rico."

"Did someone acknowledge my existence?" Puerto Rico appears on stage—wearing a pair of cool shades and his flag as a cape—while his national anthem gets blasted from the nearby speakers. "¿Que es la pregunta, mi amigo (What's the question, my friend)?"

"Well, personwithnolaifu wants to know: Which state would you say you've bonded most with?"

"Easy! Florida—"

"Aw, thanks, mi amigo!" She gives him a big hug, pressing his face into her big boobs.

"—and New York," he mumbles. "No puedo respirar (I can't breathe)..."

"Huh?" She pushes him away. "Really? Out of all the states, why New York?"

"Why? The dude taught me how to be an American!" He wraps his arm around the reluctant New Yorker's shoulders. "He gave me a second home and introduced me to a lot of people from all over the world. It was there I made a name for myself and created my cool-looking flag."

"You're probably the second-most annoying tenant to ever stay in my house," New York grumbles.

"Who's the most annoying?"

"Romano."

"Ah, that makes sense. Anyone related to Spain is sure to be a little crazy." He looks back at America. "Is that all?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then." He smiles and waves at the audience. "Thanks for having me on the show! Also, thanks for making 'Despacito' the most viewed video on YouTube. It really means a lot. In the meantime, I'll continue making memes until I become a state. Anyway, Puerto Rico out!"

~ Des-pa-cito! ~

"The first to receive a question as a pair are Arkansas and Nevada." America holds up a notecard. "FoxGamer429 wonders: How do you two react to your name being mispronounced?"

"What?" South Carolina gapes at Nevada. "Is there a wrong way to say Ne-VA-da?"

"Yeah." He simply nods.

"Unbelievable! Why didn't ya tell me?"

"Because I don't want to waste my breath correcting people for the rest of my life."

"But aren't you annoyed hearing your name be said incorrectly countless times?" Arkansas questions.

"I do get annoyed, but I also get annoyed being called 'Las Vegas'. No matter what I do, there'll always be people who call me whatever because it's more convenient for them."

He scowls. "That's not right. Those people are dumb and disrespectful. If you don't want them to call ya Ne-VA-da or Las Vegas, you need to tell them it's Ne-VAD-duh. If they don't say it right, bonk them on the head until it's drilled deep into their skulls!"

"You tell him, Ar-kansas!" Connecticut cheers.

"It's Ar-ken-saw, stupid yuppie!"

~ Ar-ken-saw! ~

"Sadie asks Michigan and Ohio: Do you think you two can get along for a day without fighting?"

"No," they both answer at the same time. "Next question."

~ Hetalia... ~

"Jess asks New Jersey and New York: Will you two ever get along?"

New Jersey chuckles, "As long as the Statue of Liberty exists, the answer is no."

"Next question," says New York.

~ Hetalia! ~

"Here's a question for the Four Corners Gang from DanielaCruz918: What was your life like before being a state?"

"Lots of blood and death," Arizona says nonchalantly. "The Wild West days were pretty wild, man. I wouldn't say I entirely miss getting into gunfights with strangers. But it was fun winning all those shoot-outs."

"The past was awful," New Mexico huffs with crossed arms. "Even when I was a territory of Mexico, there was always fighting going on. It was especially violent after Texas dragged me to become an American against my will."

"Yeah, that's true," Colorado smirks. "I was with New Mexico when he beat up Texas during the Civil War. Never have I seen him get so worked up before. It was kinda hilarious."

"Can y'all stop talking about that time?" Texas grumbles.

"Anyway, my life as a territory was brief compared to the rest of the gang thanks to the silver mines. Still, I had my fair share of dark history..." He quickly changes the subject. "How about you, Utah? What's your life like before statehood?"

Utah awkwardly rubs the back of his neck with a crooked smile. "I was quite fond of my life as a territory. I got to live with my founder and be a part of his large family, so the past wasn't so bad. Hehe."

The rest of the Four Corners Gang give him suspicious looks. "You lived in a cult."

"Mormonism isn't a cult!"

~ Hetalia... ~

"This question from Sadie is for the New England region to answer: I'm going to New England for vacation this summer. Can you tell me some fun things to do and see there?"

"Gladly!" Connecticut is the first to speak for the region. "My home has plenty of beaches to choose from. But if you're not a fan of sand and saltwater, I recommend checking out Gillette Castle." He points to a photo of a medieval-looking castle on the projector screen. "This unique place was formerly the private residence of an actor who once portrayed Sherlock Holmes. I bought it for $5,000, and it was the best $5,000 I ever spent. So, as the prince of this strange castle, I cordially permit you to visit at your convenience."

Maine is the next state to speak. "If you don't plan to spend many days in the outdoors, then I recommend visiting a pick-your-own-fruit farm in my home. Summer is the best season for blueberries as well as raspberries, strawberries, apples, and peaches. I know it's easy to get produce from a grocery store. But for some reason, it's more fun and rewarding to pick the fruit yourself or with friends and family. Plus, some farms offer delicious fruit jams and baked goods, so that's always good."

"I notice these places are located outside of cities," Massachusetts notes. "Assuming you'll be in Boston, the best place to see is the New England Aquarium. Besides going there to see some wicked cool sea animals, you have the option to go on a whale watch cruise which I highly recommend. And afterward, you can dine at one of the nearby seafood restaurants. But if you're allergic or not a fan of seafood, I'm sure the non-seafood options are just as good."

New Hampshire scratches the back of his head. "I normally recommend visiting my home in the fall since you get to see the mountains in the vibrancy of autumn. Even so, I still recommend hiking around the mountains. They're always beautiful, no matter the season. And while hiking, you can capture some beautiful photos of the scenery. Either way, I hope you have fun while you're in New England."

"One word: WaterFire," says Rhode Island. "Unlike Ohio, I make setting the river on fire look cool."

"Hey!"

He ignores the butt-hurt Ohioan. "There are WaterFire artworks in other cities, but I'm the first to start the trend. If you happen to walk around Providence in the evening, wondering why people are gathered around the river, this is why." He points to a picture of fiery brazers in a blue-violet river at night. "This awesome-looking display comes with beautiful music, street performers, food carts, and special events such as ballroom dancing and jazz stages. They even offer gondola rides. And the best part, it's free. That's right. If that doesn't convince you to come to Providence, then you're missing out."

"Since you're going in the summer, I recommend going to various ice cream parlors for a cool sweet treat, specifically Ben & Jerry's," Vermont suggests.

"Are you seriously being a sellout right now?" Connecticut questions with a raised brow.

"Not at all! I just love Ben & Jerry's ice cream." He smiles. "If you're also a fan of Ben & Jerry's and happen to be in Waterbury, you have the option to go on a factory tour. The tour is only about thirty minutes long, but you can also get some ice cream at the Scoop Shop and check out the Flavor Graveyard afterward. Overall, it's simply a fun shortstop during a long road trip. Whether you visit any of those places or not, my friends and I still hope you have a great time during your stay in New England."

~ Hetalia! ~

"Here's a question for everyone to answer. That-Random-Comment wonders: What's it like interacting with countries and/or states that in the past you've had some unpleasant with? Have you moved on, or do you still have grudges?"

Virginia raises her hand. "I speak on behalf of everyone in this room to say, overall, it depends on each person's views and experience. For example, I've forgiven England for the stuff he did during the American Revolution and the War of 1812. Of course, I'm quite a forgiving person." She watches Maine hold Massachusetts back from going on a rant that'll take much of the episode's word limit.

"Yeah," Hawaii agrees. "Some countries have done bad things toward me, but I've learned it's better to make amends than be obsessed over bitter memories."

"Exactly! We should let bygones be bygones," Mississippi chirps. "The world would be a better place if we accept our differences and move on instead of fighting over who's right or wrong."

"Says the state with the Confederate flag," Pennsylvania notes.

"Hey! There's nothing wrong with her flag!" Alabama growls.

"While I understand where Hawaii and Mississippi are coming from, it can be awkward and difficult to forgive someone who has done so much wrong toward ya," Texas grumbles. "In this day and age, we're expected to treat each other kindly for the sake of peace. That's nice and all. But there'll always be the memory of the conflict that'll hold some of us back from being complete buddies with another country or state."

"Yeah," Ohio sighs. "Ideally, it's best to move on. But some of us are too bullheaded to let it go." He glares at The State Up North.

"Sure, it's petty to have grudges that stem from events in the past. However, I rather be honest with my dislikings than fake the niceties," Missouri admits. "But like Virginia said, it all depends on each person's views and experiences that result either in awkward, heated interactions or kind, cooperative meetings."

~ Hetalia! ~

"For our final question on this show, DanielaCruz918 asks everyone: What do you think of countryballs and stateballs?"

"Heh. That's a lot of balls," Florida snickers.

"I like USAball," says America. "If I ever meet them, I treat them to a juicy hamburger."

"Same!" Wisconsin giggles. "Though, I treat my stateball to some BBC instead."

"W-What?" Maryland gives her a weird look.

"Beer, bratwurst, and cheese. What do you think I was referring to?"

"Something else entirely..."

"I agree with my stateball. Norway is quite beautiful, both as a ball and human." Minnesota smiles.

Missouri nods her head. "I can see myself getting along with my stateball over our shared hatred toward Kansas."

"They got one thing right about my stateball: We love potatoes," says Idaho.

"I relate to my stateball on so many levels," Washington sighs while staring up at British Columbiaball.

"Whoever made Nebraskaball certainly did their research. Not many people know about my friendship with Japan," says Nebraska.

"I wish whoever came up with Iowaball made them nicer..." Iowa grumbles.

"Same." Georgia frowns at her stateball. "I wish they're more than a The Walking Dead reference."

"It's weird seeing my stateball have my sister's personality. Not that it's a bad thing," North Dakota mumbles.

"At least your stateball has a personality." South Dakota pouts. "There's barely anything about my stateball on the wiki page. So disappointing!"

"I can't believe I'm saying this. I'm more terrified of Ohiorawr than Ohio. Look at those teeth," says Pennsylvania.

"Hehe. My stateball is so much bigger than Californiaball," Texas snickers.

"Speaking of Texas," America flips to another notecard, "personwithnolaifu asks: What do you think about Moscow x Texas in countryhumans?"

She cocks her head. "They ship me with one of my cities? That's weird."

"Actually, I think the ship refers to Moscow, the capital of Russia," Alaska clarifies.

"Really? That's crazy! My statehuman hates commies and gays. There's no way they like Moscow."

"This fanfic says otherwise," California shows Texas the fanfic on her phone with a smirk.

"What in tarnation am I reading?" She makes a disgruntled face. "There's no way my statehuman is a bottom! I refuse to believe it!"

"It's a good thing Moscow doesn't watch this show," D.C. mutters.

America laughs, "With that, we end this show. To everyone in the audience, thanks for reading/watching. We all hope you're entertained with this Q&A. We look forward to doing this again. Until then, we'll keep entertaining everyone with more episodes to come."

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, want a sloshie?
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Bison burger I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
My name's Wyoming!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Equality State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Always treat women with respect!
I'm Wyoming!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

Many years ago, two Hispanic children were scampering through a field of wildflowers near San Antonio. They were on their way to the old mission church to pay their Lenten devotion. Following behind them was their slower grandmother. Dressed in rusty black, she was painfully thin, and her face was seamed with many fine lines.

"¡Abuela (Grandmother)! There is a white flower with all the blue ones!" the excited girl hollered as she pointed at the unique flower.

"Those are bluebonnets," her grandmother explained, "and sometimes, very seldom, there is a white one among them. Some even say that the Lone Star of the Texas flag was fashioned after a spot of white bluebonnets amongst a field of blue."

The little boy stood still and gestured to the bloom at his feet. "But what about this pink one then?"

They studied the pure pink bluebonnet for a moment before the grandmother turned to the children and spoke, "If the white ones are special, then the pink ones mean even more." She paused. "When I was a little girl, my grandmother told me a special story about these rare flowers. They seem to only grow downstream from the Alamo Mission, and that is because of something that happened here many years ago.

It was when Texas was only a remote province of Mexico. The Americanos and other foreigners had not been settled here for long, but trade was busy. We all had hopes of a golden future for our country.

Our family had a fine house and farm near the old cathedral. My papa would rise early, take his tools, and work the land before the day grew too hot. Then after the noon siesta, everyone would wake in the cool of dusk. The adults would bathe in the clear river while we children splashed in the shallows. Everyone would dance, eat, and visit until late into the evening. Sometimes the Americanos came to celebrate with us, but their talk always turned to politics. They were angered because the Constitution had been overthrown by a terrible Mexican dictator. The men all went about with frowns, and the women began to be afraid.

Then came that bitter spring when we learned that the dictator was on his way to our city with many troops. Papa was torn between joining the Americanos to fortify the old mission compound and fear for his family. He eventually decided to hide us in the countryside."

The grandmother looked back at the Alamo Mission and sighed, "Every time I look at the ruins of the mission chapel, I remember the fear we lived in during that time. Day and night, we heard the cannons and the rifles firing in the distance. The brave new Texans fought long and hard. In the end, they were overwhelmed by the Mexican troops. After the shots had finally ended, we crept silently home in the darkness. Mama and Papa were thankful that our lives had been spared, but it broke their hearts to learn of the many who had lost their lives in that terrible battle. Mama often cried when she passed the homes where friends had fallen.

One day, several years later, I found her putting a pink wildflower in a vase beside the statue of the Virgin. She told me she had found it near the river where it had once been white, but so much blood had been shed, it had taken the tint of it."

The grandmother paused to look at the pink bluebonnet. "That is why you will only find the pink ones near the river, within sight of the old mission," she said. "So remember, children. The next time you see a pink bluebonnet, it's not only a pretty flower but a symbol of the struggle to survive and a memory of those who died for Texas to be free."

☆☆☆☆☆

March 6, 2020—San Antonio, Texas

At six o'clock in the evening, the Alamo Mission is closed to visitors. Yet, the historical monument is about to receive two more. One of them is a Tennessean. The other is a Texan who originally grew up around here. Pinned over their hearts are pink bluebonnets made out of soft pink yarn and green wire.

"Man, it sure is chilly around here." Tennessee glances at his friend whose eyes are focused on the YETI soft cooler she carried. "What ya got in there?"

"Ya know. Some ice cream."

Tennessee doesn't question her reasons. He's accustomed to her bringing all sorts of things to the mission, ranging from Fuddruckers to Shipley's Donuts. Knowing her, he figures the ice cream in the bag is Blue Bell.

Texas uses a special key to unlock one of the doors, allowing them inside the shrine.

~ Hetalia! ~

At one point in their private tour of the Alamo Mission, Tennesee strays left and arrives at the Cavalry Courtyard alone. He's familiar with the area, but this is the first time he gets to see the bronze sculptures that were added last year in late April.

There are six statues in total. The one he's most interested in is a Tennessean who volunteered to fight for Texas's liberation from Mexico. Whoever sculpted him did a great job depicting the details and likeness of the folk hero, having him wear his iconic coonskin cap and hunting suit. The most eye-catching feature is the rifle. Most sculptures of the frontiersmen have the rifle positioned in a dignified manner, against their side or in their arms like they're cradling a baby. But to better capture the "King of the Wild Frontier", the sculptor has the figure hold their rifle over their shoulders in a casual manner. With a sharp brow and a witty smirk that exudes confidence in his abilities as a sharpshooter, the statue really looks like David Crockett standing before him.

He can imagine the frontiersman talking to him right there. 'Hey, there. What do you want me to do? Defend the church? Sure thing. No, I'm not afraid of dying. I'm here to fight. Now, let's get right to work preparing for our last stand.'

He smirks. "Always be sure you are right, then go ahead. That's what you always say before making decisions."

"I still stand by those words."

Startled, Tennesee turns to his right and sees his mentor standing next to him, looking up at his statue. "Davy!"

Crockett chuckles, "Man, I sure do look good in bronze."

He looks back up at the statue with a nod. "Yeah. The sculptor did ya justice."

"By the way, where's the Texas girl?" He looks around the courtyard.

"She's somewhere around the place. She tends to have a mind of her own, especially whenever we're here."

He softly smiles. "Ya did any good hunting recently?"

"Some quails and squirrels." He shows him some photos of his hunts on his phone.

"Nice."

His eyes brighten. "I also plan to hunt some wild turkeys later in the spring. I'll be sure to take pictures of those hunts and show you." He continues his chat with Crockett.

~ Hetalia! ~

After wandering around the garden for a while, Texas finally sets herself down on the edge of a fountain. She whistles the tune of "Deep in the Heart of Texas" while waiting.

"I was hoping you brought Whataburger."

She looks up and smiles at a familiar face. "Hey, there, Jim!"

The ghost of James Bowie smiles back. "What ya got in that box?" He sets himself down next to her.

She opens the soft cooler and shows him the pints of Blue Bell ice cream inside. "Do ya want cookies 'n cream or homemade vanilla?"

"I'll take vanilla."

She hands him a pint and a spoon. "Where's Travis?"

He shrugs. "Beats me. He still mopin' about me cheatin' at cards. Sore loser, that guy." He eats a spoonful of homemade vanilla ice cream. "Mmm, that's some good ice cream."

"Hopefully, Travis gets here before I leave. I hate to leave him with an empty stomach." Texas takes a pint of cookies 'n cream ice cream for herself.

"Say, I heard there are plans to expand this place. That true?"

"Yeah." Texas shows him the plans on her phone. "The plan is to recreate the plaza. It's gonna cost $450 million, but I think it's worth it."

"$450 million?!" he scoffs. "You could buy the Louisiana Territory thirty times!"

"I wish!" she laughs. "Seriously though, I hope to expand this place, so people know what we've been through..."

He's quick to notice her grow quiet. "I thought I told you to stop beating yourself up. There's nothing you could've done to prevent what happened."

She smiles sadly. "Still, it happened. All I can do is carry that memory for the rest of my life. And every time I remember what happened here, I can't help wonder if things could turn out differently—for all of us..."

He softly pats the top of her cowboy hat. "What matters is that you're free. You're free thanks to our sacrifice." He looks around the peaceful garden and the pint of ice cream in his hands. "I should bring Maria and the children along with me when we see each other again. I bet they like some ice cream, donuts, kolaches, burgers... God, you have it lucky." He has another bite of ice cream.

"Hey! Why didn't you wait for me?"

The pair look up at the ghost of a 26-year-old named William B. Travis stomping toward them.

Texas waves at him. "Hey, Travis! Glad to see ya here."

"Took ya long enough." Bowie frowns. "What's wrong with ya making the young lady wait?"

"Fuck you!" Travis spat. "I would've been here on time if I was told she was comin' to visit Friday instead of Saturday!"

"My mistake." He feigns his guilt. "I thought the 6th was Saturday. Whoops." He eats another spoonful of ice cream.

"You owe me an apology!"

"Why? It's your fault for trusting me. You should get yourself a calendar."

"You're such a pain in the ass!"

"What's with all the yellin'?"

Everyone looks over at Crockett and Tennessee coming toward them.

Travis huffs, "As co-commander of the Alamo, I expect Bowie to treat me respectively."

"Well, as your fellow co-commander of the Alamo, I expect you to own up to your tardiness instead of blaming me," Bowie rebukes.

The co-commanders give each other glares, producing an electric current between them.

"Now, now." Crockett steps between them. "We can settle our differences after some ice cream. At least, that's what I've been told."

"Yeah." Texas hands Travis a pint of milk chocolate ice cream and Crockett a pint of coffee ice cream.

"You got any rocky road?" Tennessee asks.

"You bet!"

Travis looks back at Bowie with a pout. "I suppose we can talk about your behavior later."

He smirks. "Fine by me."

A smile grows on Texas's face seeing everyone get along. "Awesome!"

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me whiskey!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Elvis sandwich I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hey, I'm Tennessee!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Volunteer State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Wearing a raccoon on my head
I'm Tennessee!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

Out of all the places to be during the coronavirus pandemic, jail is probably the least ideal. Yet, Georgia is there for a reason. No, she isn't in trouble. But she knows someone who's in deep trouble...again.

"Thanks for coming to visit while I wait for trial!" Florida waves with a silly grin.

"Don't act so happy about being in jail again!" Georgia scolds her.

"Sorry. I'm still happy you came even though it's not necessary."

She sighs as she sets herself down at a table in the visiting hall. "As your only neighbor with a lick of common sense, I'm obligated to check on you, making sure you haven't done anything reckless like doing crack, shrooms, or both whiles sucking on people's toes."

"I don't get that crazy on drugs."

"Regardless, I figure you haven't done much to prepare for the pandemic, so I've done some shopping for your benefit."

"Aw, how sweet."

"Don't flatter me." She scowled. "What have you done to land in jail again? It can't be good, obviously."

"I mean," she blushes, "it's nothing big. Just arson, animal harassment, and possession of marijuana."

Georgia gives her a weird look. "I'm not surprised about arson and the Devil's lettuce. But I'm skeptical concerning the charge of animal harassment."

"It's a long story," Florida smirks. "You see, it happened two days ago..."

☆☆☆☆☆

"I was going to the nearest IHOP around 3 AM."

"That's quite early for breakfast."

"Well, I was smoking a couple of joints when I got the munchies," Florida explains. "I had this craving for bacon, but I was too lazy to cook. Also, my alligator ate everything in the fridge, so I had to search for a place that was serving cooked bacon. Thank God there was an IHOP close to where I lived. Otherwise, I would've died for real."

"No, you wouldn't."

She rolls her eyes. "At the restaurant, I ordered a giant plate of bacon with a side of chicken tenders and waffles because it looked sexy good on the menu. And while I was waiting for my food to be cooked and served, a man in his late twenties came into the restaurant with a lifesize cutout of Donald Trump. He looked sketchy as fuck."

"Please don't cuss." Georgia frowns.

"But he really looked sketchy as fuck!" she exclaims. "The moment the guy stepped into the restaurant, I swear I was high again from smelling whatever number of reefers he smoked. At first, I thought he was like me. I thought he had the bad case of the munchies, and his Floridan swamp cat ate all the bacon and pizza rolls in the fridge. If so, he must be desperate because he wasn't wearing pants."

"Pardon?"

"The dude only had on a shirt, a pair of underwear, and some socks with sandals," she recalls. "Yeah. Only guys that high wouldn't give a fuck about what they wear. His case of the munchies had to be that bad for him not to notice the other three customers at the counter who were staring at an outline of his junk underneath a thin layer of cotton. It was a MASSIVE distraction."

She groans, "Did you have to include that detail?"

"Yeah," she giggles. "It was the only thing I was thinking about while waiting for my food. I thought, 'Man, must be nice having a huge schlong.' If I had a huge schlong, I probably wouldn't give a shit about people staring at my package, too."

"You're such a shameless person..."

"Anyway, after being served my huge breakfast, I was about to dig in when the weird guy and his lifesize cutout of Donald Trump came to my table. He gave me a condom and offered to show me his genitals."

"Hold up!" Georgia stops her there. "Please tell me you left the restaurant immediately."

"Why would I leave? I was just served my plate of bacon! Yeah, I was weirded out by his offer. I had my gun in my purse. But then, I realized I left my purse at home. I was like, "Fuuuck! How am I going to pay for breakfast?" Because my wallet was also in my purse which was back home. So, I got pissed. I got so pissed, I stuffed a handful of bacon into my mouth to make myself feel better about my dumb ass."

"Aren't you forgetting the weird pervert?"

"I'm getting there, gal! Yeesh!" She lets out a sigh. "While I was stuffing a second handful of bacon into my mouth, the weird guy asked me to put the condom on his dick. I was like, "Why? Can't you do it yourself?" He told me, "Only hot girls can put condoms on my dick." And I thought, 'Aw, he thinks I'm hot.' I immediately liked him."

"That's not how flirting works!"

"After I put the condom on his dick—"

"Ew."

"Hey, at least I washed my hands before I did it," she huffs. "As I was saying, after putting the condom on his dick, he was suddenly enveloped in a ray of light. For a moment, I was blinded by the brightness. So, I got out a pair of sunglasses that were hanging from my tank top and put them on. Then, I could watch him transform from a homeless pervert to a super homeless pervert."

"What's the difference?"

"He wears a cape."

"Okay?"

"And he wields a machete he affectionately calls Kindness."

"How are you still alive?!"

"Don't worry, gal! As it turns out, the weird guy is actually Florida Man!"

"Florida Man? Really?" Unfortunately, this isn't the first time Georgia has heard of Florida Man. Nonetheless, the mention of his name leaves her anxious about where this story is heading. Already, she hates what she's hearing thus far.

Florida nods. "Yeah. Florida Man is sorta like Superman. Instead of taking off his disguise to be a hero, he has someone put a condom on him, so he can do cool superhero stuff like wielding a machete and riding a golf cart."

"I don't think he needs to wear a condom to do those things, nor do I think the things he does are superpowers..."

"Well, Florida Man told me the condom is for his protection."

"From unwanted pregnancies and STDs?"

She laughs, "No, silly. He needs the condom to protect himself from The Impaler."

"The Impaler sounds..."

"I know it's hard to believe. But believe me, The Impaler is not what you're thinking."

"Then, who is...he?"

"The Impaler is a day-walking vampire who's also a professional wrestler, politician, and profound worshipper of Lucifer and the goddess Hecate."

She blinks her eyes. "Are you high?"

"Nope! I'm clean as my butthole!" she chirps. "The Impaler is a bad guy who likes to drink blood from teenage girls, women, cows, and pigs. And recently, he has taken a liking for sea cows!"

"Sea cows..." Georgia utters in a deadpan tone.

"I know, right! How disgusting!" She pouts. "I can't believe The Impaler is dastardly enough to feed off manatees and transform them into his personal army of zombie sea cows to pollute the surrounding waters of my home and infect my citizens!"

"Please stop." She can feel her head pounding in pain the longer the story goes on.

Yet, the Floridian continues her story without any intention to stop soon. "Florida Man tried to foil The Impaler's evil plan on his own. First, he used his magical machete to chop the vampire's fucking arms off. Then, he would've made the finishing blow, cutting The Impaler's head off in a single swing. But The Impaler caught him off guard with a kick to the crotch. The condom broke which left Florida Man powerless, enabling The Impaler to flee along with his army of vampiric manatees.

At that point, Florida Man recognized he couldn't defeat The Impaler on his own. He asked his sidekick—the lifesize cutout of Donald Trump—to find me. Thus, they came to IHOP and found me eating my breakfast, asking me once again to save the world from The Impaler and his evil plans. Crazy, right?"

She breathes out a tired sigh, "Please tell me you didn't believe everything he said and declined to join him."

Florida laughs, "Why would I decline his request when he offered to pay for my breakfast?"

Georgia facepalms. "You're so stupid..."

~ Florida Man! ~

"Obviously, the manatees weren't at fault for turning into blood-drinking monsters," Florida tells the jaded Georgian. "Florida Man wanted to kill them, but I told him it was possible to save the manatees. If we could get a sample of The Impaler's blood, we could make an antidote that would revert the manatees into innocent herbivores."

"That doesn't make any sense." Georgia scowls.

"It does make sense. It's just you don't get it."

"Don't insult my intelligence!"

"Once I transformed into my disguise as 'Florida Woman', the three of us went to a hospital. According to Trump, The Impaler was there to recover from massive blood loss after fighting Florida Man. If that was the case, we really needed to stop that crazy vampire bastard before he became strong enough to continue his diabolical plans.

However, there was a problem. We didn't know which room The Impaler was in. We figured we get the receptionist to tell us. I told her we were his relatives. But the receptionist was pretty smart because she asked what was our relation to him. I freaked out and told her I was his grandma. Like, doh!" She smacks her forehead. "Of course, she didn't believe me. I didn't even look old enough to act like a MILF!

When that didn't work, we went with our backup plan. We told the receptionist Donald Trump needed dialysis because his kidneys were super filthy. Like, yuck! The swamp needed to be drained, ya know. But for some reason, the receptionist started acting like a bitch. She threatened to call security if we didn't leave. That seriously offended me. Like, this was the president! His life was on the line!"

"You know that lifesize cutout is made out of cardboard and doesn't have any kidneys, right?"

"So, what? He's still the president! He has every right to stay healthy!"

She sighs, "Never mind. Just continue your dumb story."

"When Donald Trump couldn't get his dialysis, he used his executive powers as president, demanding the receptionist allow him medical treatment as well as tell him where The Impaler was, or else she would be fired from her job. Despite his demands, the receptionist had enough and called security to kick us out of the hospital. Like, what a hoe!

At that point, Florida Man had enough of her bullshit. Suddenly, literal shit hit the fan. Florida Man summoned cow manure from his hands and dumped all that shit on the receptionist's head. Like, whoa! She didn't deserve shit, but she totally deserved that shit. Ya know what I mean? Anyway, she ran off screaming in tears with all that shit on her hair and clothes. Which yeah, that reaction was understandable. If I got shit on my head, I would totally freak the fuck out, too."

"Can you refrain from such excessive language?"

"Sorry. I got carried away there." She rubs the back of her neck with a blush. "I managed to get behind the receptionist's desk and find The Impaler's room on the sixth floor. That was good to know. However, we then had another problem in the form of six beefy security guards.

Florida Man wanted to kill all of them with Kindness, but I was like, "Dude! Don't kill them! Summon a shit storm!" And he was like, "Sorry. I could only use that power once a day." And I was like, "Motherfucker!" Trump said, "Lame."

There was no way we were getting arrested by low-tier policemen. We got out of there as fast as we could run in sandals. Luckily, we got to the elevator before the guards could get us. That brought us some time to breathe and plan out our next move.

I told Florida Man we needed to create a distraction somewhere on the lower floors while one of us went to the sixth floor to find The Impaler. Surprisingly, Trump volunteered to be the distraction against Florida's Man's protests. "No! You've been my best friend for eight years!" Florida Man cried. But Trump was, like, "Sad." I knew Trump's mind couldn't be changed. And reluctantly, Florida Man knew that, too.

All of a sudden, Florida confessed his love to Donald Trump. He gave Trump a big kiss on the lips and would've done more if the elevator kept going up. I took Trump with me out of the elevator, leaving Florida Man to go up to the sixth floor on his own.

I pulled Donald Trump into the nearest room on the fourth floor and closed the door behind me. There were two hospital beds. One of them was empty. The other had a sleeping patient. I laid the lifesize cutout down on the empty bed before pulling a bottle of booze out of the purse I was carrying—"

"Don't tell me!" Georgia gapes at her. "You actually—"

"Yep!" She nods her head. "I set Donald Trump on fire!"

"Don't say that too loudly!" she hisses.

The jail guards in the visiting hall give the women strange looks, but they don't do anything to disrupt them.

As such, Florida continues her story. "Despite using only half a bottle of vodka, the inferno was big enough to set off the fire alarms. The nurses were just as shocked as the other hospital patient seeing the hospital bed on fire. While they went to get help, I somehow snuck out of there without detection. The fiery distraction allowed me to get away from the chaos, using the stairs to make the rest of the journey up to the sixth floor where Florida Man and The Impaler were at.

Surprisingly, it was easy finding them because I saw a nurse run out of a hospital room, screaming her head off. I quickly went inside that room and found it covered in blood. Like, honestly, it was bad. It looked bad. It smelled bad. I wanted to puke and run out of the room like that nurse.

I saw Florida Man stabbing The Impaler's decapitated body with Kindness. For a moment, I thought, 'That's fucked up.' Yet, I kept watching until I heard shouting nearby. I told Florida Man we needed to get out of here. We would've gone out the way we came, but the security guards were already on the sixth floor. I had to close the door to prevent the guards from seeing what happened in the room for better or worse. In either case, we were trapped, or so I thought.

There was a window. Florida Man told me we could escape through there. I told him, "Nah! We're on the sixth floor!" He told me, "I can fly." I was like, "Shut the fuck up! Really?" He said, "You rather stay here, then?"

I thought he was crazy until I remembered the zombie manatees. They were still in pain. They still needed help. Looking back at The Impaler's decapitated body, I suddenly remembered something I forgot to put in my purse before coming here—vials and syringes. There wasn't much time to collect blood. In a panic, I grabbed The Impaler's head and stuffed it into my purse. Which yeah, that was nasty. But it was better than carrying it in my arms. I had no other choice!

By the time the guards barged into the room, I was already with Florida Man committing pseudo suicide out the window. If Florida Man's flying golf cart didn't catch us in time, we would've been flatter than Kansas's chest. The story would've ended there."

"I wish it ended there," Georgia grumbles.

~ Florida Man! ~

"By the power of science—"

"You mean, science fiction."

"Same thing." Florida rolls her eyes. "Anyway, I made an antidote from The Impaler's blood that could revert the zombie manatees to normal manatees. Once that was done, Florida Man took me on his high-powered jet ski to the cove that contained the vampiric manatees. For a while, we were lost because Florida Man found a zombie bird trapped in a wire net. Not only did we save the bird from choking on the net, but we also treated it with the antidote which actually worked!"

"Now that's what I call bull."

"Whatever. That's your opinion." She shrugs. "Though we saved the bird, we forgot where we were going, so we kinda got lost looking everywhere for those blood-sucking sea cows. That sucked major balls.

It took us hours, but we finally found the group of ugly manatees in a small cove. There were only fifteen of them, however, they were quite vicious! This momma manatee was charging at me in the water. That monster could've bitten me and turned me into a were-manatee or something creepy like that. Of course, they were still sea cows. Though zombified, they were still fat slowpokes. There was no way they could kill people. Nonetheless, I was sure they were in pain. And it was up to me to save them from their torment!"

"If not for this wacky story, you almost sound like Oregon for a second," she mumbles.

"Aw, thanks!" She smiles. "As expected, the antidote was working. The manatees were turning back to normal. That was good. While I was healing the manatees, however, the ground suddenly shook. I was like, "Whoa! Earthquake!" But no, it wasn't an earthquake. Coming out of a giant fissure, guess who it was?"

Georgia sighs, "The Impale—"

"It was The Impaler!" Florida shouts, waving her arms wildly. "I couldn't believe it! How was that pasty old dude still alive? Well, remember what I told you about him worshipping Hecate?"

"How could I forget that detail?" she says sarcastically.

"So, Hecate is the goddess of magic, witchcraft, and all sorts of dark stuff," she explains. "After Florida Man chopped his head off and stabbed him in the heart, The Impaler should've died permanently. However, his death allowed him to meet Hecate in the Underworld. Because he was her follower, she used necromancy to resurrect him which was bullshit! That thot had to ruin everything for us!

I was like, "What the fuck? We worked so hard to kill you!" The Impaler laughed, "Oh, that's too bad! Prepare to die, pathetic God-worshipping mortals!" Florida Man was like, "Fuck you! I'm gonna put an end to this!"

He was about ready to fight another round when The Impaler summoned the lifesize cutout of Donald Trump out of the ground. Of course, Florida Man hesitated because that was his bae. "Impossible!" Florida Man shouted. "Why do you have him?"

The Impaler laughed again. "Jokes on you! While I was in the Underworld, I met with Lucifer who was planning on putting Trump's soul in the eighth circle of Hell. However, I managed to convince him not to do, telling him I could make Trump's punishment much worse. From now on, Donald Trump was to be my accomplice by contract!"

"Oh no..." Georgia fakes her dismay.

"Oh no, indeed! Florida Man and I didn't want to believe it. But it was true! The Impaler showed us the contract as proof. If Florida Man wanted to save his sidekick/lover, he needed to defeat The Impaler, so he could get Trump back. Otherwise, The Impaler was going to make Trump's life a living hell. And with another evil laugh, Trump and The Impaler disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled like weed.

Immediately, I knew what to do. I told Florida Man I could handle the vampiric sea cows on my own, so he could rescue his sidekick/lover from The Impaler. Florida Man was hesitant to leave me alone. But I told him, "Don't be a pussy! Be a man and get your husbando back from that pedo-vampire!" He was like, "You're right! I need to save the love of my life before The Impaler turns gay and feeds on my bae's ballsack!" And in the speed of light, Florida Man ran off into the sunset to find and save Donald Trump from The Impaler."

"That's the end of it, right?" Georgia checks the clock on the wall.

"Not quite," she says confidently. "After Florida Man left, I continued doing my job, curing the manatees of their vampiric infection. But as I finishing things up, wildlife patrol officers found me and saw what I was doing. I tried telling them I was helping the manatees, but they still arrested me for 'harassing' the sea cows."

"So, that's why you're charged with animal harassment."

"Yeah." Florida pouts. "At least the manatees are feeling better and don't crave blood."

Georgia gets up from the table. "Well, I'm glad I haven't lost too many brain cells listening to another crazy story you've concocted from your drug hallucinations."

"Is it time for you to leave already?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Alright. Thanks for visiting." Florida gets up to hug her.

But Georgia quickly pulls away. "No, don't touch me!"

"Oh, right. The coronavirus. I gotchu," she giggles.

"When you get out of jail, you better go home and behave yourself until this pandemic is over. I don't want to hear this kind of story again."

"Alright. I'll be a good girl from now on." Florida smiles, waving her goodbye.

~ Florida Man! ~

"Next!" the Floridian judge calls on the next case. As she's looking up from her papers, they recognize a familiar face and groans, "Not you again."

Florida waves. "¡Hola (Hello)!

"Wait a minute." The judge looks back at her files in confusion. "I already fined you $16,500 for arson, animal harassment, and possession of marijuana twelve hours ago."

"About that..." Florida chuckles with a blush. "After I paid the fine, I wanted to treat the policemen since they were so nice to me while I was in jail. I figured policemen like donuts, so I went to a donut shop for some donuts. However, I didn't have my credit card with me for some reason. I told the donut shop I would pay later, but they wouldn't believe me. One thing led to another and... At least, I got the nice policemen a box of donuts. Hehe."

The judge facepalms. "Unbelievable..."

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, papa, get me a Coke!
Hey, hey, mama, hey, hey, mama!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Peach cobbler I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hello, I'm Georgia!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I am the Peach State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The Empire State of the South!
I am Georgia!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

"This is barmy! There's no way this glorified flower pot is the smallest park in the world!" England huffed as he and America stared at the park in front of their feet.

On the Englishman's behalf, it was surprising this 'glorified flower pot' in the middle of a street in Portland, Oregon was recognized as an urban park. Mill Ends Park was only a circle about two feet in diameter with a total area of 452 square inches. Sure, the small plot had pretty flowers. But it also had small vegetation resembling bushes and a tree that stood about two feet tall. In conclusion, this park was more than a flower bed!

America laughed at the huffy Englishman. "Dude, it's totally a park. Right, Oregon?"

"Yep!" Oregon appeared before them in a cheerful mood. "According to Guinness World Records, Mill Ends Park is the smallest park in the world since 1971."

England scoffed, "Ridiculous! The actual smallest park in the world is Princes Park in my home. That park has a fence around it at least."

"If that's the issue, I can fix that." She placed plastic toy fences around the park's perimeter. "There! Problem solved!" She smiled.

"T-That doesn't make it an actual park!"

"If it helps make our case, I can place a guard here." America placed a plastic army man inside the park.

England grumbled, "You can try and make this flower pot all fancy-like, but it's still not a park in my eyes." He stormed off.

"The guard could use a friend." Oregon placed a toy sheep in the park.

☆☆☆☆☆

"Hey, Oregon!" Maine approached the Beaver State. "I heard you have leprechauns in your home. Is that true?"

"Yeah! They live right over here!" Oregon took her to Mill Ends Park.

"Whoa." She crouched down to see the tiny park more closely. "Do they live here?"

"Uh-huh. They usually live in a burrow underneath the tree, so they're rarely seen. But they live here. They're the only leprechaun colony west of Ireland."

"That's cool," she mumbled. "I wonder why they decided to live here. I imagine most leprechauns would rather live somewhere more quiet and isolated like a forest or a meadow."

"I thought so, too," Oregon agreed. "You see, a long time ago..."

~ Hetalia! ~

There was a modest maiden who lived in this town. Her skin was fair and sensitive like a precious snowflake, and her hair was a sweet shade of brown like hazelnuts in a smooth chocolate spread. With a heart as kind as her voice, she was full of compassion for all living things.

However, the maiden didn't have many friends, at least among humans. People thought she was strange, always talking to plants and animals wherever she went. Of course, she wasn't crazy. The maiden didn't care for their opinions, but she was quite lonely.

One night, the maiden was looking out her window when she saw something unusual on the dark road. Curious to know what it was, the maiden went outside to get a closer look. Very quietly, she snuck onto the street until she stumbled upon a peculiar sight.

There was a small hole in the middle of the road. Standing in the hole was a tiny fairy-like creature no bigger than her pinkie. This creature had a red beard. They wore green clothes with gold buckles on their hat, belt, and boots. Though a pot of gold was absent, the maiden recognized the creature as a leprechaun.

The leprechaun was too busy digging the hole to notice the maiden sneaking up behind them until she raised her voice. "Excuse me. What are you doing?" the maiden asked.

"Wah!" The leprechaun grew frightful by the loud voice behind them. They looked up at the maiden and yelled in an Irish accent, "How can ya see me?"

Before the maiden could answer their question, the leprechaun attempted to run away. However, the maiden was quick to snatch the creature in her hand before they could flee.

"Oy! Put me down before I feck ya up!" yelled the leprechaun.

"Please don't run away. I mean you no harm," said the maiden. "What's your name?"

The leprechaun was reluctant to say anymore. They were more concerned about running away than answering the maiden's questions. But after struggling with all their might to be free from the maiden's grasp, the leprechaun revealed himself to be Patrick O'Toole. "What do ya want now?"

The maiden cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

Patrick O'Toole gaped at her. "Are ya that thick?"

"Um, no?" The maiden gazed down her body. "I'm pretty slim thanks to exercise and a natural—"

"I mean, are ya an idiot, ya dope!" he yelled at her.

The maiden gasped. "Hey! That's not very nice!"

"How I get caught by this eejit again?" the leprechaun grumbled to himself before addressing the maiden. "Ya let me go, I can grant ya any wish."

"You can grant wishes?" she questioned.

He nodded his head. "I will, sure! I can grant any wish ya have once ya free me."

"Okay." The maiden pondered on a wish for a moment. "Then, can I wish for a park?" she asked.

Patrick O'Toole gave her a dumbfounded look. "This colleen really askin' for a park?"

The maiden nodded with sparkling eyes. "Yes, sir! I wish for a park for animals, people, and myself to enjoy. That's all I want." She placed the leprechaun back down at the hole.

The leprechaun frowned. "I can grant ya gold, a handsome lad, or even magical powers. Yet, ya still wishin' for a park?"

"Yes," said the maiden.

He sighed, "Alrighty then. Come here tomorrow morning, and ye have yourself a park."

The maiden smiled. "Thank you, Patrick O'Toole."

As the leprechaun dove into the hole, the maiden skipped back home to sleep until morning when her wish would be granted.

~ Hetalia! ~

By dawn, however, the maiden went outside and found no park in sight. The only changes she saw was at the hole the leprechaun had dug last night. The hole had been decorated with grass, flowers, and shrubs. It was pretty, but it wasn't what she expected.

Luckily, she spotted Patrick O'Toole at the hole among a colony of leprechauns. She confronted him regarding her wish. "Where's the park you promised me?" she demanded to know.

The leprechaun made a mischievous grin. "Greetings, my fair maiden! The park ya desired is right here!" He stomped his foot on the hole.

The maiden was confused. "This is my park? I expected it to be much bigger than that."

He snickered, "Ah! Ya should've specified! That's too bad now!"

The maiden was disappointed. She had been tricked. Yet, her frown suddenly became a smile.

The haughty leprechaun was weirded out by her change in mood. "What's with the dumb look on ya face? I made a fool out of ya!"

"Yes, you tricked me," the maiden acknowledged. "But look." She pointed at the butterflies that fluttered around the flowers. "The animals love the park. And look." She pointed at the leprechauns hanging around the tree. "Your people love the park. And look." She pointed to the smile on her face. "I love the park."

The leprechaun shook his head. "I still don't get it. What ya sayin'?"

The maiden giggled, "Thank you, Patrick O'Toole. This is the park I wished for."

Patrick O'Toole didn't expect to be outsmarted, nor did he expect the maiden to thank him so kindly. So shocked by her benevolent nature, he dove into the hole underneath the tree out of embarrassment. He refused to show his face ever again. Without Patrick O'Toole to lead them, the leprechaun colony chose the maiden to be their guardian. She accepted the role, promising she and the people of the town would take care of them and their home at Mill Ends Park.

~ Hetalia! ~

"Thus, to this day, Mill Ends Park continues to exist, fulfilling the happiness of animals, humans, and leprechauns alike." Oregon finished the story.

"Is that maiden you?" Maine questioned.

She gasped. "How do you know?"

"It's a guess."

She stared at the hole underneath the tree. "It has been over sixty years since I last saw Patrick O'Toole. I've tried convincing him to come out, but he refuses to show his face."

"Maybe he's shy," she suggested.

"Oy! I'm not shy!" an Irish accent shouted from the hole, startling both states.

"Then, why won't you come out?" Oregon questioned the voice she assumed belonged to Patrick O'Toole.

"Because! It's cozy in here sure!"

"You only have to come outside for a minute."

"I refuse! Ya don't tell me what to do! I'm the head leprechaun of this colony! Feck off!"

She frowned. "Geez, you don't have to be so mean to me."

"No wonder he's called a tool," Maine mumbled.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me Moxie!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Blueberry pie I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hello, I am Maine!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Pine Tree State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A beautiful world can be seen!
See the lighthouse on the mainland!
Welcome to Maine!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

March 26, 1862.

Gunshot after gunshot, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains echoed the blasts of an ongoing battle.

Texas hid behind the silver brush, wondering how she got into this precarious position.

"I don't get it, sir. There's no fighting going on in the West." She scratched her head.

"But you know what's in the West?" The Confederacy circled areas of the West on a map. "Colorado's goldfields. California's ports. And land—lots of land." He looked back at her with a devious smile. "If we can take control of the West, not only will we cut off the Union's source of wealth, but we'll also get that wealth for ourselves."

"So, I can kick California's ass while I'm at it?" She smirked.

"If she insists on being a Union lapdog, ya can kick her ass as many times as ya want until she submits to the Confederate cause."

She made a salute to her commander. "Leave it all to me, sir! I won't let ya down!"

He laughed, "Good! I trust you'll be able to do your job on your own."

"It'll be a cakewalk conquering the Southwest and its territories!" she laughed with him.

"Boy, do I feel stupid..." Texas grumbled as she listened to screams ahead of her.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" New Mexico shot at the Confederate Texans who were trapped in the middle of a crossfire between two groups of Union soldiers.

She glanced over her shoulder and yelled, "¡Oye (Hey), New Mexico! You're supposed to be on my side! Stop shooting me!"

"I'm not taking orders from you!" he shouted. "You'll get out of my house and leave me alone for good!"

She cursed under her breath, "Damn it. You just had to make my job a lot harder." Outnumbered and outgunned, Texas and the Confederates continued their disorganized retreat, allowing the Union soldiers to take advantage of the chaos.

"Get back here!" New Mexico chased after her on foot. He ran out of bullets to fire at the Texan. However, that didn't discourage him from ceasing his unmerciful attack. He picked up some fist-sized rocks and threw them at her. 

"Hey! Quit it! Ouch! Ow!"

"¡Te odio (I hate you)! ¡Te odio! ¡Te odio!" He flung more rocks at her.

"You're such an ass!" She hurried to get on her horse and gallop out of there.

He was going to throw another rock at her when someone grabbed his arm. "¡Suéltame (Let me go)!" he barked at the person that held him back.

"Whoa, man! Calm down." Colorado stepped back from the upset New Mexican.

"Calm down? She's getting away!" He pointed at the fleeing Texan.

"She may be getting reinforcements. For now, let her go."

He shook his head angrily. "No! We can't let her flee! If we let her get reinforcements, she'll—"

"Hey!" He grabbed his shoulders and made him look directly into his eyes. "Most of our troops marched over four hundred miles to get here from my home without much rest. We need to recuperate and plan our next actions. Otherwise, if we rush things, we may end up failing to protect the West. That can't happen."

New Mexico was about to bite his head off. But after another glance of their sluggish troops, he reluctantly dropped the rock from his hand. "Esto no ha terminado (This isn't over)," he grumbled.

Watching him stomp off, Colorado wondered, 'What's with him?'

☆☆☆☆☆

March 27, 1862.

There was no fighting today.

Colorado and New Mexico sat around a campfire, having a nice campfire dinner in the cool night. They were surprised Texas and her forces didn't take this opportunity to attack them while they were waiting for reinforcements. Whatever her reasons for being cautious, they needed to be vigilant for anything that could happen. If the fight resumed tomorrow, they needed to be ready.

New Mexico raised a brow when he noticed Colorado chuckling to himself. "What's so funny?"

"Oh. I was just remembering yesterday's battle. I thought it was hilarious how you were able to scare a state like Texas without any fear whatsoever."

"Why would I fear Texas?"

"Well... I don't know." He shrugged. "I know she's a rebel, but I figure you and Texas were close since you guys grew up as a part of Mexico."

He scoffed, "Texas and I may have been a part of Mexico, but we're not close."

"Is that so?" Colorado began putting corn kernels in the Dutch oven over the fire.

"Admittedly, I did have issues with Mexico, especially since he decided to put his faith in that caudillo. However, I didn't plan to act brashly like Texas and claim independence for myself. The closest I ever considered independence was when I heard rumors of Mexico selling me to America. I was disappointed but not surprised. I had little to offer, but it wasn't right to sell me without my say on the matter. I figured becoming a republic would make a big statement. But really, I didn't plan to leave Mexico. I just wanted to be left alone and live a peaceful life of my accord. That was it.

But then, Texas had to make things worse for me. She heard the rumors, too. However, she misinterpreted my words to mean something else. She thought I wanted to join America. But never once did I consider joining America, nor did I want to join him. Again, I just wanted to be left alone and live a peaceful life of my accord. I knew joining America would anger Mexico and start a war. I didn't want that to happen. Yet, Texas didn't care what I wanted. She wanted to anger Mexico. She wanted to start a war."

Pop! Pop! Pop!

"Sorry. Continue your story." Colorado gathered the popcorn into a bowl.

New Mexico sighed, "As I was saying, Texas wanted America and Mexico to go to war. When they did, I knew it wasn't going to turn out well for me. I was powerless to stop the Americanos from invading my home. It was pointless to resist without making the situation much worse for me. Even so, I resented the invaders. The Americanos were nothing but abusive and disrespectful toward me and my people. I hoped to see them gone once the war concluded.

Of course, Mexico had to betray my expectations once again. I was ready to be disappointed. But never did I expect him to tell me I was going to become a part of America." He shook his head in scathing disbelief. "I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe he sold me to America, for $15 million no less. I endured the entire duration of the war and had no say on the matter. I kept hoping things would turn out fine. In the end, everything went wrong for me. And I was helpless to do anything about it."

"That's rough, buddy." Colorado munched on a handful of popcorn.

New Mexico groaned as he looked up at the starry night sky, "Why are you fighting in this war?"

He tilted his head at the strange question. "To protect the Union, of course. And you?"

"Texas." He looked at him with cold eyes. "I know this sounds traitorous. But to be honest with you, I don't care about the Union or this dumb war. The reason I'm fighting alongside you is because of Texas. It's her fault my life is a mess."

"Oof!" he awkwardly laughed. "You really hate her guts, huh?"

"She's a hypocrite," he huffed. "The reason she fought Mexico was to become an American state. After the revolution, she became an American state. She should be satisfied with that. Of course, that wasn't enough for her. For some land and the Rio Grande, she was willing to go through another war again despite everything she went through. Unbelievable!" He made a sardonic laugh.

"Because of her, I was dragged against my will to become a U.S. territory. I had to deal with the Americanos' takeover of my land. I had to watch my people suffer injustice and mistreatment. I had to watch hundreds of people die without anything to gain from the bloodshed. I went through so much trouble, just for her to benefit American statehood for a little over a decade. Then, she decided it wasn't good enough and left the Union..."

He abruptly stood up. "¿Pero qué coño (What the fuck)? Did my suffering mean nothing? ¡Mierda (Bullshit)! ¡Mierda! ¡Mierda! ¡Mierda! ¡Mierda!"

"Whoa! Settle down!" Colorado tried to calm him down from his Spanish-cursing rant.

After letting his frustration out, New Mexico sat back down, regaining his breath. "I may not become a state after this war, but I hope to at least kick Texas in el culo (the ass). That won't make up for the misery I've been through, but it's better than letting her have her way again."

Colorado chuckled, "I hope to watch when that happens."

~ ¡Mierda! ~

March 28, 1862.

At Pigeon's Ranch in Glorieta Pass, the battle resumed between Union and Confederate forces. Both sides fought the entire day, shooting at each other constantly. By dusk, however, the Union soldiers were outmatched and forced to retreat in defeat. The Confederates took over the area and proceeded to celebrate their victory.

"Ha! Take that Union scum! This is my land now!" Texas laughed at Colorado from the mountain ridge she was shooting from.

He smirked. "Are you sure about that?"

His question turned her smile upside down. "What in tarnation do ya mean? I won!"

"Yeah, but at what cost?" He quickly retreated from the battlefield.

"Wait! Come back, ya coward!" She tried to chase after him, but he was too far ahead to catch up on foot. Plus, there was no reason to chase after him. She won the battle. Or, she thought she won the battle...

'What did he mean by that?' She scowled, scratching her head.

~ Hetalia? ~

"Those bastards!" Texas cursed at the destruction she encountered at Johnson's Ranch.

The Confederate supply train was ravaged of any value it had. Eighty wagons full of supplies—they were all looted and burned. The five hundred or so horses and mules—they were either killed or driven off. Any hopes of conquering the West—they were shattered and crushed into dust.

A little girl named Arizona curiously watched Texas throw a huge tantrum. "What's the problem? Didn't you say you're going to conquer the Southwest?"

"Not without supplies! Fucking damn it!" She kicked the dirt around her. "No wonder I didn't see New Mexico on the battlefield! I should've known he'd stab me in the back like that! Fuck! Shit!"

She cocked her head. "Am I still a Confederate?"

Texas gave the child a dumbfounded look. "Of course! Haha!" She ruffled her copper-red hair with a smile. "I'll come back stronger than—"

"¡Saca tu culo de aquí (Get your ass out of here)!" New Mexico snuck up behind the Texan and kicked her in the butt.

"Ow!" She glared at him. "Heck no! I'm staying—"

"GET OOOUUUTTT!" He threw a bunch of stones at her.

"Ouch! Ow! Okay! Okay! I'll go! I'll go! Ouch! Ow! Quit throwing rocks at me!"

"Not until you stay out of my house for good! AAAAAAAAAH!"

Watching the mayhem from a distance, Arizona giggled and bid the Confederates farewell. "¡Adiós (Bye)!"

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, papa, want some coffee?
Hey, hey, mama, hey, hey, mama!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Green chile stew I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm New Mexico!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Land of Enchantment!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The aliens call this place home!
New Mexico!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

April 1, 2012—Washington, D.C.

America was admiring the cherry blossoms in the park when he heard his name being called. He turned around and waved when he recognized the little girl in her cherry blossom pink yukata. "Hey, Hawaii! You're looking very kawaii (cute) today."

She giggled, "Arigato (Thank you). Are you here to see the cherry blossoms, too?"

"Yeah. I'm supposed to join D.C. on a picnic. Though, I sorta forgot where she said she would be." He looked around the vast park.

"Hm. Maybe, I can help."

"You don't mind?"

"Sure! I'm not in a rush or anything."

He smiled. "Cool! Let's look for D.C. together!"

The country and state casually walked down the sidewalk together in search of the capital.

☆☆☆☆☆

In an empty area of the park, New York wandered out from the trees. His face was irritably red. The only article of clothing he wore was a pair of white shorts. Though, they might as well be briefs because of how tight they were around his waist and thighs. He kept adjusting them, tugging at the pant legs and crotch region. But as he was doing so, one of his white-feathered wings hit the trunk of an oak tree.

"Fucking damn it," he grumbled under his breath. "Why do I have to dress like this? I look fucking ridiculous." The fake halo above his head bobbled as he kept walking to a fountain.

"Hahahahahahahaha! Holy fuck, dude! You look smoking hot as an angel!"

New York immediately turned around and glared at the Valley Girl laughing at his misery. "Is this your shitty idea?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb! This is the sort of thing you set up on purpose!"

"Don't be ridiculous. I mean, look at me." She looked down at the sexy bunny costume she wore. "I'm dressed up, too."

"I don't believe you!"

She rolled her eyes playfully. "Tell you what. If you do as I say, I promise I won't post this super embarrassing photo of you online." She showed him a picture of him sleeping half-naked on her smartphone.

His face turned redder than the heart prints on his boxers. "When did you take that?!"

"Oh, I'll never tell," she giggled.

He growled, "Delete it immediately, or I'm smashing that phone into pieces."

"No way! Eep!"

Nearby, Washington D.C. watched a bunny girl run away from an angry angel while drinking matcha tea under the cherry blossoms.

~ H-Hetalia! ~

"Gotcha!" New York got a hold of California by her fluffy tail.

"Ow! Be gentle! You're supposed to be an angel!" she whined.

"Shut the fuck up! Get your phone out and delete that photo this instant!"

"Noooo!"

"Hey! What the fuck's going on here?"

"Huh?" New York stopped picking on her for a moment. "That voice... Don't tell me..."

"Help! This angel is actually a demon in disguise!" California faked some tears.

They looked up at New Jersey who was dressed seductively as a devil. His costume consisted of a crimson lace corset dress, fishnets, a pair of black boots, curved horns that glowed red, a spiked tail, and a toy pitchfork. In New York's eyes, he looked just as ridiculous as him. But in California's eyes, he looked hot as hell, even in a dress.

"New York? California? What's with the stupid getup?" New Jersey questioned.

"I can ask the same thing!" New York pointed at him. "Why the hell are you dressed like a stripper?"

He shifted his eyes away with a blush. "Well, this morning...I received these clothes along with a message. The message said I had to wear these clothes and go to this park, or the sender would post an embarrassing photo to the public," he grumbled. "Frankly, I rather wear these ridiculous clothes than let anyone else see the photo."

"Is it that bad? I mean..." He stared at New Jersey's costume.

"It's better than yours, at least!"

"What the fuck do you mean?! Yours is definitely more embarrassing!"

"At least the skirt covers my crotch! You're practically naked!"

He huffed, "Whatever. At least I'm not the only person who looks like a fucking asshole. I assume there are more of us coming here in stupid costumes?"

"Well, I know Pennsylvania received a letter, too. However, she didn't seem at all bothered by it."

They could imagine the Pennsylvanian sitting back in a rocking chair without a care in the world.

"How composed..."

"I've heard everything!" shouted a snooty male voice.

"Who said that?" New York and New Jersey scanned the park until they found a young man dressed in maid clothes hiding above them in a tree. "Masshole?!"

"Don't question the cat ears and clip-on pigtails. It's part of the silly costume." He showed them the message he received on his smartphone as evidence. "Admittedly, I thought my costume was unusual until I saw you two. You guys look perverted."

"Fuck off!" New York shouted.

"Says the reverse cat maid fulfilling every weeb's wet dream!" New Jersey pointed at him.

"That's funny coming from a shameless angel and a lecherous devil." Massachusetts jumped down from the tree. "Honestly, all this bickering will get us nowhere. I want to know who's doing all this stupid stuff on such a big scale. Better yet, I want to know how the sender got that embarrassing photo of me."

"Ah! I'm so glad I'm not the only one."

Everyone turned around and looked at Alaska's head sticking out of a sewer hole. They could also see a pair of round white-furred ears stuck to her head.

"Alaska. How did you get there?" New York questioned.

"Hurry up and get out there! That place is disgusting!" Massachusetts berated.

The Alaskan shrank back into the sewer. "I'm embarrassed..."

~ Intermission! ~

Meanwhile, everyone else was reacting to the weird messages that were sent to them.

"W-What is this picture? I mean, it's embarrassing, but..." Iowa blushed at the photo on his smartphone.

"Hm?" Nebraska curiously looked over his shoulder.

"Haha! Look at this face I'm making. Ahahaha!" Mississippi laughed at her photo.

"Grr... I'm about to beat someone with a hammer..." Alabama grumbled menacingly.

"Are you the culprit? That photo... It's super embarrassing!" Ohio pointed at That State Up North.

Michigan scoffed, "Taking weird photos?! Dumbass! What do you think you're saying? The culprit is obviously you!"

"Maybe it's someone else..." Minnesota mumbled while watching the Midwestern states clash while making more accusations.

"Heh." Nevada held up Utah's phone in amusement.

"Hey! Stop it already! Give it back!" Utah whimpered.

"Haha. It's a very well-taken interesting picture. I look fucking hot." Florida smiled at her photo.

"Yo, New Mexico! I also got an embarrassing photo of myself today!" Colorado held up his photo.

"What?! Don't show it off!" New Mexico scolded him before looking back at the maid costume in his hands. "Erf... It's only for a day, right?"

Arizona poked her head out from behind the wall, holding back her laughter. "Psh... Bro, what the hell is that?"

~ End of Intermission! ~

"I wonder who's responsible for this elaborate blackmail," Alaska mumbled from the safety of the sewer hole.

"I think I know who..." New York glanced over his shoulder, glaring at the Californian who kept quiet all this time.

California's forehead started to sweat. "Yeah... Hehe... I totally would like to to know who..." She scurried off.

"Ah! You bitch! I knew you were behind this! Get your ass back here!" He chased after her.

"Seriously? Again?" New Jersey followed after New York to catch the bunny girl.

"W-Wait up, e-everyone!" Alaska popped out of the manhole, revealing the rest of her costume which exposed more skin than she liked.

"Damn. That's certainly embarrassing..." Massachusetts muttered.

"Fuck..." New York panted, unable to get close to California. "These stupid wings are holding me back!"

"Damn..." New Jersey slowed to a stop. "How does she still have the energy to run? I don't think we can catch up to her..."

"Leave it to me. I got this." Massachusetts sprinted ahead of them with a wand in hand.

~ Hetalia! ~

With this situation being an exception, Massachusetts used magic to tie California up in rope, preventing her from escaping. Afterward, he allowed New York and New Jersey to interrogate her—good cop, bad cop style.

"Confess, you little shit!" New York took on the role of bad cop pretty well with his unrestrained fury. "This whole dumb thing is your idea!"

"Take it easy, dude. There's no reason to yell." She pouted.

He gritted his teeth. "If you don't plan to tell us, at least delete the photos. I know they're on your phone."

"You can't tell me what to do!" She stuck her tongue at him.

"Why you—"

New Jersey grabbed New York's shoulder. "Hold back for a moment." He stepped forward and kneeled before the pouty Californian with a sincere smile. "Come on, Cali. Just have a bit of sense and understand we're upset with the photos since they were taken without our permission. If you delete them and explain why you've done such a thing, we'll let you go without any harm done to you."

She pursed her lips. "... Indeed, I'm always involved in something outrageous every year. But this year, it's seriously not me."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not the culprit."

"Bullshit!" New York cursed.

"But it's true! I'm only an accomplice!"

New Jersey raised a brow. "If it's not you, then who's behind it?"

She sighed, "I'm not sure what they're do—" Hawaii popped up from the bushes behind her. "—ing..." Droplets of sweat dripped down her back.

"Are you for real?" New York stepped back in bafflement. "You... You're the one who did this?" He gaped at the fiery red aura that surrounded the little Hawaiian.

"Yeah... It was me..." Hawaii grumbled. "I'm super mad at you guys right now..."

"Oh, shit..." New Jersey muttered, afraid like the others for it was rare to invoke Hawaii's wraith. 

With wary eyes, they watched Hawaii take in a deep breath and breathe out. "... I can't believe how dumb you guys are!" she laughed lightheartedly.

"Eh?" Everyone gave her weird looks.

She continued to laugh. "I thought I told you guys to meet at the fountain. Oh well." She shrugged. "Anyway, why are you guys dressed in silly costumes? Today isn't Halloween."

"Uh, what? This isn't some kind of conspiracy or planned revenge?" New York questioned.

"Conspiracy? Revenge? If I knew you guys planned to show up in silly costumes, I would've done the same thing. Still, I'm so glad some of you guys showed up on short notice."

"I don't understand..." Alaska frowned.

"Hawaii! Explain yourself!" Massachusetts demanded.

"What do you mean? Wasn't it explained in the message?"

"The message?"

"Today is April Fools' Day! I remembered the prank that was played on America by France and Spain. I figure I could imitate that for us. So, I asked California to help me gather people at the park. I had her notify you guys while I set up the photo-shoot. The goal was to take pictures with the cherry blossoms around us."

"So, that means you're responsible for the plan while California is responsible for the messages," said New York, trying to piece together this situation.

"Yep! No harm other than a bit of trickery with the messages. Which by the way," she looked over at her accomplice, "why are you tied up? Did something happen while I was wandering the park?"

California chuckled awkwardly, "It's nothing. Just a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?" She cocked her head.

"I wouldn't call it a misunderstanding." New York loomed over California with a dangerous look in his eyes. "Let's have a little chat, shall we?"

She took a deep gulp. "D-Drone!"

A drone suddenly swooped down from the air, using the blades of its propeller to cut the ropes that bind California, allowing her to escape.

"Hey!"

California gave everyone behind her a wink. "I knew you dudes wouldn't come if I just called you. But don't worry." She got out her phone. "I'll get rid of the photos."

"Don't—"

"Whoops! Looks like I pressed the post button on accident." She shrugged. "Oh, well. Peace out, dudes!" She skipped off.

"CALIFORNIA!"

America and D.C. watched California get chased by an angel, a devil, a cat maid, and a polar bear around the park.

"You're not doing April Fools' this year?" D.C. questioned.

"I sent England a special package if that counts," America smirked. "You're not joining them?"

"No. I don't plan to involve myself in childish pranks." She drank her matcha tea, content with a peaceful picnic under the cherry blossoms.

~ Happy April Fools' Day! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, want some sweet tea?
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Mississippi mud pie I ate before!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm Mississippi!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Magnolia State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Hear the church bells ring on Sunday!
Mississippi!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

Once upon a time, a war was fought between the English colonists of the Virginia Colony and the Algonquin Indians of the Powhatan Confederacy. Atrocities were committed. Casualties were inflicted. Neither side wanted to cease the conflict on the terms of the other. It seemed peace would never come.

But then in March 1613, there was a gamechanger.

When word of this reached Virginia's ears, she was quick to demand she see this gamechanger. To her dismay, she wasn't allowed to set foot on the ship. Captain Samuel Argall didn't trust her, concerned she would ruin everything. Virginia pleaded she wouldn't cause mischief. She only wanted to see and talk to her, even for a brief moment. She kept asking him every day. But the next thing she knew, it was summer. Captain Argall and his ship were nowhere to be found in Jamestown.

Devastated was an understatement. Virginia had plenty of time to either convince the captain or sneak onto his ship. For all she knew, this was the only chance she had to see her, and she wasted it. She thought she would never see her again until one faithful day.

Upriver from Jamestown, there was a small settlement surrounded by woods called Henricus. Despite the war, the village flourished thanks to the cultivation of a small green plant with pinkish blooms called tobacco. Since last year, Virginia wanted to learn all she could about the cash crop, hearing it had the potential to provide financial stability for her future. Thus, she traveled to Henricus in time for the tobacco harvest.

She stopped by Varina Farms, hoping to see the man who first cultivated the plant for her benefit. Much to her surprise, he wasn't home to tend to the harvest. He was at church, according to the neighbors. She considered waiting for his return until she grew bored after standing around for five minutes. A detour around the town didn't seem so bad after reconsideration. And so, Virginia went on a search for the largest building in town.

When she found the church, she confronted a young man dressed in black and white robes standing in front of its doors. "Hello, sir. Are you the minister of the church?" she politely asked.

He bowed his head. "Yes. I am Reverend Alexander Whitaker. What brings you here, miss?"

"I heard Mr. Rolfe was here. Is he here?"

"Oh, yes. Mr. Rolfe is with Rebecca. You wish to see him?"

"Yes, please."

"Then, I'll take you to him."

Upon the opening of the doors to the church, Virginia was introduced to a large meeting hall. There were two rows of wooden pews, one on each side of the room. In the middle of some pews, there were wooden pillars that supported the church's tall and heavy roof. While glancing at the beams, Virginia noticed there were large iron rings holding candles hanging from the ceiling. There was daylight pouring into the room from the open windows. Therefore, the candles weren't lit at the moment. Virginia continued to look at them above her head while following the reverend down the aisle.

"Mr. Rolfe. You have a visitor who wishes to see you," the reverend announced.

Virginia turned her attention to a young man getting up from the front right pew. She easily recognized him as John Rolfe, the owner of Varina Farms. His brown hair and facial hair had grown out a bit since the last time she saw him. But he was no doubt the same man who financially supported her through the cultivation of tobacco.

Just as she was about to greet Mr. Rolfe, she noticed a young woman getting up from the pew to stand beside him. Virginia was taken aback, unable to say a word for at least ten seconds. Her large eyes were transfixed on the woman who stood out like a black sheep among a white-fleeced flock. Though, she didn't know why she was dressed in colonial garments, fully clothed in a beige long-sleeved dress that reached down to her heels. Maybe the Indian woman was forced to wear them. Or, she dressed to fit in with the colony. She wouldn't know without asking the woman this minor question.

For now, there was a bigger and far more important question that stood in the way. She already knew the answer. That woman standing before her was the girl who saved her during one dreadful winter. No doubt about it, she was the same girl who fetched pichamins and made cartwheels around the fort. It was hard to believe how much she had grown since those innocent days. It had been so long. The fact she was standing before Virginia—alive and seemingly well—was a miracle amidst a chaotic time.

With a growing smile, Virginia ran up to the woman and gave her the biggest hug she could make. "Pocahontas! It has been so long! I miss you so much!"

The woman shuddered at the strange girl that embraced her. "My name is Rebecca," she calmly spoke in English.

Virginia's body tensed up. She slowly lifted her eyes and noticed the confusion on the woman's face. She wondered if she was mistaken. But... It couldn't be a mistake! "You're Pocahontas!" she strongly insisted. "Remember me? I'm Virginia!"

The woman softly smiled at the strange girl. "Hello, Virginia. My name is Rebecca."

Virginia shook her head. "No, it isn't. Your name is Pocahontas. Poca-hon-tas." She repeated that name constantly.

But no matter what the strange girl said, the woman would always tell her, "My name is Rebecca. Re-bec-ca."

"Re-bec-ca..." In the end, Virginia could only stare at the smiling stranger with somber eyes, realizing a lot had happened since they last spoke to each other.

☆☆☆☆☆

Naturally, Virginia had a lot of explaining to do. Starting from the day they first met, she told Pocahontas all the memories they spent together. The pichamins they gathered, the countless number of cartwheels, the laughter they let out after playing all day, she told her everything to the finest detail.

Rebecca gladly listened to the little girl's story while they traveled from church to Rocke Hall, the parsonage of the reverend as well as herself during her captivity in Henricus. Truthfully, she wasn't bothered to be called Pocahontas again. That name held a lot of importance, having been called what was originally a nickname since she started walking. It would be impossible to suddenly forget that name. Rather than continuing to correct the little girl, she decided to be mature and tolerate the little girl calling her Pocahontas.

Virginia was in the middle of telling Pocahontas about a game of hide-and-seek with the boys in Jamestown when she noticed the woman was looking over her shoulder. She did the same to see what she was seeing. Following behind them were Mr. Rolfe and Reverend Whitaker. The men were friendly to one another in their private conversation. For a brief moment, however, Mr. Rolfe looked their way. He smiled and made a small wave. Naturally, Virginia did the same. Pocahontas behaved the same way, albeit rather coyly. 

Virginia picked up on this and asked her, "You know Mr. Rolfe?"

"U-Uh, yes!" Rebecca returned her gaze to the little girl. "Reverend Whitaker introduced Mr. Rolfe to me about a month ago. Whenever he visited Rocke Hall or the church, he would always ask to see and talk to me. On occasion, he helped me better understand the teachings of the reverend."

"I see. What do you think of him?"

"Well, I quite like him. He's a nice man..."

Virginia cocked her head. "Um, Pocahontas. This question has been on mind for a while now."

Seeing the little girl act awkwardly, Rebecca assured her with a sweet smile. "It's okay. I don't mind answering another question from you.'

"Really?" She smiled. "So, how come you're not naked?"

"P-Pardon?" A huge blush grew across Rebecca's face. "W-Well, I've learned from the Bible nakedness is something to be ashamed of. Which is why I'm clothed in this dress lent to me by the women in town."

Virginia was impressed with her answer. "Oh, right. You're a Christian now."

She nodded. "I may be a Christian, but I still have a lot to learn from the reverend and the teachings of Christ."

"Hm..." She suddenly stopped walking. "Want to see me do a cartwheel?"

She blinked her eyes. "Sure. Just be careful not to hurt—"

Virginia didn't let her finish before doing a cartwheel without effort. Once she was on her feet again, she looked back at Pocahontas with a proud smile. "What do you think?"

"... It was wonderful." Rebecca smiled.

She giggled, "Now, you do it!"

"Uh..." The woman awkwardly stood in the middle of the dirt path. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

Virginia made a weird face. "Why not? You loved doing cartwheels."

"Yes, but I'm no longer a child. I can't possibly do them."

"Can you do one cartwheel at least?"

"I'm afraid not. Sorry."

"... You've changed." There was a dark change in Virginia's tone. "The Pocahontas I knew would've done multiple cartwheels."

"That was a long time ago."

"Just like that promise you made to me." She pouted.

"What promise?"

"The one you promised to see me whenever you can! Do you know what I'm talking about?" Her sorrowful eyes watched the woman stand still, hearing nothing that could excuse her absence. Shaking her head—feeling quite foolish—she took a trembling step back and scoffed, "I thought something bad happened to you. You stopped visiting Jamestown many years ago without saying why. I wanted to know if you were okay, but... A lot of bad stuff happened. I still held onto the hope I would see you again. But now, I understand why you didn't bother to see me..." She abruptly ran off in tears.

"Wait! Virginia! Come back!" Rebecca tried reaching out to the girl, but she didn't attempt to pursue her, still in shock at what she said.

~ .......... ~

Virginia didn't stay upset at Pocahontas for very long. Initially, she didn't intend to see Pocahontas ever again. There was no point, she thought. But after many lonesome months, she went back to Henricus and asked the reverend if she could spend some time with Pocahontas.

She had yet understood why Pocahontas forgot her and the precious memories they shared. She figured something happened that caused her to forget. But whenever she asked her to try and remember anything about her, Pocahontas simply smiled as though she didn't hear her question. Virginia wanted to be mad at her. However, after seeing the woman's gentle smile, she decided it wasn't worth scorning her. After multiple visits, Virginia chose to stop asking the same questions. Once she accepted the fact the Pocahontas she knew wasn't the same person, it became easier for her to interact with the Christian woman named Rebecca.

Although, she had yet given up on calling her Pocahontas. The name was too important to forget.

"Are you awake?"

A gentle voice woke Virginia from her nap. She stared up at Pocahontas's face and the branches of an oak tree that shaded them from the afternoon sunlight. She lifted herself and let out a yawn. "What is it? Does the reverend want you to return home?"

Rebecca shook her head. "I was wondering if you know anything about the war."

"Hm... From what I recall, Chief Powhatan... Your father hasn't returned the colonists' weapons. So, the war hasn't ended yet."

"I see..." She let out a deep sigh. "I've been a captive to the colonists for about a year now."

"It has been a year already?"

"Yes. I wouldn't be here if I didn't let my guard down." She paused. "On that day, I knew something was wrong. I had this uneasy feeling about Captain Argall. Yet, a moment of weakness allowed Captain Argall to take advantage of the situation."

"... I'm sorry," Virginia mumbled with a guilt-ridden frown.

"It's not your fault," Rebecca assured her. "Kidnappings are common in war. Although, a part of me regrets getting tricked so easily." She tried to laugh off the seriousness of the topic.

However, Virginia still felt bad for her. "I'm sure your father is doing his best to free you."

"I hope so... When this war is over, I want to mend ties between my people and the colonists."

"Really?"

"Yes. Why do you act surprised?"

"Well, the colonists have done some horrible things, including your capture."

"That's true. However, my tribesmen aren't entirely innocent. They have done some terrible things to the colonists. It's no wonder this war has lasted for so long." She paused. "Thessalonians 5:15."

Virginia cocked her head. "Thessa...uh?"

"It's a verse in the Bible: Make sure that nobody pays back wrong for wrong, but always strive to do what is good for each other and for everyone else." She smirked. "It's strange. The reverend told me the colonists abide by the morals of the Bible. Have they forgotten such wise words?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. The Bible has a lot of words I can't read."

"Oh, well. It's merely a verse that's easier to say than practice," Rebecca chuckled. "I may not agree with everything the English taught me, but I think a lot of it can help my people better understand the colonists. And if possible, I wish to help the colonists better understand my people, so that they don't think of them as slaves of the devil. It'll be difficult for everyone to overcome their differences. But in time, I believe everyone can get along. Then, there'll be no more fighting. No more innocent people will have to die. Everybody will live happily ever after." She gazed up at the bright blue sky with hopeful eyes. "I'll be the living proof of peace. You'll see."

At that precise moment, Virginia caught a glimpse of the cheerful girl she once knew in the past. She closed her eyes and softly smiled to herself. 'It's nice to see you again...'

~ Hetalia! ~

Negotiations between the English colonists and the Powhatan Indians continued throughout March, yet little progress had been made. The truce was still in effect, however, it was slowly falling apart. Once again, conflict arose from the rising tension. The colonists grew worried the larger number of Indians would wipe them out. They were desperate to end the war as soon as possible, hopefully on their terms. After discussing possible solutions, they decided to put their trust in Pocahontas.

Finally, after spending a year in captivity, Pocahontas could see her father again. Though brief, it was better than the possibility of never seeing him again. She was grateful to be allowed to see her father and the tribe. But deep down, she was aware the colonists were only allowing this to happen in desperation for an end to the war which could only happen with her father's approval. She should be careful to speak wisely as to not create conflict. At the same time, she had words to say to her father that would no doubt upset him. The only way to hide her nervousness was to put on a brave face and prepare for the consequences.

After sailing up the Pamunkey River, Pocahontas and the accompanying colonists arrived on shore to greet two of her half-brothers at the newly established Powhatan capital of Matchut. When they arrived in the enormous village, there were awes, filled with joy at the sight of the chief's daughter. They would've welcomed her with open arms. But then, they saw the serious looks on the pale-faced men that surrounded Chief Powhatan's daughter, discouraging them from getting too close.

Their fearful reaction was understandable. The Powhatan people went through a lot. Their cornfields were burned. Their villages were destroyed. Their family and relatives were killed without mercy. Even though those terrible things took place before the truce, the memory of those losses still cut deep into their heads and hearts. Some of the Indians might not be supportive of a treaty considering the past atrocities committed by the colonists. But for the sake of the tribe, Pocahontas hoped the desire for peace would prevail over revenge. 

"Pocahontas..." Chief Powhatan stood up from his throne when his daughter appeared before him, completely surprised yet relieved to see her appear well.

She glanced at the colonists who simply nodded, trustful she wouldn't do anything crazy. With their approval, Pocahontas went to her father and embraced him tightly. "Father, I miss you so much," she spoke in her native language.

"I miss you, too." He looked at her with concerned eyes. "Are you alright? Did they force you to do anything you didn't like?"

"I'm alright," she assured him. "The colonists took me to their...quiakro to learn their language and culture. They've treated me kindly during the duration of my stay."

"You're telling the truth?"

"Yes." She frowned. "I have no reason to lie to you. If you want to know the truth about what happened to me, I'm not afraid to tell you and the tribe my side of the story."

Chief Powhatan silently judged her words and body language. "... Very well. You may speak freely."

Pocahontas looked back at the tribesmen who surrounded her, the chief, and the colonists. She inhaled and exhaled a deep breath before speaking aloud. "A year ago, I was tricked and captured by a man named Samuel Argall aboard his ship. I was told I would be held for ransom until my father, Chief Powhatan, satisfied the colonists' demands in exchange for my safe return. Naturally, I was fearful for my life. However, I was taught beforehand to stay calm and cooperate with my captors to ensure my survival. As such, I was treated respectfully without incident.

After spending three months in the village of Jamestown, I was taken to another English village called Henricus where I was told I would be taught the English language, religion, and culture. At first, I went along with their teachings, mainly concerned for my livelihood. Over time, however, I grew to appreciate the teachings as well as the colonists who treated me warmly throughout my time with them. As a result, I gained a better understanding of the colony."

Pocahontas looked back at her father. "I patiently waited for the war to end because I knew when the war ended I would be allowed to return to the tribe. As your daughter, I trusted you would be able to satisfy the colonists' demands and bring me home. Yet, a year had passed since the day I was captured. Now, I stand before you and ask this simple question: Why was I a captive to the colonists for so long?"

Silence permeated the clearing while everyone waited to hear what Chief Powhatan had to say.

"... When I heard you were captured and held for ransom by the colonists, I blamed myself for allowing that to happen," he said in a composed manner. "I trusted the Patawomeck tribe would keep you safe from the conflict. To my dismay, they betrayed my expectations and allowed you to be captured by the colonists. I realized I should've done a better job of protecting you. Against the quiakros' advice, I did everything within my power to ensure your safety. I called a truce, ceasing all attacks on the colonists. I called for the release of prisoners from many Powhatan town. I returned their weapons—"

"No, Father," she interjected. "You didn't return all their weapons."

"The weapons I returned were more than enough to free you."

"But it wasn't enough! If you had returned all their weapons, I would've been freed a long time ago!"

"It wouldn't matter if I gave them all their weapons back. The colonists would lie and demanded more from me."

She scoffed, "Does that mean my life is less than the value of old swords, pieces, or axes?"

He grimaced. "I didn't say you were worth less than weapons."

"You kept stolen weapons from the colonists! It's clear you value them more than me, your daughter!"

"That's not true!" Chief Powhatan raised his voice in frustration. "Who told you this?"

"The colonists, of course."

"You believe them?"

"I do!" Realizing she had been yelling, she caught her breath and returned to a calm voice. "I know you distrust the colonists greatly. But I assure you they have nothing to do with the things I've said. Their only concern is exchanging me for their weapons. That's it." She turned to the colonists before looking back at her father. "In their stead, I ask if you intend to return their weapons," she spoke in English.

"... I do not."

Pocahontas didn't seem shocked to hear his response. Despite her heartbreak, she maintained her composure. "You don't mind I live with the colonists, then?"

"Do you wish to live with them?"

She nodded. "The colonists love me. I intend to stay with them, no matter your decision."

"I see... If that's what you want, so be it..." He paused. "A while ago, I received a message. Before I tell you whether I approve or not, I want to confirm one thing while you're standing before me: Do you truly love this man named John Rolfe?"

Pocahontas thought about her father's question seriously, absolutely sure of her decision. "I do, Father. I love John Rolfe. He and I intend to marry, with or without your approval. Our marriage will be the living proof of unity between the tribe and the colony, whether you like it or not."

He let out a long, tired sigh. "If only I had done a better job of protecting you..."

Her eyes softened at the sight of the elderly man. "It's not your fault, Father. You've done your best to protect me. But you don't have to anymore." She turned to the colonists before looking back at her father for the last time. "The tribe is welcome to visit me anytime in Henricus. I'll be staying there from now on."

"... Goodbye, Pocahontas, my daughter." Chief Powhatan and the rest of the tribe watched her and the colonists leave the village without any weapons in tow.

~ .......... ~

Two years had passed since the Anglo-Powhatan War peacefully concluded with the marriage between Rebecca and John Rolfe. After their wedding, the couple lived in Varina Farms. With the assistance of the Powhatan Indians, John Rolfe and many Virginian farms continued to improve and cultivate tobacco for the colony's profit. Meanwhile, Rebecca would go on to give birth to a boy named Thomas whom she cherished with lots of attention. Not once was there a conflict between the English and the Powhatan. The land was perfectly at peace like Rebecca wanted.

At the port in Jamestown, Captain Argall's ship was preparing for a long voyage across the Atlantic Ocean to the Old World. It allowed Virginia to see Pocahontas before she and her family set sail for the motherland known as England. That was fortunate because this would truly be the last time Virginia would see her.

"John Smith?" Virginia blinked her eyes. It was a name she hadn't heard in a long time until Pocahontas spoke of him while gazing across the bay. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"I believe he's dead. However, Tomocomo doubts that's true. Smith may still be alive, living in the large village of London."

"If so, I hope he's alive."

"Me, too. If he's still alive, I want to call him out for lying to the tribe and ask why he didn't return to my father's country." Her laugh was sarcastic even though her words held darker implications.

Virginia didn't question her tone, but she decided to switch their conversation to a different subject. "Do you know how long you'll be gone for?"

Rebecca shook her head. "John told me we would stay there for about a year. Though, it could be longer than that." She glanced at the sleeping toddler in her arms. "John also told me how different his homeland was compared to here. He said the buildings were very tall and very old. And that there would be lots of people to see, including very powerful people. Hopefully, they treat me and Thomas kindly."

"They better," Virginia huffed with puffed-up cheeks. "I really want to come with you."

"It's quite alright," she assured her with head pats. "This may be my first time traveling so far from home, but I'll manage." She looked down at the pearl necklace with saddened eyes. "I know it's not your responsibility, but can you make sure my father and my tribe are doing well while I'm gone?"

"Of course! I'll do my best!"

She smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

Once the ship was ready to go, Virginia watched the ship depart from the docks, bidding the people on board goodbye. "Have fun in England!" she yelled.

"We will!" Rebecca shouted as she and her husband waved from the back of the ship. "Take care!"

"You, too! Farewell, Pocahontas!" Virginia waved as she watched the ship sail down the river, watching it disappear into the blue horizon.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me Mountain Dew!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Pepperoni roll I ate before!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm West Virginia!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Mountain state!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The Mothman hides in the mountains!
West Virginia!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

In the 1890s, a botanist from the U.S. Department of Agriculture was sent to the Dakotas to investigate a highly invasive plant that had been tumbling across the region for the past twenty years. What they found was a troublesome situation, to say the least.

"Waaah! Get them off me!" South Dakota cried while waving her arms around frantically.

"Sis! Calm down! I'm trying to help you!" North Dakota kept telling her to stay still, so he could help her get rid of the nuisances that plagued her.

Every part of her body was covered in balls of thorns. One was stuck to her left arm. Two were stuck to her head. Three were stuck to her right leg. And a massive clump of four was stuck to her back. North Dakota used a pitchfork to carefully pry the thorny bushes off her. But while pulling one off her, the brown brambles tumbled off his pitchfork and fell on top of his head.

He made a paranoid scream. "Ack! It's on me, too!"

"This sucks tumble balls!" she whined.

"Excuse me." The botanist approached the screaming siblings cautiously. "Has there always been this many tumbleweeds?"

"Only in recent years," South Dakota sniffled. "Do you know how to get rid of the Russian thistle? My house is covered in them!" She pointed to a farmhouse that had been engulfed by a huge pile of brown bushes.

"Not yet. B-But not to worry! The Department of Agriculture will find a way to get rid of these tumbling weeds. Ack!" He looked down at a small thistle stuck to his ankle.

Unable to get the tumbleweed out of his hair, North Dakota threw down his pitchfork in frustration. "I give up!" He stomped off.

"Hey! Where are you going? I still have thistles stuck to me!" South Dakota complained.

"Get rid of them yourself. I'm going home, possibly to get a haircut," he grumbled.

"Wait!"

"No way! You can't convince me to come back! I'm going—" A tsunami of tumbleweed hit the teenager like a train. "AAAaaaAAAaaaHHH!"

"Brother!" She and the botanist helplessly watched him get swept up by the tumblepocalypse.

☆☆☆☆☆

Up in the land of moose and maples, Saskatchewan—a provisional district of the Northwest Territories at this time—was tending to her farm, working hard toward provincehood. "Ah, I can't wait to harvest all this wheat I've grown." She admired her tidy farm with a smile on this beautiful sunny day.

As a gust of wind swept across the golden fields, Saskatchewan noticed a brown ball of brambles tumble across the amber waves of grain. 'What's that?' she wondered. She had never seen anything like it before in her life. She decided to leave it alone and let the wind take care of it. She figured it was harmless.

But then, she spotted another ball roll onto her farm. It was followed by another ball. And following that ball were two more that looked just like it. They kept coming and leaving with the wind. However, there were a couple that remained stuck to the wheat. In a matter of minutes, her golden fields were littered with over a dozen of these bristly bushes. There was no end to them!

"Where do they keep coming from?!" Saskatchewan screamed.

~ Hetalia! ~

"LOOK OUT!" North Dakota yelled as he and the tumbleweed tumbled onto Saskatchewan's wheatfield.

"North Dakota!" She ran over to help her American neighbor. "What the heck is going on? What are these things?"

"They're tumbleweed," he explained as he kicked a tumbleweed away from his legs. "There are hundreds of thousands of them, most of which come from my sister's house."

"That's awful. Yet, why am I not surprised..." Saskatchewan didn't imagine the more troublesome Dakota would spread her bad influence this far north. Alas, scolding her wouldn't solve this kind of situation. "By chance, do you know how to get rid of tumbleweed?"

"I do, but it's time-consuming."

"How much time is it going to take?"

"Depends on how many tumbleweeds keep tumbling in here."

They silently watched the bumbling brambles roll around the farm.

"What happens if I let the tumbleweed stay around my field?" The moment she asked, some of the tumbleweeds caught fire from the afternoon heat of the sun, startling her. "Eep!"

"That happens," he answered in a monotonous tone.

"Noooooooo! My wheat fields! I worked so hard on my wheat fields..." Saskatchewan whimpered, falling to her knees in distraught.

"I'm so sorry..." North Dakota regrettably watched all her hard work burn down to ashes.

~ Hetalia... ~

Down in the land of maize and mole, Chihuahua (the Mexican state) was busy raising a litter of Chihuahua puppies, giving them lots of love and attention. "¡Lindo (Cute)! ¡Lindo! ¡Tan luchador y lindo (So feisty and cute)!" She watched the pups play in her yard with a smile on this beautiful sunny day.

"AAAaaaaAAAaaaaHHH!"

A sudden yet frightful scream from far away startled Chihuahua and her puppies. "¿Que en el mundo (What in the world)? ¿Esa es la voz de Nuevo México(Is that New Mexico's voice)?"

Bang! Bang!

Gunshots in the same direction as those screams made her gasp and think terrible things. "¡Oh no! No me digas que es (Don't tell me he's)..." She shook her head. "¡No! ¡No! ¡No! ¿Mi querido está vivo, sí (My darling is alive, yes)? El es muy fuerte (He is very strong)."

"¡Arf! ¡Arf!" the puppies barked.

She nodded. "¡Derecha (Right)! ¡Todavía hay tiempo (There's still time)!" She stood up and dashed off. "¡No te preocupes, querido (Don't worry, darling)! ¡Te salvaré (I'll save you)!"

~ Hetalia! ~

"Bro, are you still alive under there? Can you even breathe?" Arizona spoke to the giant pile of tumbleweed. She could hear a weak voice, but it was too muffled to make out the words of what New Mexico said.

"Is he alive?" Texas reloaded her revolver.

"Yeah... I think he's trying to tell you not to shoot him."

She smirked. "Don't worry. I won't." She aimed her gun at the stack of tumbleweeds, ready to blow them away.

Just as she was about to pull the trigger, a Mexican woman with blonde pigtails pushed her off balance with a big hug. "TEJAAAAAS!" Chihuahua squealed. "I heard New Mexico is in big trouble! Is he alright? Is he still alive? Answer me!" She shook her by the collar like crazy.

"Stop shaking me like an apple tree and get off me!" Texas shoved her away with a huff. "And it's Texas!"

"Where's New Mexico? I need to see if he's alright."

"Chill out, girl," said Arizona. "He's alright, but he's trapped underneath a bunch of tumbleweeds." She referred to the huge pile of tumbleweed behind her.

She gasped, "¡Oh Dios mío (Oh my God)! New Mexico!" She approached the tumbleweed.

"Careful now," Texas warned. "Those weeds are covered in—"

"Don't worry, my darling! I'll save you!" Chihuahua grabbed a tumbleweed and threw it over her head.

"Hey! Your hands are bleeding!" Arizona pointed at her bare crimson-covered palms.

"That's okay! The pain is nothing compared to my love for New Mexico!" She kept grabbing and throwing tumbleweed behind her.

"Whoa!" Arizona ducked her head from getting hit by the thorny clumps.

"Hey!" Texas sidestepped from the thrown tumbleweed. "Watch where ya throwin' those damn things! Ow!" A small tumbleweed got stuck to her left arm. "Damn it, Chihuahua!"

She giggled, "Sorry, Tejas!"

"It's Texas!" She shot the tumbleweed off with her revolver.

Within an hour, Chihuahua tossed most of the tumbleweed across the desert until she caught a glimpse of black human hair. She let out an excited shrill. "New Mexico!" She tossed more tumbleweed out of the way before pulling him out of the pile.

"Alright! You did it!" Arizona applauded.

"Yes, I did!" she laughed while hugging the life out of New Mexico.

"Hey... You're killing me..."

"But I just saved you!"

"No... You're covered in thorns. Ow..."

Chihuahua peered down her body, finally noticing the thorns that covered her clothes and skin. "Oh no! I am killing you!" She immediately let go of him.

New Mexico breathed a sigh of relief. "Anyway, thank you for getting me out of there. I would've been shot by Texas if you hadn't intervened."

"I was tryin' to save ya!" Texas pouted.

"Oh, it's no big deal." Chihuahua smiled with a blush.

"But you're hurt." He stared at the blood and the thorns that covered her body.

"Not to worry. They'll heal after a while," she giggled.

"I hope so," said a grumbling voice.

Everyone turned their heads, facing an austere woman whose golden eyes were sharp like the tumbleweed that was stuck to her yellow skirt and leather boots.

"Yikes. What happened to you, Sonora?" Arizona subconsciously scratched her legs.

She huffed, "I was looking for Chihuahua because she forgot to shut the backyard gate, allowing her puppies to roam close to the desert if I hadn't intervened."

"I forgot to close the gate?!" she gasped. "Whoops! My bad!"

"Next time, don't be in such a hurry to leave your house. Otherwise, don't expect me to pity you if you come crying to me over missing things." She turned around to begin her walk back across the border.

Chihuahua whined, "Nooo! Not my puppies!" She followed after her fellow state, giving her many thanks and apologies.

"S-Sonora!" New Mexico grabbed her attention. "Those tumbleweeds. Do you need help getting them off you?"

She scowled. "You and the Americans have caused enough trouble. Unless you can get rid of all these prickly invaders you call tumbleweed, I expect you to keep your troubles on your side of the border." She swiftly spun around and stomped off with her head held high.

"... Ouch," Texas murmured. "Is she still pissed about the Gadsden Purchase?"

"Maybe." Arizona shrugged. "She always had a prejudice against foreigners, especially nowadays."

New Mexico let out a sigh. "We need to make things up with her."

"What?" Arizona and Texas gave him weird looks. "No, we aren't. We just got you out of that pile of tumbleweed."

"I know. I'm grateful you guys got me out of there. But I need to apologize to Sonora and get rid of her tumbleweed problem."

"Nope. Not gonna happen." They each grabbed an arm and began to drag him away from the border.

"But she's going to hate me forever!"

"Too late. The Mexican-American War already made her hate us for eternity. I doubt she's gonna hate us any more for a bunch of tumblin' weeds," Texas grumbled.

"But—"

"Shut up, or I'm gonna throw ya in the nearest pile of tumbleweed I can find."

Despite his protests, he wisely chose to keep his mouth shut the rest of the day.

~ Hetalia... ~

"America! You better take responsibility for this!"

"He's right! This is all your fault, you stupid gringo!"

"I swear it's not my fault! I didn't do anything wrong!"

Covered in tumbleweed from head to toe, Canada, Mexico, and America were arguing and complaining about the millions of tumbleweed that invaded their homes. Both Canada and Mexico agreed America was to blame. However, America insisted he was a victim like them.

"Then, whose fault is it?" Mexico questioned.

"It's Russia's fault!" America brought out an empty wooden crate for them to inspect. "See!" He pointed at a sticker on the crate with the message: To America—From Russia with Love.

"Hm. I guess that makes sense. Tumbleweed does come from Russia..." Canada mumbled.

"Please don't blame my brother!" cried a tearful voice.

"Huh?" The three countries turned around the moment they heard the slow beating of drums.

Much to their surprise, the heavy tempo came from a tall curvy woman with short blonde hair and big breasts that bounced up and down while she caught her breath.

"Who are you?" Mexico questioned the country he had never see before.

The woman bowed her head. "Hello. My name is Ukraine. I'm Russia's older sister. And..." Her eyes became watery. "Please don't blame Russia! This is all my fault!"

"What do you mean?" America questioned. "You better not be covering for him."

"No, I..." She wiped her eyes. "As you and Canada know, I came here because I needed to get away from Russia. I intended to farm the land as promised. But while I was taking flaxseed from that box my brother had sent for me, I noticed there were some strange seeds among the batch." She bit her lip. "I didn't plant them, but I threw them away. And... And... Waaah! I'm so sorry!"

"Please don't cry, Ukraine. I'm sure you didn't mean to cause us trouble." Canada tried to comfort her, but his words didn't do much to soothe her guilt.

"I suck! I don't deserve to be here! It's best I leave and never come back! Goodbye!" She fled the continent in tears, leaving the three countries dumbstruck on what just happened.

~ Hetalia? ~

Hey, hey, daddy, get me a pop!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Freshly-baked kuchen I ate before!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm South Dakota!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Mount Rushmore State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
My horse wears a Medicine Hat!
South Dakota!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

December 24, 1814—Ghent, United Netherlands

Despite past grievances against the Yankee twat, surprisingly, England thought little of the War of 1812—a "minor" theater in the Napoleonic Wars. Defeating France was his main priority, and he was confident Canada and the native tribes would be able to handle the American threat on their own (with additional resources provided by him). It wasn't until after he put a stop to the Napoleon Tornado did he ever took the War of 1812 seriously. The Englishman had a vengeful scheme to embarrass America and prove himself to be superior.

After hearing concerns of wartime taxes and desperate calls for the resumption of trade, however, England placed his original plans on hold.

"Congratulations," said England with a smug smile as he and America firmly shook hands. "I didn't think you would be sophisticated enough to accept a treaty that wasn't on your terms."

"What are you talking about? I clearly won the war." America maintained an oblivious smile.

He scoffed, "Preposterous. I burned down your capital. No offense."

"Haha. That's alright. The capital needed to be renovated anyway. I still won though."

"Well, you weren't able to invade Canada."

"Who?"

"Canada."

"Who?"

"Now, now, the treaty has been signed. No need to continue arguments about the war." Belgium smiled, sticking her nose between the brothers before their bickering escalated further.

England sighed, "Very well. You make a valid point."

"Say, Belgium!" America suddenly exclaimed. "I'm in the mood for some waffles after all this boring political talk."

"Say no more. I'll be happy to help you with that," she chirped.

As Belgium led the hungry American out of the room, England followed behind them, smiling sinisterly to himself. 'Little does the dimwit know I have plans to justify the continuation of this war. If all goes well, this treaty will mean nothing to me.'

☆☆☆☆☆

January 8, 1815—Chalmette, Louisiana

About five miles south of New Orleans, the British Army went over preparations for a grand assault on Line Jackson—the American defenses led by General Andrew Jackson.

"Alright, gentlemen. Listen up and pay attention. I won't say this twice." Major General Pakenham of the British Army laid a (shitty) map of the landscape out on the table.

"This will be a two-prong assault—one on the west side by the Mississippi and one on the center-east side by the swamp. At this very moment, Colonel Thornton is getting ready to cross the Mississippi. Before dawn, he'll be upriver storming the American battery in the hopes of turning the weapons onto the enemy. Upon his signal, General Keane will march along the river and lead a distractionary assault on the American right side. At the same time, Major General Gibbs and I will lead the main army to the center-right side of the earthworks. Based on what we know from Galvez, our large armies should be able to overwhelm the weakest point of the American defenses. If all goes well on time, we'll be able to punish the dirty shirts with a pulverizing crossfire. And just like that, New Orleans will be in British—"

"General Pakenham, sir." A colonel named Thomas Mullins raised his voice. "Is the 44th Regiment still part of the main assault?"

Pakenham glanced back at the map before answering the officer's question. "Yes, Colonel Mullins. You'll lead the advanced guard. You and your men are in charge of carrying ladders and fascines for the main forces."

"As well as be your forlorn meat shield," Mullins muttered pessimistically.

"What was that?"

"N-Nothing sir!"

"The ladders and fascines are essential in getting over the canal and scaling the rampart. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

Pakenham turned his attention to the rest of his subordinates. "With that, you're all dismissed." 

~ Five Hours Later... ~

Blanketed in fog and darkness, the marshy landscape seemed silent and unmoving. The eyes of Line Jackson weren't convinced it would stay like that for very long. For hours, they remained awake in the pitch black, itchily on guard for an assault soon. With polished cannons lined up and rifles in hand, they were ready for what was coming to them.

Kentucky was nodding off to sleep until a giant smack to his forehead woke him up. "Hey!" He glared at Tennessee.

He chuckled, "There was a bug on your face."

"Yeah, right!" He pouted.

Positioned at a cannon, Louisiana scowled at their lax behavior. "Can y'all stop joking around?"

"Sorry." Tennessee smiled sheepishly. "Are you sure the redcoats are gonna attack us today? We've been awake all night, and there's still no sign of them."

She narrowed her eyes at the foggy field, wondering the same question as well. "I know they're out there behind all that haze. I don't know what's taking them, but I expect y'all not to slack off." She gripped the hilt of her smallsword tightly.

Despite her recent statehood, Louisiana had a lot to prove. Many people still viewed her as an outsider who wasn't capable of upholding American ideals. She wanted to show them she was loyal like any state to America. Regardless of the odds, she intended to win this battle.

Kentucky let out a sleepy yawn. "Seriously, what's taking them so long?"

On the other side of Line Jackson, Major General Pakenham was thinking the same thing. His regiment, as well as Major General Gibbs's regiment, were ready to begin the main assault. However, there was no sign of conflict on the British left side of the rampart. He deduced Colonel Thornton's regiment was having difficulty crossing the Mississippi. In that case, he wished the colonel would hurry up. He was tired of waiting.

"Major General!" Captain MacDougall—his faithful aide—interrupted his thoughts. "Any thoughts on delaying the assault?"

Feeling pressure from the eyes of his restless troops, Pakenham strongly answered, "No. Tell Keane I order him to march toward Gibbs and assist him. I will wait my plans no longer." He looked back at his soldiers. "Let's go, gentlemen! Onward!" He and his army rushed toward Line Jackson at the sound of trumpets and drums.

~ Hetalia! ~

Instead of General Keane, leading the attack on the American right side of the earthworks was Colonel Robert Rennie. At first, he was surprised to learn of Keane's sudden departure to the main assault. But quickly, he adapted to the change in circumstances, seeing it as an opportunity to rise in the ranks and prove he was capable of commanding his men to victory.

"Let's show these dirty shirts the might of the British Empire!" Rennie shouted while his troops overwhelmed the surprised Americans at an isolated redoubt.

As he and five other men climbed atop the structure, they spotted the bright beam of a beautiful sunrise. The shadows of the night slowly begun to secede as the first rays of sunlight make their way across the land, bringing color and warmth back to the world. It was a marvelous sight that seemed too well-timed. They all welcomed the sun as a sign of good things to come.

With a rise in his chest, Rennie let out a lofty laugh, "Hurrah, boys! The day is ours!"

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

All six men—including Rennie who fell without uttering another sound—were immediately shot dead by rifle fire from Line Jackson. The rest of Rennie's frightened troops were wiped out by a hail of musket balls and grapeshot seconds later. Just like that, the British Army no longer had the advantage.

Upon the break of dawn, the heavy fog that once covered their movements rose with the morning sun, exposing the redcoats to a storm of musket balls and grapeshot. From the firing of a single cannon, a lane was created within a column of terrified soldiers. From the firing of multiple cannons, the sky rained dirt and limbs. Fear and uncertainty at the terror of hundreds getting wiped out in a blink of an eye caused mass confusion among the ranks. Once brave and poised, their confident march became a catastrophic nightmare within shameful minutes.

"Where the fuck is Mullins and his regiment?" Major General Gibbs grumbled, unable to lead the main assault across Rodriguez Canal.

Much to their horror, the fascines that were supposed to be laid across the eight-foot deep canal were nowhere to be placed. With no efficient way to get across the canal, they became easy pickings for the Americans. Some hurled themselves into ditches to hide from the mayhem; some were desperate enough to fling themselves into the canal. The redcoats who could swim across the fifteen-foot canal would then encounter the problem of climbing the rampart without ladders; they fell onto their bums in their failed attempts to climb using only their bare hands. Gibbs tried to maintain control of the dire situation. But sadly, any attempt to create order was deafened by disoriented screams, the firing of weapons, and the tune of "Yankee Doodle" from a thundering band.

"For shame! Remember! You are British soldiers!"

Recognizing that proud voice, Gibbs turned around to find the 44th Regiment being led by Pakenham on horseback. "Finally! Here come the 44th!" he exclaimed with an underlying sarcastic tone. 'If we survive this, I swear I'm going to hang Mullins from the highest tree in the swamp!' He hurried over to his fellow officer. "Pakenham, sir! We need the fascines and ladders immediately!"

"Forget the fascines and ladders!" Pakenham yelled above the noise.

"Sir?"

"Mullins forgot to bring them!"

"Are you for real?!" On second thought, Gibbs realized Mullins was nowhere to be found. He shook his head in distraught. "I... I don't know what else to tell you. I am sorry to report to you that the troops no longer obey me..." He looked back at the scattered remains of his regiment.

"Fear not!" Pakenham assured him. "I've ordered Keane to assist in the assault!" He gestured to the left-center of the battlefield.

"Charge!" General Keane and a regiment of Scottish Highlanders under the leadership of Colonel Dale charged across the field with bagpipes playing at full blast.

Seeing the bravery of the 93rd Highlanders, Gibbs's men came to their senses. Passionate shouts for the glory of Great Britain replaced their frightful screams. Following the upright command of Keane and Dale, they reformed themselves for a second organized attack on the rampart. Against the powerful blows of the enemy, they kept moving forward. The only thing on their mind was getting over that fucking wall (and fucking the New Orleans belles). Nothing was going to prevent them from achieving victory.

Bang!

Except that.

Colonel Dale dropped dead to the ground. The Highlanders stopped momentarily, a hundred yards short from the rampart. Keane tried to encourage his troops to march forward, but he was shot in the neck and thigh seconds later. Severely wounded, the general could no longer command his troops. Without any leaders to rely on, his regiment lost their composure, returning to hysteria amid the blasts of smoke.

"Well, bollocks..." Pakenham and Gibbs bemoaned.

~ Hetalia... ~

About a mile away from the battlefield, Major General Lambert and the reserves horrifically watched their main assault fall apart under pressure from American artillerymen. There were calls from rowdy rebels to assist their comrades in battle. Yet, Lambert remained calm and collected, refusing to budge unless he was given a reason to take action.

"General Lambert! General Lambert!" Captain MacDougall on horseback galloped across the field to meet the major general. "I regret to report General Pakenham is out of commission. He has passed on..."

Lambert continued to gaze at the battlefield, reacting in solemn silence for a moment. "What about General Gibbs?"

"He has been severely wounded and taken to the rear."

He ignored the shocked murmurs from his soldiers. "What is going on out there? Why haven't we made any progress?"

The aide bitterly gulped. "Mullins and the 44th Regiment forgot to bring the fascines and ladders needed to cross the canal and scale the rampart. Hence, we became sitting ducks, unable to successfully break through Line Jackson. My commander, Pakenham, insisted we could overcome the American defenses. His hopes were raised when he saw you and the reserves coming up behind us. But not long after, he and his horse were hit by grapeshot."

Captain MacDougall sniffled, "Upon seeing my fallen commander, I tried to help him up on my horse. I intended to take him somewhere safe, away from the carnage. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to protect him from another grapeshot aimed in our direction. Some of the iron balls hit along his spine, fatally wounding him... He managed to give me his final order, intended for you, before falling unconscious."

"... What is his final order?"

He took a moment to wipe his eyes. "Major General Lambert, you'll assume chief command of all regiments on the battlefield, and you'll send forward the reserves."

Lambert looked back at the chaotic battlefield with a thin scowl. "Well yes, but actually no."

~ Hetalia... ~

"Give it to them, my boys! Let us finish the business today!" Louisiana bellowed.

The militiamen from Kentucky and Tennessee did a solid job defending the rampart. There were fears they would be overwhelmed by an army of soldiers that were highly trained and highly equipped. But as it turned out, years of experience from hunting in the woods paid off. Go figure! Not a single redcoat escaped unharmed. All their shots were deadly accurate.

"Uh, Tennessee," Kentucky awkwardly mumbled. "I forgot the next verse. How does it go again?" He casually pulled the trigger of his rifle, creating a loud boom and a puff of smoke.

Tenessee kept a sharp eye on the fleeing redcoats. "Oh! It goes like this." He began to sing, "And every time they shoot it off / It takes a horn of powder / And makes a noise like a father's gun / Only a nation louder!"

Louisiana and the rest of the militia joined along to sing the chorus. "Yankee Doodle keep it up / Yankee Doodle dandy / Mind the music and the step / And with the girls be handy!" Everyone had a good laugh while the band behind them continued to play patriotic music.

"ENOUGH WITH THE YANKEE DOODLE!"

With looks of shock, the Americans turned their attention to a gutsy redcoat who somehow reached the top of the rampart. Only the upper half of his body was able to make it above the wall. Hence, he was immediately shot in the chest multiple times without hesitation. The Americans expected him to fall over and die. But much to their amazement, the ballsy redcoat hanged over the ledge by the grip of their hands and arms, still alive and breathing heavily.

The Americans' astonishing faces got a cocky laugh from the tough redcoat. "Ha! I made it! I made it..." His body was beginning to collapse until Kentucky and Tennessee pulled him over the wall by his arms.

"Bear up, dear fellow. You are too brave to die." Kentucky laid him against a wall.

Louisiana knelt before the dying redcoat, observing his wounds to be fatal without the chance of recovery. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Major Wilkinson...of the 21st Regiment..."

"Wilkinson..." She smirked. "We'll be sure to remember you and what you accomplished." 

He simpered, "Tell my commander...I reached the top...of the rampart and...died like a soldier...and a true Englishman..." The Americans surrounding Wilkinson quietly watched him gradually die from his wounds.

"Ah-ha!" Another redcoat appeared on top of the rampart, interrupting the solemn scene. "I, Lieutenant Lavack, finally made it unharmed! Wahahaha!"

Louisiana and a Baratarian pirate drew their shortswords at the invader. "How did you get up here?"

The lieutenant redcoat continued to act smug, not in the least intimidated by their sharp weapons. "Why, it was easy! My fellow soldiers and I stood on top of each other's shoulders to get up here!" He pulled out his pistol and aimed it at Louisiana. "Now, unless you two want to die, I demand you and your friend hand me your swords!"

She raised a brow. "Are you serious?" Kentucky, Tennessee, the militiamen, and the volunteers aimed their weapons at the lone redcoat.

He scoffed, "Oh, please. Go ahead and shoot me. My fellow men won't let you get away with it."

"Are you sure about that?" She scowled. "Turn around."

"Why should I turn around?"

"Just turn around."

"You can't make me—"

"TOURNER AUTOUR (TURN AROUND)!" She forced the tip of her sword to his chin.

"Alright, alright! Geez..." Lavack reluctantly turned around and was immediately hit with shock to see none of his fellow redcoats had scaled the rampart. "Are you bloody kidding me? Where are my loyal companions?" He peered down the rampart and found his answer.

After seeing Major Wilkinson—the remaining highest officer on the battlefield—get shot before their eyes, the redcoats who went through hell to cross the bloodsoaked field, the corpse-filled canal, and climb the rampart without ladders suddenly lost the will to continue fighting. Some threw themselves into the ditch to hide from getting shot. Others decided to flee, desperate to get out of this cursed swamp despite the flying cannonballs overhead. They were in the process of withdrawal, yet no one cared to fetch Lt. Lavack, leaving him alone with the enemy.

His face embarrassingly red, the vulnerable redcoat turned to face the Americans surrounding him. "Haha. I guess I'm your prisoner now. Hahaha..." He dropped his pistol and raised his arms in the air as a sign of surrender.

"That's what I thought." Louisiana smiled cruelly.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, papa, get me a Sazerac!
Hey, hey, mama, hey, hey, mama!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Spicy gumbo I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm Louisiana!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Pelican State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A fabulous world can be seen!
Let's toast our spirits to The Boot!
Louisiana!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

California was chilling at her beach house—reading a gossip magazine while drinking some boba—when her relaxing afternoon was interrupted by the doorbell. "Who is it?" She opened the door.

"Hello!" Maine smiled at her doorstep.

"Oh, hey. It's Lobster Dude." She pretended to act surprised with excitement. "What brings you here?"

"I've come to show you something you may be interested in."

"Ooh. Is it a Prada handbag? A LaserDisc of My Neighbor Totoro? A hottie?" Her eyes sparkled like a pair of sapphires.

"Uh, no. It's neither of those things."

"Then, what?"

"It's a cow—"

She closed the door on her. "Not interested."

"Ah! Hey! Hear me out for a moment!"

"Dude, just because I have the most dairy cows among the states doesn't mean I'll go gaga for them like Cheese Dude. If you wanna talk cows, go to her instead."

"This cow has a Mickey Mouse emblem."

California slammed open the door and shoved a fistful of cash at her face. "Shut up and take my money!"

☆☆☆☆☆

A couple of years had passed since California bought Mickey Moo from Maine. She had the cow live out her days at Disneyland where she became popular among guests there. As far as she knew, it was money well spent. There would never be another cow with unique markings like that for decades.

Ding-dong!

Or, so she thought.

"Hello!" Minnesota greeted her, accompanied by a black and white cow whose markings along its left flank resembled a famous mouse from Disney cartoons and animated films.

"Oh, hey. It's Hockey Dude. And she also has a cow to sell..." California didn't attempt to hide her lackluster tone. "Is Cheese Dude, like, unavailable or something?"

"You mean Wisconsin? She already has plenty of cows to care for. I figure I turn to you since I heard you bought a cow from Maine." She maintained her sweet smile.

She sighed, "Sorry, dude. I'm not interested in buying another cow."

"Are you sure? She's a sweetheart with a mild temperament." She stroked the side of the cow's neck.

California frowned at the cow's sparkling eyes. "That's nice and all, but I already have a cow with a Mickey Mouse marking. I don't have any reason to buy two of the same thing, you know?"

"Oh... Well, it's still nice to see you again. Thanks for hearing me out at least. I won't waste any more of your time..." Minnesota and the cow slowly turned around, walking away in small steps. She made an audible sigh filled with disappointment, "I guess the only home she's destined for is the slaughterhouse."

"Did you say slaughterhouse?"

She and the cow stopped walking, looking back at the confused Californian. "Um, yes. She's not a good milk producer, so there aren't many farmers willing to buy her. Since you don't want to buy her, she'll be heading to the slaughterhouse as her owner originally intended." She gave the cow some gentle head rubs. "It's okay. Holstein Heaven won't fault you for your poor milk-producing qualities."

"Moo-hoo..." the cow sadly mooed.

"I know you're scared, but things will be okay. It'll all be okay. Boohoo..." she faked her sniffles.

California felt uncomfortable hearing her sniveling and those morose moos. 'What the fuck? It's just a cow, yet why do I feel like an ass? Is this Oregon's doing?' She let out a wretched groan. "Ugh, fine. Let me call Florida and see if she can take the cow to Disney World."

"Yay!" Minnesota was suddenly all smiles and sunshine again. She gave the happy-go-lucky cow a big hug. "You hear that? You're going to Disney World!"

~ Moo! ~

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's welcome our newest resident at Walt Disney World Resort! Give it up for Minnie Moo!" Florida cheerfully announced as Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Daisy, Goofy, Pluto, and other Disney characters paraded the Holstein cow in front of Cinderella Castle.

While watching the park goers pet the cow, Minnesota turned to California with a smile. "Thank you so much for saving Minnie Moo from the slaughterhouse. That's very nice of you to do."

California didn't hear her compliment, focused on hating Florida with her unenthusiasm. 'Disneyland is so much better...'

"Hey, guys!" Iowa appeared before them in a wonderful mood. "Nice to see everyone enjoying themselves."

"Pig Dude? What are you doing here?" California questioned. "You should've gone to Disneyland instead."

"Does it matter?"

"Absolutely!"

He scratched the side of his head. "Well, maybe next time. I only came here because Minnesota told me you would be here, and I thought it would be easier to come to you." Two pigs with Mickey Mouse markings trotted up behind him.

She stared at the pigs in disbelief. "Does everybody have animals with Mickey Mouse markings? Aren't Mickey Mouse markings supposed to be rare?"

"If you're interested, I can sweeten this deal with this potato I found." He presented a Mickey Mouse-shaped spud.

She huffed, "No way. I'm not gonna waste money on pigs and a lousy potato just because they're shaped like Mickey Mouse."

"But I will!" Florida appeared with bundles of cash.

"Deal!" Iowa handed her the spud in exchange for the money.

She laughed, "Another reason why Disney World is better."

"Not in a billion years! This place is still overrated as hell!" California pouted.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, do you want milk?
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Lutefisk I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm Minnesota!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Gopher State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Let's all live long and healthy lives!
Minnesota!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

The 1970s—Boston, Massachusetts

"Derp derp derp! We, the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority Board of Directors, are proud to stand by our decision to increase the price of advertisements," said the bonehead in front of a room of jerks.

"Derpy derp? I completely forgot. Why did we increase the price of advertisements?" questioned the lamebrain.

"You remember Gay Media Action Advertising?" the schmuck asked.

"Yeah. They're a company of queers who want to increase visibility and acceptance for bisexual gay trans-lesbians. Is that right, donkey?"

The donkey nodded. "Eeee-aaaah!"

"Well, get this," the schmuck snickered. "Those weird queers were planning a public ad campaign featuring a purple rhino."

"A purple rhino?"

"I know. Queers are weird," the nitwit chuckled as he slid the image of a lavender rhino with a red heart across the table. "But to give them some credit, at least it's not offensive. I half-expected their advertisements to feature two naked men making out on the back of a pink unicorn."

"What do you mean by half-expected?"

"I-I mean, I'm not gay, but I acknowledge all queer folk love to show off their gay bodies and do gay stuff on the streets. The nerds representing Gay Media Action are aware that kind of image can offend public eyes, hence they've gone with the purple rhino for their campaign."

"Too bad they can't pay for it," the schmuck chortled. "Those queers think the stunt we've pulled is discrimination. But the truth is we want to make a profit from their ads. Two dollars per ad will only bring in a small profit. By tripling the rate to seven dollars per ad, we'll be making a huge profit!"

"Wait a second." The lamebrain uses his fingers to do elementary math. "Tripling the former ad rate should be six dollars per ad. Why did we increase it to seven dollars?"

"Living in Boston is expensive, okay. Also, colored ink isn't cheap."

"Oh, okay. That makes sense."

"You sound sarcastic."

"I-I mean," the lamebrained stuttered, "what we're doing looks and sounds scummy." 

The bonehead let out a lofty laugh. "There's nothing to fear. Our lawyers defend our decision to be constitutional, so the law is on our side at least. As for our public image, we may look like a bunch of unfair asshats, but all their stupid protests will blow over eventually."

"What about Gay Media Action?"

"Ha! Those gay nerds can whine all they want. But if they want their ads to go up in public, they must turn to us and pay the price we've set. If they don't want to pay, that's fine. We'll still be able to travel around the city without seeing those purple rhino ads. We win either way."

"Eeee-aaah!"

They dissolved into laughter, "Yay! We're assholes!"

CRASH!

An enormous horned beast rushed through the doors of the conference room, destroying both doors and leaving a giant hole in the crumbling wall. The jerks' hysterics were replaced with cowardly screams for their lives. They rushed to the back of the room, their sweaty backs against the white wall with nowhere else to go. Their only exit was through the hole where the brute came from, and it was blocked by the rampage. Their cries for help brought nobody to save them. It did, however, alert the animal in the room. After smashing the table, chairs, and floor to bits, the lavender rhino set their angry eyes on the petrified humans.

"Waaah! I'm too rich to die so soon!" wailed the lamebrain.

"Eee-aah! Eee-aah!" the donkey barked in agreement.

"Please!" the bonehead pleaded. "If you spare me, I'll put you in a nice zoo and provide you a harem of female rhinos to mate to your heart's desire!"

"Just don't kill us!" the nitwit cried.

"W-What he said!" The schmuck bowed down to his hands and knees.

The rhino stomped their foot. "Fuck you, assholes. I'm here to pay for those advertisements."

"What?" The jerks lifted their eyes at the young man riding atop the rhino. "Oh, it's you."

Massachusetts hopped off the rhino to confront them. "First off, I want to clarify the rhino is both male and female."

"What? That's impossible," the schmuck scoffed. "It's either male or female. It can't be both— Eeek!" He backed away from the rhino's curved horn.

The nitwit screamed, "Get your purple pet away from him!" 

"It's not purple. It's lavender. Also, it's not my pet. It's my friend," he clarified in a vexed tone.

"Purple, lavender, who cares," the bonehead grumbled, "Just give us your money and get that thing out of here."

He huffed, "Don't act so pompous. Most of the money was made by donations from supporters."

"Where and how you get this money doesn't matter. Give us the money and leave."

"Eee-aah!"

Massachusetts dropped a suitcase at their feet. "Just get those ads out to the public. If you don't," he warned as he got back on top of the rhino, "expect us to drop by again."

"Fine, fine! Just go!" The bonehead furiously waved him off while his associates inspected the suitcase of money.

"Fucking assholes," he grumbled as he and the lavender rhinoceros calmly left the room. "Hopefully, I don't have to deal with idiots like them ever again..."

☆☆☆☆☆

The 1980s—San Francisco, California

Despite fears of the AIDS epidemic, Twin Peaks Tavern continued to be a safe spot for patrons of the LGBTQ+ community to gather for drinks and conversation. Their colorful personalities were as transparent as the glass windows of the establishment. There was nothing to hide. The gateway of the Castro was always open to everyone as long as everyone got along. With that said, however, the bar still had its fair share of troublesome visitors.

Sitting at the counter with a martini in hand, California was telling a tourist her opinions on various places to dine in the city. "If you do go there, I recommend their cioppino. The only drawback to the dish is picking out the shell. Otherwise, it's fucking good. It'll send you to heaven, especially if you have a seafood allergy. Still worth trying though—"

"Hey, there!" A young couple—a boyfriend and a girlfriend—went up to California with giddy smiles and flushed faces. "Are you interested in threesomes?"

Their outspoken question caused people within earshot to cringe. Some turned their faces away, pretending they didn't just hear that coming from their dumb mouths. Some were visibly upset to the point their disgust toward the oblivious outsiders was greater than their tolerance. Despite the intimidating glares, the boyfriend and girlfriend didn't seem to read the room, waiting on California to answer their question.

"I'm open to threesomes if that's what you're asking," California answered in a relaxed manner.

"Then, do you mind having a threesome with a straight couple?" asked the ignorant boyfriend.

"Sure, but—"

"Oh my gosh!" the ignorant girlfriend gasped. "By chance, are you the famous unicorn we heard so much about? If so, that's fucking rad!"

She blinked her eyes. "Where's this going?"

"You see, my boyfriend and I have always fantasized about having a threesome. Lately, we've been looking for ways to spice up our sex life, and we figure a threesome with a unicorn is what will do it."

"To be honest," said the ignorant boyfriend, "I thought unicorns didn't exist, let alone bi people. Like, bisexuality was a phase for people figuring out if they were straight or not. So, I really didn't believe my girlfriend when she told me about these unicorns who were willing to whore themselves out to straight couples."

"But then we found you!" squealed the ignorant girlfriend. "I heard from a friend there was a blonde unicorn with blue eyes who didn't mind being a temporary third wheel for sexy heteros like us. We checked every bar in the city until we found you here at last."

"So, you wanna have a threesome with us, or what?" the ignorant boyfriend asked.

"I..." California wasn't sure how to react to everything that came out of their disgusting mouths. 'Should I bitch-slap them? Throw my martini at them? Laugh at them for being horny dumbasses? How should I go about this? Hm...'

Waiting rather impatiently with the tap of her heels, the ignorant girlfriend repeated the question, "Are you in or out?"

"... I'm good. I'm not interested in a threesome right now."

"What?" The ignorant boyfriend scoffed, "I knew it. You're not a unicorn."

California calmly sipped her martini before placing her glass gently on the counter. "I am a unicorn, but I'm not just any ordinary unicorn..." In a rapid whirlwind, she suddenly changed into a unicorn onesie. "I'm a fabulous unicorn with standards!" She winked at the audience with a sparkling smile.

"Huh?" The ignorant couple stared dumbfounded. "What the fuck are you talking about? You just said you're not interested in threesomes."

"Wrong!" She made a JoJo pose. "I like guys and girls without question. I love doing kinky stuff with either one and both at the same time. However," she pointed at them menacingly, "what I can't stand the sight of are ugly assholes! Like, go put a bag over your heads!"

The ignorant girlfriend made a dramatic gasp, "Hey! We're sure hot as hell! You shouldn't have a problem doing us!"

"Wrong again!" She struck another cool pose. "You two may be attractive on the outside. But your ignorance," she gave them an ominous glare, "it pisses me the fuck off! Like, barf me out! Ew!"

The boyfriend snarled, "What's your damage, bitch? It's not like we're hitting you or calling you derogatory names!"

"Fucking wrong again!" she shouted. "Seriously, you two clowns assume I'm a naughty nympho who sucks cock and pussy every freaky Friday. But guess what motherfuckers? I'm a human being who likes to be treated with respect! I may be a fabulous unicorn, but that doesn't give you the right to use me like a disposable sex toy to fulfill your fetish-filled fantasy!" There was a great round of applause around the bar in support of the unicorn.

The ignorant girlfriend rolled her eyes. "Wow. You really are bi. No wonder you're so hard to please." She grabbed her ignorant boyfriend by the hand. "Let's go, babe. This joint fucking sucks balls."

The ignorant boyfriend whined, "But babe! How else am I going to live out my fantasy of banging two hotties at the same time without offending you?"

"I don't know. We'll buy a sex doll or something."

"Aw, but that's lame."

"Deal with it!"

The ignorant couple continued to argue after they left, leaving everyone at the bar in a state of jubilee from their departure.

~ Fabulous! ~

While everyone was getting free drinks on the house, California noticed a big bear lurking at a lonely corner of the bar, looking all depressed for seemingly no reason.

"Hey, big guy!" She patted his broad back with a cheerful smile. "Why the long face?"

He scowled. "I'm not interested in girls."

"That's cool." She sat down on a stool next to him. "Just wondering why you're alone though."

He sighed, "This is my first time here. The regular bar I usually go to was shut down recently. Being gay, I thought it was a great opportunity to look for bars that appealed to me. But so far, I'm not feeling it here." He gazed at all the slim hairless dudes who all looked too young and effeminate for his taste.

"Hm..." California snapped her fingers when she got a bright idea. "You know, there's a bar about ten minutes away that caters to guys like you."

"Really?" The bear cocked his head. "They're old, fat, and hairy guys like me?"

"Totally!" She hopped out of her seat. "I can take you there! Follow me!" She pranced away, leaving behind a trail of glitter and rainbows.

"Guess I'll follow the unicorn..." The big bear followed her out of the bar at a slower pace.

~ Hetalia! ~

"Ta-da!" California smiled as she motioned to the Lone Star Saloon.

The big bear gaped in amazement. "Holy cow! There are others like me!"

The Lone Star Saloon was packed full of bears. There were brown bears. There were black bears. There were polar bears. There were even pandas. There were bears with long handle-bar mustaches wearing biker jackets and tight leather pants. There were bears with long grizzly beards wearing extra-extra-extra-large tank tops to cover their beer bellies. There were bears with muscles in the right places who smelled of cigars and sweat after a long day of hard labor. There were even female bears called ursulas who were butcher than the newly-acquainted cubs. There were lots of bears of diverse backgrounds, yet all of them got along to express their tender love for MANLINESS!

"Hey, there!" A chubby bear approached the big bear. "You a newcomer?"

"Yeah."

"Welcome to the Lone Star Saloon!" He handed him a glass of beer with a warm smile. "Make yourself at home."

The big bear smiled back. "Yeah. I think I will." He followed him deeper into the crowded bar.

California patted herself on the back, smiling proudly to herself. "Looks like my job here is done." She skipped out the bar with a trail of rainbows and sparkles following behind her.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me cranberry juice!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Boston cream pie I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm Massachusetts!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I am the Bay State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The mayflower welcomes you to
Massachusetts!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

November 1997—Savannah, Georgia

A bitter breeze softly swept by the Spanish moss that hung over the branches of olden oaks, dying down when it was time for Bonaventure Cemetery to close for today.

A gravekeeper (aka a sexton which doesn't sound as cool) was wandering around the graves, searching for guests who lost track of time. To the visitors seeing loved ones, they would allow them to say their goodbyes, trusting they would leave shortly afterward. As for the other kinds of visitors—the ones who came to the cemetery for purposes that didn't relate to paying their respects to the dead—they would strongly advise them to leave immediately. Most of them did as they were told. Most of them...

The gravekeeper sighed, "Seriously, what's so special about Bird Girl that has strangers flocking to her?" They watched a young woman wearing her red hair in twintails pose in front of the bronze sculpture while another young woman with ginger hair attempted to take a good picture of her.

"Oh, come on. It's not so hard to capture my charm on camera," said South Carolina in a haughty voice.

Georiga grumbled, "I've already taken a dozen photos."

"Yes, but this one features me doing the same pose as the statue. So, you better get this right."

"Excuse me," the gravekeeper interrupted them, "the cemetery will lock its gates in about five minutes. It's time to leave."

"Okay," said Georgia. "We'll take our leave."

"No! Not yet!" South Carolina snapped at them. "Five minutes is plenty of time for another picture!"

"I've already taken pictures of you the entire day," she groaned.

"Fine." She snatched the camera out of her hand. "You," she shoved the camera into the gravekeeper's hand, "take a picture of me."

"Huh?"

"Don't give me that daft look." She returned to posing in front of the statue. "Take a picture of me."

"But—"

"No buts, peasant! Take a picture of me in front of this statue. I won't leave this graveyard until I get one more picture."

The gravekeeper reluctantly did as they were told.

But after reviewing the picture, South Carolina frowned. "It's too crooked for my liking. Take it again."

"What?"

"Again, I say!" she scoffed. "God, no wonder you're working here. No living being would ever want to deal with your incompetence."

"At least the dead don't complain..." they muttered under their breath.  

Georgia shook her head and sighed, "I'll be waiting outside the cemetery." She left on her own, leaving the poor gravekeeper to deal with the snobby South Carolinian alone.

☆☆☆☆☆

Later that evening, Georgia and South Carolina returned to the city to attend a gay cabaret—a sentence that seemed out of character.

"Indeed, this isn't my type of scenery." Georgia and her fellow state sat at a small round table in front of a stage, trying hard not to stare at all the scantily clad transvestites walking around the club. "To think you ask me to take you to such an establishment, unbelievable."

South Carolina giggled as she sipped her cocktail, "Fufufu! Is this your first time at a cabaret?"

"Of this nature, yes. I would prefer a much quieter place than this." 

"You can visit the retirement home and play Go Fish with the grandmas another day."

"For your information, the grandmas are better company than you. The only reason I'm here is to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

"Like what?"

"Be racist."

She scoffed, "I'm not racist. If I was, I wouldn't be here, to see a Black entertainer no less."

"Uh-huh," she spoke in a doubtful tone. "During the show, you better keep your mouth close and not embarrass me."

"No worries. I'll be on my best behavior."

As the room darkened to a violet glow, the beat of the drums and the sounding of jazzy trumpets introduced everyone to the limelight of the stage. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen!" announces a male voice from the speakers. "Popularly featured in the book, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, she'll soon make her debut on the silver screen, starring as herself. Please put your hands together for the Grand Empress of Savannah—The Lady Chablis!"

The audience applauds and whistles, gradually growing louder as the black curtains drew back, revealing the Grand Empress of the show. At forty years old, she was still fabulous. For the show, she wore a pair of glittering earrings and a cerulean sequin dress that fitted her slender frame like an actress at a gala. Like any star, it was easy for her to grab the eyes of the room. She loved the atmosphere. She loved the attention. She waved and smiled at her audience, speaking into the microphone, "Hello, my bitches!" Her greeting drew more applause from the crowd. "How y'all doin'? Not that I give a damn."

"Woooo!" the audience cheered.

She chuckled for a second. "Before I start pickin' on one of y'all, I wanna ask how many of y'all read the book? The one about me and a bunch of characters no one doesn't give a damn about."

"Yeah!" A bunch of shouts, head nods, and whistles echoed in the room. South Carolina took it a step further, raising a copy of the book in the air.

"Good, good!" She pointed at the book. "If you haven't gotten John's book, you better fuckin' get one after the show. Because later this month, I expect everyone to show up to the premiere of the movie adaptation like tonight's show—excited to see my pussy."

Cheers, whistles, and laughter erupt from the audience.

"So, now I wanna know how many are here because of the book. Raise your hands if you came to Savannah to see The Doll for real."

A dozen hands were raised. Among them was South Carolina who raised them along with her copy of the book, ignoring glares from Georgia.

The Lady Chablis took notice of the individual with a smirk, pointing at her, "You—the Daddy's girl in pigtails. Where you from?"

"Charleston!" she immediately answered, strangely unnerved by the nickname that was suddenly dropped on her.

"Ah, I had a couple of shows at the gay bars over there. Lovely city. Great people with great beaches, too." She looked at the drink in her hands. "Mind givin' me a sip of what you're havin'? I need to cool off from all this sexy hotness I'm exudin'."

"Um, sure." She handed The Doll her cocktail.

The Lady Chablis took a sip of the red drink and hummed. "My, that's some good pussy juice." She took another sip while the audience giggled in their seats. "Ya came with anybody to the show?"

She turned to Georgia who was shaking her head, mouthing a silent yet loud, "NO."

South Carolina smirked. "Yeah! A friend!" She pointed to her companion.

"A friend!" The Doll awed, recognizing the fellow Georgian's blushing face. "Ah, the Grand Empress Georgia. Lovely to see you finally attend one of my shows. Ya enjoyin' yourself?"

She forced a strained smile. "Sure... You're eccentric and raunchy as always..."

She laughed, "That's right, girl! Y'mama still lookin' fine as fuck! Y'all agree?"

"Woooo!" everyone cheered.

Except for Georgia who moaned, "I don't belong here..."

~ Motherfuck it! ~

"To tell y'all the truth, I'm still gettin' used to the idea of myself being shown on the silver screen," said The Doll in a relaxed tone. "Don't get me wrong. I'm used to all the attention—both good and bad. But if you were to tell me back then—a broke sixteen-year-old sissy—I was gonna star in a movie, I would slap you for lyin' or bein' on crack." She paused, letting the audience chuckle.

"Some people say it's not easy bein' gay. Well, try bein' a Black transwoman, livin' in the Deep South no less." She paused. "Lookin' back at my life, I can say without a doubt I was lucky. I knew from the very beginning I was different. I might've looked like a li'l boy named Benjamin. But really, I was a li'l girl who happened to have candy, even though I had no clue what it was at the time. It was no secret. Auntie Katie Bell would joke how often I flirted with men when I was a kid. Gran'mama who raised me during my beginning years didn't approve of my sissy behavior, but she didn't attempt to fix me. For who I am, that was the Lord's business, she believed. As ironic as this might sound, it was thanks to my faith in Jesus Christ and my Gran'mama's love I was able to understand myself.

Still, that didn't mean I was protected like a sweet lamb. Some people wished I acted more masculine—like a man. My mama was no exception. Especially around my teenage years, whenever I did something gay—like wearin' a dress or havin' friends who happened to be boys over at the house—she would force me to strip naked. Then, she would beat me with a switch before tyin' me to the porch, naked for the neighborhood to see." She paused. "I know what you may be thinkin', but I've gotten over it and forgiven her. Because... It isn't easy bein' my mama.  Goin' to nursing school, workin' at hospitals to make ends meet, then comin' home to see your boy wearin' makeup. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to straighten her little Benjamin...

... I would like to think she regretted what she did to me, especially ever since I made a name for myself. Like I said earlier, it isn't easy being a Black transwoman. But it's also not easy bein' the Black parent of a girl with candy. In the end, it's two tears in a bucket, motherfuck it. I eventually found the mamas I ever needed for support while doin' drag. Even durin' the lowest lows when I was sick, penniless, heartbroken, addicted to drugs, and close to gettin' sent to prison because of dumbass bigots, I would've been worse off wasn't for the love and support I had from friends and family. Most importantly, I wouldn't be standin' here lookin' like an uptown White woman weren't for my resolve.

Truly, I'm thankful to John for puttin' me in his book. Ever since people nationwide heard my name, I've been given many opportunities such as bein' in a movie and bein' interviewed in talk shows. And the best part, I get to be my true self, other than controllin' my language, but that's beside the point. Aside from an occasional bigot bein' a dumb bother, there are more people nowadays who love me for I am—a woman who happens to be hiding her candy." She smirked. "Thanks for comin' to my show. I expect y'all to show up at the movie premiere. Until then, bye, bitches!" She waved before shimmying off the stage, leaving an applauding audience on a good night.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me some tea!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Frogmore stew I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm South Carolina!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Palmetto State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A beautiful world can be seen!
Let's shag along to some beach music!
South Carolina!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

July 4, 2020—New York City, New York

"GOOD MORNING, NEW YORK!" America greets New York in the family room, his hands on his hips as he let out a laugh. "Guess what's today? It's— COUGH!" A shot of blood erupts from his mouth, sending the nation down on his knees to suffer another coughing fit.

"America!" New York steps away from his laptop, hurrying over to his side. "What are you thinking? You're supposed to stay in bed." He lifts him back up on his feet.

"I thought I was feeling better to move around normally," he chuckles weakly.

Upon setting the nation down on a couch, New York hands him a box of tissues to clean himself up. "Idiot. It'll take a few more months before we can recover from the recession." He also complains about the mess on the floor while the nation listens with saddened eyes.

"Sorry..." He wipes away the blood around his mouth and chin. "It's just... I'm sick of staying in bed, acting all weak and useless and shit. As the Hero, I should be out there helping people and saving the day..." He lowers his head to lament.

"... Hang in there, America." He gently pats him on the shoulder. "Let's get better together. For everyone." He forces a smile, encouraging the nation to lift his head.

"Yeah..." He nods with hopeful eyes. "Let's get better together."

Taking a few steps back to his laptop, New York suddenly stops in his tracks. "Oh. I'm forgetting something important. What's today again?" He pretends to sound oblivious.

With a funny laugh, America answers, "It's my birthday, dude!"

He smirks. "Oh, right. Happy birthday, America." He returns to his laptop to finish preparations for the party.

☆☆☆☆☆

"It'll take everyone a while to join the party," New York sets his laptop down on the coffee table, "but everyone should be here by tonight to watch the fireworks. At least, that's the original plan."

"That's okay. I know everyone is busy trying to get things back to normal." America wraps himself up in a pizza blanket, getting himself comfy on the couch.

He continues to work with Zoom, making sure everything is good to go. "Okay. I've sent the link. Now we wait for people to join us."

Exactly a minute later, South Carolina joins the party, greeting them in a loud voice, "Hey, America! New York! Looks like I'm the first to show up to the party! How are y'all doin'?"

"Good. You've popped my ears," New York grumbles, lowering the speakers slightly.

"Uh, can you hear me?" Delaware becomes the second person to show up to the party, still getting used to the setup. "Can you see me okay?"

"You're good, Delaware," America assures him.

"Yo!" Pennsylvania appears on the screen in a cheerful mood. "Happy birthday, America. I would hug you weren't for this screen and social distancing."

"I mean, we could try."

After America and Pennsylvania hug their computers in a humorous yet caring way, more states within the Eastern Time Zone and Central Time Zone show up to the party, greeting each other and wishing America a happy birthday.

"How you dudes doing?" America asks everyone who has shown up so far.

"I'm doing well," says New Hampshire. "I live in a rural area, so I'm used to seeing not many people around."

"Me, too," Vermont agrees. "Despite all the bad things that have been happening these days, life has been relatively calm for me."

"Honestly, I'm living pretty comfortably right now despite being sick from the economic downturn." Oklahoma sniffles. "I think that's because isolation has allowed me to take my mind off things like work and responsibilities."

"Exactly!" West Virginia exclaims. "I argue quarantine is the best thing to happen to us."

Arkansas gapes at the states who've calmly spoken about their so-called pleasant experiences in quarantine. "Are y'all crazy? How are y'all not dyin' from boredom?"

Vermont cocks his head. "Well, I do get bored from time to time. But thankfully, my cats keep me company, so I don't feel so lonely." One of his cats leaps onto his lap, purring as he scratches behind their soft pointy ears. "You know, it's thanks to them and isolation I've started making cat vlogs and uploading them onto YouTube. People have messaged me how my ten-minute long cat vlogs have helped them get through quarantine. And that makes me feel good and motivated." He cuddles his cat with lots of love and gratitude.

"Hm... That's nice and all, but I don't own any cats, nor do I care to make pet vlogs like a yuppie," he murmurs.

"If it helps expand your horizons, I've been learning new techniques to improve my painting skills." Oklahoma leaves his computer for a moment, coming back to show off a vivid portrait of a Native American wearing a face mask. "I've been thinking of turning this art into a mural. Although, I'm not familiar with street art. I may ask a street artist to do it for me."

"Hm... That's neat and all, but I'm not an artistic person, nor am I fond of making paintings about a virus that kills people."

"How about getting into video games?" New Hampshire suggests. "Rhode Island and I have been using our free time to play all sorts of games. You can play with us. Or, you can play on your own. They're a lot of fun either way."

"Hm... That's cool and all, but I'm not a gaming person." He looks at West Virginia. "What about you?"

"Me?" He scratches the back of his head. "I'm used to isolation since I live all alone in the mountains. So, life is as usual for me. Hunting, hiking, looking for the Mothman, those kinds of things have kept me occupied. Which by the way, don't you like hunting?"

"I do, but I've reached my limit for some game animals. After hunting for many days in a row, I've sadly grown bored of it." He looks at the rest of the states on his screen. "Does anyone have any good ideas on how to solve boredom?"

"How about reading a book?" Delaware suggests.

He laughs mockingly. "Seriously, does anyone have any good ideas?" He stares at various faces on his screen. "What about you, Alabama? What have you been doing during isolation?"

"None of your goddamn business," he grumbles, still getting used to waking "early" in the morning.

"He's probably watching porn," Rhode Island says casually while playing Plague Inc. on his phone.

"No, I ain't, ya li'l runt!"

"Relax, numbskull. There's no shame in jerking it."

"I mean," Arkansas mumbles with a blush, "it's a bit perverted."

"Ya callin' me a pervert?!" Alabama snarls with clenched fists.

"Hey, I'm not the one who searches for in—"

"SHUT YA MOUTH, OR I COMIN' TO BEAT'CHA DEAD!"

While Arkansas and Alabama argue over the merits of online pornography, Maine joins the party, greeting everyone, "Hello, guys! And happy birthday, America! Anything I—"

"YOU CAN'T HOLD HANDS WITH GOD WHILE MASTURBATING!"

"GOD GAVE US TWO HANDS FOR A REASON, YA KNOW!"

"—miss...?" She smiles uncomfortably, "Actually, never mind."

"You haven't missed much," Rhode Island answers her question, still keeping his eyes on his phone. "By the way, do you know when Masshole will be joining us? As much as I despise the smartass, he's working his smart ass off to make a vaccine. Though, I can't imagine him not showing up today."

She sighs wistfully, "He says he'll appear this evening, but I don't know. He's working so hard with Moderna to create a vaccine, I'm afraid he'll forget about the party." She wipes the corner of her eye with a tissue. "Obviously, joining us shouldn't be his main concern. He can always celebrate America's birthday next year. However, I'm worried about his health. I fear he'll collapse from the pressure placed on him by millions of people. I ask him to take a break, yet he insists he can't. Saying otherwise, there'll be more lives he failed to save..."

With that said, the party grows quiet and somber to the point Arkansas and Alabama cease their dumb argument. Surprisingly, most thoughts on everyone's minds are optimistic. A cure will ensure the return of normalcy. No more isolation. No more social distancing. No more concerns about catching or spreading what's once-believed to be an incurable virus. A rosy future will come with a vaccine.

However, there are some pessimists. As much as she tries to stay positive, Maine worries this "race" for a cure will recklessly rush the development of a vaccine, doing more harm than good in the long-run. On the other hand, she acknowledges another day without a cure means more casualties, more lives that can't be saved... Pennsylvania is confident in the creation of a vaccine in the next few months. However, she worries it won't be enough. Over 2 million Americans have been infected with the virus, the number continuing to grow ever since. It may take several weeks and possibly months to make enough batches to distribute to the people in need. By then, life will return to normal—for some people. New York recalls the large number of people who've fallen victim to the virus. Like the others, he's hopeful for a vaccine, yet it doesn't change the fact over 100,000 people have died; over 22,000 people of them came from his home. Sad to say, life won't be the same after everything that has happened.

"Hey," South Carolina speaks up, attempting to distract everyone with a different topic. "Y'all won't believe what I found the other day while wandering the beach."

"What did you find?" Maine asks, somewhat curious to see what it is. "Is it a giant seashell?"

"Lost pirate treasure?" America takes a wild guess.

"I bet it's a dead body," Rhode Island snickers.

"No. No. And definitely no!" She proudly shows off a Megalodon shark tooth over five inches in length.

"Wow! That's so cool!" America admires the fossil.

"Do ya plan to keep it?" Alabama asks.

"Maybe." She shrugs. "Unless a buyer is willing to cough up a thousand dollars, I guess I'll keep it."

"A thousand dollars?!" America and many states gape at her.

"How else can I make money these days?"

~ Hetalia! ~

"What are you cooking?" Wisconsin asks New York.

He glances at his tablet on the kitchen counter. "A simple brunch consisting of bacon, hash browns, scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee." He sets a frying pan on the stove.

She gives him the stink eye. "That's it? No pancakes? No waffles? Not even breakfast sausages? I doubt that's fulfilling, especially for America. You know he has a huge appetite."

"It's only to get our day started. I don't intend to fatten him like livestock."

"But today's his birthday! His brunch needs to be extra large and extra special!"

"It's okay, Wisconsin," America—remaining situated in the living room—calms her down. "As much as I want to have a huge feast like last year, I'm fine with whatever he has planned."

Hearing this, she relents. "Oh, alright. But next year, I'll be making you a giant breakfast as compensation! It'll brie scrumptious!" Her pun receives groans from pun-hating states.

While New York focuses on making brunch, America continues talking with more states joining the party.

"Hey, guys!" Illinois makes his appearance. "I just got back from looting the store—"

"You didn't!" Indiana scowls.

"I'm kidding! I'm kidding! It's just a joke. I actually paid for my stuff," he retracts in a panic.

"You better be honest."

"It's the truth. I haven't broken any windows or set the store on fire either. Though, I've been thinking of getting a new TV lately..."

"Please stop. It's not funny," she groans. "I can't believe the audacity of some people using the protests as an excuse for looting."

"After everything that has happened, I can't entirely blame them for reacting this way," he mumbles. "By the way, is Minnesota still beating herself up for what happened?"

"Yeah, unfortunately," Wisconsin speaks with a disconcerting smile. "It doesn't help she's working tirelessly at hospitals. I'm afraid she'll fall ill from distress at any moment."

With that said, the atmosphere of the party becomes gloomy again.

"... Okay," Ohio gently speaks up. "Let's get away from social issues for a moment. How about we look ahead to the bright future instead? We can talk about the 2020 U.S. presidential election—"

"NO! NO! NO!" Michigan screams, shaking her head. "Don't turn this into a States Annual Meeting! The whole point of this party is to chill with America on his birthday! No more talks about divisive matters! No more talks about divisive politics! I'm sick of all of it!" She punches a hole in the wall of her apartment, getting surprised reactions from viewers.

"Michie! Are you okay?" America gapes at the blood on her hand.

She glances at her knuckles, undisturbed by the reddened abrasions. "I'm alright. These wounds will heal in a couple of days as long as I stop turning the walls of my apartment into Swiss cheese." She lets out a monstrously groan, "Graaugh! This is stupid. I don't want to be trapped here any longer like a caged animal."

"Isn't lockdown over at your house?" Kansas quietly questions.

"It has ended, but my boss doesn't trust me to go outside on my own." She wipes away the blood with a tissue. "Ever since the anti-lockdown protests, he's afraid I'll act like jackass which... Come on! I'm not that reckless!"

"You destroyed your wall a minute ago," Ohio points out.

"Fuck off!" She flips him the bird. "Once I'm liberated I'm going to punch you in the face."

"Why me?!"

"Because my hand has been itching to get into contact with someone," she growls.

"Are you sure the itching isn't because of an infection?" America asks out of concern.

"I'm sure!" she insists. "Besides, I hate to go to the hospital and waste their resources on a minor wound."

He frowns. "I know you're strong and capable of handling stuff on your own, but please take better care of yourself. I hate to see more people get sick or hurt while being stuck here..."

Recognizing the sadness in his statement, Michigan's mood does a 180-degree flip. She smiles, "Don't worry, America. Next time, I'll use boxing gloves instead of my bare fists to beat the crap out of my shitty apartment whenever I'm in a bad mood."

"That's the spirit!" America laughs along with her.

"Please don't encourage her..." Ohio shudders.

Amid their shared laughter, Kentucky joins the party and asks, "What's so funny?"

"I'm not sure..." Indiana mumbles.

"I think we're going insane after spending months in quarantine," Illinois concludes with a nod.

~ Hetalia... ~

While America and New York have brunch in the living room, the conversation shifts to Missouri joining the party. "I'm so boooored!" she moans while laying her head on her desk. "I can't wait for sports to come back. I feel so empty not rooting for my favorite sports teams."

"What are you talking about?" South Carolina questions. "There are plenty of sports going on."

"Like what?"

"Golf and NASCAR."

"I mean, real sports," she scoffs. "I remember being so happy to see football come back to St. Louis. Sure, it's spring football, but it's better than nothing. Everything was going so well until the stupid virus canceled the season. What a letdown."

"I know, right!" Texas sits upright in her chair. "The Roughnecks were havin' a perfect season until the dumb virus reared its ugly face and put an end to the season. I swear if it fucks with fall football I'm gonna shoot the tarnation out of it!"

She sighs, "Thank goodness the Chiefs won the Super Bowl in February. If they didn't, I would easily rank 2020 as the worst year in my book. Right now, the only thing I'm looking forward to seeing is baseball and the return of the reigning Blues on the ice."

"Don't get your hopes up just yet," Maine speaks up as a fan of New England sports. "Even during the break, the Bruins are determined to get the Stanley Cup."

"So are the Penguins and the Flyers," Pennsylvania mentions her hockey teams. "Of course, we'll have to wait and see how the NHL will resume their games."

"Since we're talking about sports, can we talk about basketball for a minute?" Wisconsin suggests. "As much as I want the Bucks to play again, I'm unsure if it's safe for them or any team to play in Florida's house, especially with the recent rise of coronavirus cases. Who in their right mind would choose to play in Orlando?"

"Disney," Texas answers without skipping a beat. "Honestly, I'm not too concerned with Orlando as a host city for all NBA games. Since they have those smart rings, I trust they'll be able to continue the season without worrying about getting infected. With that said, however, I do have one fear."

"What fear is that?"

She takes in a deep breath, muttering, "The Lakers."

"What?"

"The Lakers!" she screams. "If they win another damn championship, I won't be able to sleep without hearing that stupid Valley Girl brag how good she has it!" She shakes her head in frustration.

"I still haven't forgiven the Warriors..." Ohio grumbles to himself. "Still love Lebron though."

"At least you guys have a basketball tournament this season." Kansas pouts. "If they hadn't canceled March Madness, I bet the Jayhawks would've won it all."

"Nah," Kentucky disagrees. "The Wildcats would've won it all without a doubt."

"It doesn't matter," Indiana sighs. "Because of the cancelation of some conference tournaments, we'll never know which teams would've qualified for the tournament. We can only look forward to November when the next season comes around. It won't be the same, but... Let's just hope the coronavirus doesn't affect college basketball in the fall."

"Uh-huh..." They quietly nod.

"... I know we're in a depression, but can you guys stop acting depressed?" New York complains, sipping his coffee. "Fucking hell. I didn't create this meeting for everyone to sigh and bitch the entire day."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," says Kansas apologetically, trying hard not to sigh. "Sorry, America. Today's your birthday, so we should focus on you instead of all the bad stuff that has happened to us."

"Don't apologize." America softly smiles. "We're all just trying to cope with the situation we're in. I'm happy as it is having you guys keep me company, even when we're miles apart."

"Aw..."

"What did I say about not making this party depressing?" New York groans.

"I know. I'm sorry." She wipes her eyes. "For sure, when things get better, I wanna give you a big hug."

"Me, too," America chuckles. "We'll all give each other big hugs."

"Yeah!" Wisconsin giggles. "Brie-g hugs for everyone!" She blinks her eyes at all the groaning faces on her screen.

~ Hetalia? ~

"You're going out?" Nebraska—having arrived recently at the party— questions New York who's getting ready to go outside.

He explains, "Because of meat shortages, I haven't been able to find any beef patties in stock. But I'm going to try and find some today. Unless something happens to me, I should be back in about an hour."

"You're fine going out on your own?" America follows him to the front door.

"Yeah..." He puts on his face mask before opening the door. "I'll text if something comes..." He looks out the door, noticing New Jersey standing at the doorway (wearing a face mask, obviously).

The Jersey Devil waves casually. "Yo—" The door slams in his face. "Ah, I see you've missed me..."

America opens the door, greeting the Garden State with a smile, "Hey, dude! I was wondering when you were going to show up."

"Show up?" New York gawks at them.

"Yeah. He texted he was coming over to celebrate my birthday."

"How the fuck did I miss that?"

"Oh, don't bother checking the group chat. I told America in a private message," New Jersey tells him with a cheeky smile. "Are you heading somewhere? I can—"

"No! You're not coming with me!"

"... I was about to say I can keep America company while you're gone."

"... Stay six feet away from me, or you're dead." He stomps off, shielding his burning red face.

"No problemo." He steps aside, allowing himself inside the house. "So, America, anything you wanna do while Yorkie cools off?"

"Well, I was trying to decide on a game I wanted to play today." America leads him to the living room, looking over at the laptop on the coffee table. "Somehow, I ended up starting a war."

"I wanna build a giant farm and raise horses!" South Dakota insists in favor of Minecraft.

"Didn't we build a giant farm and raise horses yesterday?" North Dakota questions.

"Yeah, but I wanna build an even bigger one!"

"How about we play Jackbox Games instead?"

"Why? You're not good at trivia games, nor are you funny."

"Sure, but it's more interactive. Everyone can get a chance to join a game session. And whenever they're not playing, they can vote on answers, so they'll still be participating in the game." 

"I still prefer Minecraft though!" She and her brother continue to squabble.

"How about we play Fortnite instead?" New Jersey suggests.

"NO!" the Dakotas shouted together at once, butting him out of the conversation.

"If we're going to play a Jackbox Game, I wanna play either Quiplash or Drawful," says Rhode Island, still playing Plague Inc. on his phone.

"If that's the case, I vote in favor of Minecraft," says Nebraska.

"Why? You don't play Minecraft."

"Knowing you, I figure your answers or drawings will feature something inappropriate."

"Of course!" he cackles. "It makes the games more hilarious."

"I disagree," she grumbles.

"Minecraft!"

"Jackbox!"

"Minecraft!"

"Jackbox!"

"Minecraft!"

"Jackbox!"

Watching them spout words back and forth, America finally decides on, "Fortnite."

"AWWW!" The Dakotas fall out of their chairs in complete shock. "Why Fortnite?"

"I wanna be Captain America," he says as his excuse.

"Good choice." New Jersey gives him a thumbs-up.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, get me Faygo!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Cherry pie I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hey, I'm Michigan!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Wolverine State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The Trolls love the taste of pączki!
I'm Michigan!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

Texas sighs, "I miss rodeo..."

"I miss Summerfest..." Wisconsin sighs.

"I miss the St. Patrick's Day parade." Maine pouts. "If Massy were here, he would probably say he missed that, the Boston Marathon, and the Olympics the most."

"Coachella... E3... Pride parades... Anime Expo... San Deigo Comic-Con..." California rambles on before letting out a long groan. "Why can't we, like, cancel the coronavirus?"

"I have a better idea." Connecticut suggests, "How about we cancel 2020 instead?"

"Yeah, let's pretend 2020 doesn't exist," North Carolina agrees. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss 2019."

"Hey, does anyone remember Storm 51?" Nevada asks everyone while playing Fortnite with America and other states. "What a dumb yet simpler time."

"Speaking of which, how about those UFOs in April? Do you know anything about them?" New Mexico asks.

"Nope. I have no clue what you're talking about."

"Hm... How about Tony? Does he know?" He stares at the gray alien sitting next to America.

"Fucking bubu," Tony grumbles while mashing the buttons of his controller aggressively.

America laughs, "You won't get away this time!"

New Mexico scowls. "Are you listening to me?"

"Huh?" America glances back at him. "What's the question— TONY! NOOOO!"

"Hehehehe," Tony snickers while his character does multiple Fortnite dances.

New Mexico sighs, "Never mind..."

"I wonder if there's a parallel universe where the pandemic didn't exist," Texas mumbles. "Or, a universe where the outbreak was contained. If so, I would do anything to switch places with me in that reality, so I could go to the rodeo."

"I don't know." Nevada shakes his head. "There's a possibility the parallel universe could be worse than the one we're living in."

"How? What's worse than the pandemic?"

He shrugs. "Maybe in that universe World War III actually happened."

"Damn. I completely forgot about that," Tennessee mutters. "It's kinda funny how seven months ago we were making memes about it."

"I didn't think they were funny," North Carolina grumbles. "I didn't think Iran would back down from declaring war on us."

"Me, too..." America chuckles uncomfortably. "Surprisingly, that's not the worst thing to happen in 2020."

"If not for the pandemic, I argue the Australian bushfires were the worst thing to happen," says Iowa. "Those poor animals..."

"Yeah, that's pretty terrible," California mumbles. "Though, I still haven't gotten over the death of the Black Mamba and his daughter. I feel so sorry for his family."

Everyone lets out a collective sigh in low spirits.

"Aloha, everyone!" Hawaii arrives at the party, breaking the gloom with her sunshine-like smile. "Let's escape reality and play some Animal Crossing!"

"Yeah!"

☆☆☆☆☆

"¡Hola (Hello), bitches!" Florida arrives at the party, wearing a black polka dot, red striped tankini with a matching face mask. "Just got back from the beach. Anything I miss?"

"You went to the beach?!" Georgia gapes at her in utter disbelief.

"Of course, I went to the beach. They were open. So, why not? I would've stayed out longer wasn't for the Grim Reaper ruining my day."

She shakes her head with a disapproving scowl. "You're a breed of lunacy no one can't describe without repeating stupid a hundred times."

"You expect me to hibernate throughout the summer like a pasty-faced degenerate. Like, no way."

"But shouldn't you be more careful around the virus?" Hawaii questions worryingly. "I heard your home gained another ten thousand cases yesterday."

Florida lets out a deep breath. "Look, girl. It's bad enough I wasted the entire spring staying indoors. There's no way I'm letting a microbe ruin summer, too. Tourism is big here, so I need to salvage as much money as I can to get things back to normal."

"Sure, but..." she mumbles guiltily, realizing she and the Floridian are on the same boat. "... Yeah. I need the tourism industry to reopen, so I can recover. But at the cost of having more people get sick, I don't want to have that on my conscience."

"It's alright, Hawaii. I feel the same way," says New Jersey upon returning to the living room with a bowl of freshly-popped popcorn. "It's nice to be careful, but we need to keep in mind the unemployed can't stay jobless forever." He stuffs a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "It's double jeopardy. Reopen too early, the number of coronavirus cases increases. At the same time, the economy will grow worse if we don't reopen soon. No one wins either way."

"Then, what should I do? I don't wanna mess things up."

"Don't worry too much, sweetie," Georgia assures her. "As long as you're not making headlines like Florida, I'm sure you're doing a decent job."

"Oye! What do you mean by that?" Florida narrows her eyes at her.

While the Floridian defends her pride from a barrage of criticism, Washington shows up to the party, greeting America, "How's it going, dude? Happy birthday!"

"Awesome! Thanks for coming!"

"Did you get the gift cards in your email?"

"Yep! They're the Amazon and Microsoft Xbox ones, right?"

"Yeah. I thought about getting you a Starbucks gift card, but I might save that idea for the holidays."

"Cool! I can't wait to get a pumpkin spice latte by then." He smiles.

"Since you're here," Nevada speaks up, "I've been meaning to ask about the new consoles. You're getting the Xbox Series X, right?"

He scoffs, "Why even ask? Of course, I'm getting the Xbox Series X."

"You mean the X-mini-fridge?" Rhode Island remarks, getting snickers from the group.

"At least it looks better than the Wi-Fi router," he huffs.

Nevada chuckles, "Well, you two have fun starting the next console war. I plan to get both during the holidays."

"I still love my Nintendo Switch," Hawaii chirps, unperturbed by the console war. "I love Animal Crossing: New Horizons, and I can't wait for the New Pokémon Snap when it comes out."

"Hello, y'all!" Mississippi shows up at a rather strange time. "Guess what? I'm changing my flag."

Georgia is taken aback by this piece of news. "Oh, wow. You are?"

"Uh-huh. I understand why people hate my flag so much, so I'll be making a new one everyone can look up to without appearing embarrassed."

"I guess better now than later..."

She giggles. "So, what's with all this talk about consoles? Are we comforting someone?"

"No, idiot. We're talking about video game consoles," Rhode Island fusses.

"Oh." She blinks her eyes. "I'm not into video gaming."

"We know," says everyone all at once.

In the middle of arguments, Montana and Wyoming quietly show up to the party, trying not to attract too much attention. "Hello, America. Happy birthday."

"Hey, Wyoming. Hey, Montana. Thanks—" America glances at the laptop, dropping his bright blue Joy-con in shock of seeing their pale faces and the dark circles around their sullen eyes. "Holy shit! What happened to you guys?"

"What? Is my camera not working? Can you not see me?" Wyoming messes with his webcam. "Stupid technology. For sure, in-person interactions are better."

"No, that's not the issue. We can see you fine." Iowa frowns. "You guys look like you've undergone mental breakdowns."

"I mean..." Montana murmurs, grasping a bottle of beer. "You're not wrong."

Utah gasps, "No! You better not be thinking what I think you've been thinking!"

"What?" She cocks her head.

"Stop drinking Satan's urine and come to your senses!"

"It's okay, Utah! I'm fine now!" She sighs, "It's just... It has been hard staying motivated these days."

"You guys won't understand," Wyoming grumbles. "Most of our funds have been focused on combating the virus, so there's barely anything left to maintain national parks. It also sucks there aren't many visitors because of the pandemic. So, it's hard to see where our futures are heading..."

"... Wow. No wonder you look tense." Colorado makes his presence known at the party. "If it helps, I can send you some kush to make you feel better." He lights up a reefer and starts smoking.

Wyoming huffs, "I refuse!"

"It'll help relieve the stress." He breathes out a wisp of smoke. "My pantry has been stocked with weed and Doritos since the beginning of the outbreak, so you don't have to worry about me running out any time soon."

"That's not the issue! I refuse to be a pothead!"

"I'm fine with beer," says Montana, taking a swig of her bottle.

"You're only exacerbating the problem!" Utah shrieks.

"Come on, you two. Weed isn't that bad. Right, Wash?" Colorado looks over at his fellow pothead.

He nods. "There are side effects, but it does help take your mind off— AAaaAAaahh!" He leaps out of his gaming chair. "Stay back! Don't sting me!"

"Wash?"

"Yeah, I don't think I'll be taking weed anytime soon."

"T-That's not it! Aaaah!" Washington grabs a book from a bookshelf, lifting it above his head. "It's a murder hornet! It's somehow in my house! Gah!" He wacks a hard surface off camera.

"Did you get it?" America asks.

"... No," he whimpers.

While watching Washington frantically fight a three-inch hornet, America, New Jersey, and Tony hear the front door open and close. They look over their shoulder to see New York arrive with two bags of groceries. "Oh, hey! I see you found some beef patties."

"They were a pain in the ass to find, but I paid good money for them," he grumbles, placing both bags on the kitchen counter. "Since you're here," he eyes the Jersey Devil, "I need your help."

"For how much?" New Jersey smirks.

He knits his brow. "A burger—a burger I bought with my money." He walks over to the hallway. "If you don't help me, I'm not feeding you."

"You're so mean," he whines in a teasing manner. "But fine. I'll help your grumpy ass for a tasty burger." He gets up from the couch, placing the bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table. "Come on, Tony. Lend us a hand."

"Bubu," the alien reluctantly agrees, helping New Jersey and New York get America's presents to the living room.

~ Hetalia! ~

"Okay, America." New York places the last stack of boxes on the floor. "Which present do you want to open first?"

"Good question." He looks at all the packages in the room, still deciding which one to open first.

"Ooh! Pick mine! Pick mine!" California bounces up and down in her gaming chair. "It's the tallest package! You better open it, or I'll be super mad!"

"Alright. If you say so." After using a box cutter to open the tallest cardboard box, America finds himself face to face with Japan. "What in the world?"

"What is it?" New Jersey takes a peek inside the box. "A body pillow?"

She giggles, "It's a dakimakura. I got it last year at Anime Expo. I figure it was better off with you since it would be a while until you see Japan again."

"That's nice and all," America mumbles, "but why's Japan dressed as a cat?" He takes the rest of the dakimakura out of the box, showing off the full-scale of Japan in cat cosplay, causing mixed reactions.

"That's...odd." Nebraska is at a complete loss of words.

"Oh, God! My eyes!" Alabama covers his face.

"Aw! He looks so cute!" Hawaii giggles.

"I should get one for British Columbia..." Washington mumbles to himself, clicking a new tab on his smartphone to see if there are any available to purchase.

"Do you like it?" California asks America. "Isn't he so adorable?"

"Uh, sure." He forces a smile, not wanting to disappoint her. "Thanks, Cali. I'll...take good care of it." He sets the dakimakura on the couch before grabbing another package at random.

"Something smells nice," New York remarks, catching a whiff of cinnamon in the air.

Connecticut smirks. "Before you open it, can anyone guess what it—"

"It's a candle!" America holds up a star-spangled box labeled 'USA' in bold font.

"Ack! America! You're supposed to open it after you make your guess." He sighs. "Oh, well. That's okay. Do you like it?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Connecticut." America takes a whiff of the unlit candle inside the box. "Mm. It smells like a freshly-baked apple pie. I can't wait to light it later tonight."

Setting the candle on the coffee table, New Jersey hands over a slim box for the nation to open. "This one is from Idaho, so I'm expecting some kind of potato product."

"Actually," Idaho counters, "it's not potatoes this time."

"It's clothes!" America exclaims, pulling out a white T-shirt. The print on the shirt says 'July 4th, 2020—The Year When I Was QUARANTINED' in the same font as the Friends TV show. "Oh, wow! There's three of them in here." He pulls out two more shirts, both with the same text except they come in red and navy blue respectively.

"Hopefully, it fits." He holds the white shirt in front of his torso. "Here, New York! New Jersey!" He tosses the navy blue shirt to New York and the red shirt to New Jersey.

"What?" They give him weird looks.

"Hold on!" Idaho objects. "All three are for you, America."

"Sure, but I only need one T-shirt," he excuses. "Besides, I think it'll be awesome if we match." He looks back at New York and New Jersey.

"No." New York throws the shirt back in his face.

"Oh, come on!" He throws the shirt back at him.

"No." He throws it back. "There's no way I'm wearing the same shirt as New Jersey."

"Pretty please!"

"No." They continue to throw the shirt back and forth while the others watch in amusement.

"Pretty please with a sweet cherry on top of a chocolate sprinkled sundae! It's my birthday!" America begs with clasped hands while on his knees.

New York heaves an exhausted sigh, "Alright, alright. Just for you, I'll wear the shirt."

"Yay!"

"Me, too," says New Jersey. "Just for you, I'll wear it." He lifts the shirt he's wearing above his head.

"Kansas, avert your eyes," Nebraska looks away while the guys change into their new shirts.

"Aw," California moans disappointingly, observing New York move out of frame, "I want to see you half-naked. But New Jersey's abs do look fine as fuck though."

'I wonder if he's still a beefcake after months in quarantine...' Texas ponders, waiting for America to come back in his new T-shirt.

America and New York come back on camera wearing their newly acquired shirts alongside New Jersey. Tony has the honor of taking a picture of this special moment.

"What do you guys think?" New Jersey asks everyone.

"I think we look fucking stupid," New York grumbles.

"I think you guys look nice," Oregon compliments them upon arriving at the party. "By the way, happy birthday, America." 

"Oregon!" America smiles. "I thought you wouldn't be here until later."

"I thought so, too. The animal shelter I was volunteering at had adopted out the last of their dogs and cats. I was able to come home early thanks to the animal-loving community." She cuddles a beaver in her lap. "Anyway, who sent the shirts?"

"Me..." Idaho pouts.

"Sorry," America apologizes. "I still love your T-shirts. I think they're funny."

"Whatever. I'm gonna bake a potato and eat it to make myself feel better." He leaves his computer to go do just that.

Trying not to feel too bad about upsetting the volatile Idahoan, America looks forward to another package to open. "Hm. I wonder what's in this one." He takes a box stamped 'FRAGILE' on every side.

"C-Careful! That's mine." North Carolina nervously tells him. "Oh, please God. It better turn out fine. I worked so hard to make it." She bites her fingernail.

After placing the box gently on the coffee table, America entrusts New York to open the package for him; he's afraid to upset North Carolina by chance he messes up. The New Yorker opens the box. He carefully pulls out a gel pack, still cool to the touch. Afterward, he lifts a glass tray covered in plastic wrap out of the box, placing it on the table. America has the honor of taking the plastic wrap off.

"Holy shit! You made this?" He marvels at the strawberry shortcake decorated in the pattern of the American flag.

"Yes!" North Carolina fist-pumps in triumph. "Thank God! I didn't think it would be intact during shipping."

"It looks so good," South Dakota awes. "I want to eat it." She can feel her stomach grumble.

After thanking North Carolina for the cake, America moves the show along, opening more packages from his states. "This one is from Ohio." He opens it and discovers it's a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle of the United States. "Oh, cool. I haven't put one together since...who knows how long? Thanks, Ohio!"

Ohio smirks. "I figure whenever you're feeling bored during quarantine or any situation that forces you to stay indoors you can kill some hours putting that together."

"Hey, America," Tennessee grabs his attention, "can you open my present next?"

"Sure." America is handed a package. He opens it and finds giant bottles of hand sanitizer inside. "Oh, hey! Thanks! I was beginning to run out in stock." He shows off a bottle for the others to see.

New York narrows his eyes at the Tennessean. "How were you able to get this many bottles of hand sanitizer? I barely see any stock at the store or online. Have you been hoarding them?"

Tennessee chuckles nervously, "Of course not. Some of the bottles were donated to me and Kentucky after the settlement. I figure they're better off in America's hands since I don't need, say, 18,000 of them to last for the rest of the year. Now, can you stop giving me the death glare?"

He sighs, "Fair enough." He looks back at America who's busy opening another package.

"Whoa. What are these? They look like sugar cookies." He shows off one of the red, white, and blue firework-shaped biscuits.

"They're bath bombs," Utah clarifies. "Do they smell like cherries? It says they smell like cherries on the website."

He sniffs the bath bomb. "Yeah, they do." He beams. "I'm sure they'll smell even better in the bath. Thanks, Utah."

"You're welcome." He smiles back.

America continues to spend a couple of hours opening presents and thanking his states for their wonderful gifts. New York leaves in the latter half of that time to cook dinner. In the meantime, New Jersey and Tony stream Hamilton on TV, occasionally providing colorful commentary to the presents America opened. Until eventually, there's one present left to be opened.

Before grabbing the box, America sees the Mother of States arrive at the party. "Virginia! Glad to see you make it to my birthday party."

"Hello, America." She smiles. "Are you enjoying your birthday so far?"

"Yeah. Though we're miles apart, it feels like we're all here in the same room." He grabs the last present and opens it in front of her. But after opening it, he doesn't say another word.

"America? Are you okay?" Virginia asks. "You've grown quiet all of a sudden."

"Oh, I'm fine." He takes off his glasses to wipe his eyes for a moment. "Thank you, Virginia. And thank you, everyone, for celebrating my birthday with me." After putting on his glasses, he sets aside the picture frame containing a photo of him, Washington D.C., and his states before heading outside to check on the burgers New York is cooking.

~ Hetalia! ~

"I don't understand. Why isn't this gris-gris working?" Louisiana complains, examining the green gris-gris bag in her palms.

"It's because voodoo magic doesn't work," says Missouri.

"Nah! The gris-gris bags I have always bring good luck. They've won me thousands of dollars in gambling over the years. But this one," she glares at the gris-gris, "isn't making the situation better for me. If anything, things keep getting worse!" She throws it over her shoulder.

"You said you made it yourself?" Texas asks.

"Yeah. I made sure to speak genuine words about good health and protection. I worked so hard to make it." She sighs. "I need a cold drink."

"Me, too," Arizona moans as she drags herself to the party. "Hey, America. Happy birthday."

"Dude, are you alright?"

"Yeah." She yawns. "I'm just tired. I've spent hours helping the Navajo Nation. But whatever I do, it doesn't seem like things are getting better."

"Cheer up, cher!" Louisiana tells her. "You keep doing your thing to help them. Eventually, things will get better. If you don't believe me, I'm willing to make you a gris-gris for free in any color." She shows off a bunch of colorful pocket-sized bags. "Peace, prosperity, protection, a gris-gris will provide anything you desire. It can even improve your sex life. Right, America?"

"Let's hope so," he chuckles, wearing Louisiana's gift around his neck.

"I'll think about it..." Arizona mumbles.

"Okay, everyone!" New Jersey finishes lighting the candles on the strawberry shortcake. "It's time to sing Happy Birthday."

Together, the states in the party start singing, "Happy birthday to you~ Happy birthday to you~ Happy birthday dear America~ Happy birthday to-"

"WHAT'S UP, MOTHERFUCKERS! I FINALLY MADE IT!" Maryland arrives at the party in a drunken mess, interrupting the song.

"Maryland, have you been drinking?" Virginia questions with a raised brow.

"Pffft! Of course not!" she laughs with a glass bottle in her hand. "I've been drinking potato juice. It's perfectly healthy."

"That's vodka."

"Whatever!" She waves her off. "I deserve it after working so hard for D.C.!"

"Speaking of whom, do you know when she's getting here?" America asks.

She shrugs. "I don't know. She says she's too busy to watch fireworks this year. Sucks for her." She guzzles vodka down her throat.

"A-Ah! Stop that! Drinking that much alcohol isn't good for your health!" Minnesota warns her upon showing up to the party, having yet dressed out of her scrub suit.

"Minnie!" America exclaims. "It's great to see you here."

She bows her head. "I'm sorry, America. I'm sorry, everyone."

"You're not late if that's what you're worried about," says Texas. "It's no big deal."

"It's not because of that." She whimpers, "I've... I've made a lot of mistakes during these recent months. Because of my mistakes, I've dragged everyone into a bigger mess than the one we were in before. And so, a part of me doesn't believe I deserve to be here..."

"Can you stop acting like a crybaby?"

"Huh?" Minnesota looks up at her screen. "Massachusetts?"

"Hey, it's Masshole!" Connecticut cheers. "Congratulations! You've made it to the party!"

"I knew you wouldn't miss the fireworks." Maine applauds.

"Yeah, yeah." Massachusetts shrugs them off. "Anyway, Minnie, stop blaming yourself. What happened isn't entirely your fault. Yet, you've taken the steps to amend which is what matters. To do that and continue helping others during the pandemic takes a lot of guts and balls. So, quit acting as if you owe us anything. Don't forget you've done a lot to make up for it."

"Um, thank you for your...encouragement," Minnesota sniffles sheepishly. "Sorry if I annoy anyone with my pitiful cries. I guess all this guilt and stress I've been building up has taken a bigger toll on my health than I thought."

"We still love you, Minnie," America assures her. "If you need to take a break from work, we understand."

She softly smiles. "Thank you, but a lot of patients are counting on me. But don't worry, I'll be more careful not to overwork myself."

"So," New Jersey awkwardly speaks up, "other than D.C., I think everyone has shown up to the party as planned."

"I feel like we're forgetting someone though..." New York mumbles.

"Um, I'm here." Alaska's laggy face speaks up upon arrival. "My connection is bad, but am I on time? Are the fireworks still going on?"

"Yeah! You're just in time." New Jersey smiles. "Alright, everyone. From the top, let's sing Happy Birthday!"

Once more, everyone sings "Happy Birthday" to America, clapping and smiling by the end when he blows out the candles. Afterward, they turn on their televisions, switching to NBC to watch Macy's 4th of July Fireworks. America does the same while he, New York, New Jersey, Tony, and an invisible unicorn eat their slices of strawberry shortcake.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me tomato juice!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Buckeye candy I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hey, I'm Ohio!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Buckeye State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A beautiful world can be seen!
Home of American football!
I'm Ohio!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

July 24, 1857—Salt Lake City, Utah Territory

"I knew this was a bad idea..." Brigham Heber, the twelve-year-old son of Lucy Ann Decker, bemoaned. "What are we looking for again?"

"Anything." The ten-year-old named Utah stuck his head inside a wooden cabinet. "There has to be something about my mother in here."

"I'm sure there is, but this is Father's office." He nervously observed the mess they made during their search. "We didn't even ask for permission."

"Relax, Heber," Oscar Brigham, the eleven-year-old son of Harriet Elizabeth Cook, assured his older brother. "We'll clean everything up, so Father won't know we've been snooping around."

Even so, Heber clasped his hands together and prayed, "Forgive us, Father. If there's punishment for what we've done, punish me for I've failed as their older brother."

"Cut it out." He slapped him on the back. "Father isn't even here."

"But he'll know! He'll know what we've done here!"

"Not with that attitude!"

While his older brothers squabbled over who to blame, Utah continued to search his father's office, hoping to find clues and answers to questions that had been plaguing his mind. 'There has to be something within his desk. It's the only place left I haven't looked.' He opened the first drawer and found nothing useful. He then opened the second, the third, and the fourth drawer. Sadly, there were only a bunch of writings related to his father's work from what he could tell. He was beginning to lose hope.

But then, he reached the fifth drawer and found what might be the answer to his questions—a journal. He grabbed it immediately and started reading a random entry. 'March 20, 1847... Today, I met with the sixteen-year-old Lucy Bigelow and her nineteen-year-old sister Mary Jane. I promised to return to Winter Quarters and bring them with me—'

He gasped and shut the journal. 'What's wrong with me? This is Father's journal. Meaning, what's inside is supposed to be private—a secret.' He stared at the journal in his hands with a contemplative frown. 'Heber is right. This is a bad idea. I shouldn't pry without Father's permission.' He looked around the office, realizing how much of a mess he made. 'I better clean up. I better put this away.'

"Found you!"

"Eep!" Utah was taken aback by a big hug. He looked down and recognized Zina Presendia, the seven-year-old daughter of Zina Huntington, aka one of his little sisters.

She giggled, "Happy birthday, Brother!"

"T-Thank you, Presendia." He smiled awkwardly.

"Presendia!" Oscar hissed. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Should I?" She cocked her head. "Aunt Harriet finished teaching us a while ago."

"Uh-huh." The boys froze as they looked to the doorway where Jeanette, the eight-year-old daughter of Clara Decker, stood with a sly smile. "You three are in so much trouble making a mess of Father's office."

"W-We were just about to clean up," Heber stuttered. "Right, Oscar?"

"R-Right! Don't tell on us." He turned to his younger sister. "You, too, Presendia. You better not tell your mother, the aunts, the servants, our brothers, our sisters, and Father about this."

"Okay," Presendia giggled as she grabbed Utah by the wrist. "Come on. We can't let Father know you've been here." She dragged him with a surprising amount of strength that made him stagger.

"Hang on! Don't leave us!" Heber called out. "You're the one who made most of the mess!"

"Cut him some slack. Today's his birthday," Jeannette snickered. "Anyway, you two better start cleaning up before any of our aunts find out." She quickly left with a skip to her step.

"Wait! Come back!" the brothers groaned.

"A-Ah! Hang on!" Utah was reluctant to leave his older brothers behind to clean up on their own.

In the end, he decided not to hurt his younger sisters' feelings and went along with what they had planned, carrying Brigham Young's journal under his arm.

☆☆☆☆☆

April 5, 1847—Winter Quarters (Present-Day Nebraska)

The American Moses—Brigham Young—recalled a vision he had. Somewhere in the Great Basin, there was a place that resembled the Promised Land. A vast valley by a shimmering lake surrounded by magnificent mountains. Joseph the Prophet said to him, 'Build under the point where the colors fall and you will prosper and have peace.' And so, he shall for he and the Latter-Day Saints were ready to depart from their depressing winter encampment.

"From the words of the Lord and Joseph the Prophet," Young spoke strongly to the 148 people in the vanguard company, "keep your hearts open to conviction so that when the Holy Ghost comes, your hearts will be ready to receive it. To tell apart from other spirits, it will whisper peace and joy. It will take malice, hatred, envy, strife, and all evil from the heart. Their whole desire will be to do good, bring forth righteousness, and build up the Kingdom of God. Follow the Spirit of the Lord, all will go right." He turned to his wagon driver. "Drive on."

Though the weather was chilly and rainy, the Mormons let out cheers as they headed westward to their new home.

~

April 21, 1847—The Pawnee

The Indians of the Great Plains were a force to be reckoned with. They were more agile, more fierce, and more dangerous compared to their Eastern counterparts. Part of the reason was their possession of horses and European weapons, greatly increasing their power and movement. Any pioneer passing through the prairie should always have a loaded gun in possession. Because without one, the Indians wouldn't hesitate to take anything from a wagon, including a life, no matter if they were a man, woman, or child. In summary, the sight of an Indian was never a good thing.

Remarkably, it came as a surprise to the Latter-Day Saints when they found the Indians of a large village to be socially friendly. It was strange. They were shaking everyone's hands without holding any qualms. Unfortunately, the Saints couldn't reciprocate the same feelings, doubtful of hidden intentions. With caution, however, they acted friendly for the sake of passing through without incident.

"Have your people always been friendly with travelers?" Young asked an old chief as he accepted gifts from them.

"How else can we get sophisticated goods?" He referred to the gifts of tobacco, flour, salt, and fishhooks his people received from the Mormon pioneers. "I wish you've given more, but it'll do for now."

"For now?"

"Yes. For now." The old chief looked to the West. "Admittedly, I don't like your people going through our country."

"Why?"

"The Pawnee rely on buffalo for everything. I'm afraid your people, like other travelers, will kill the buffalo and drive them away." He sighed, "Of course, I can't stop you or your people. My people are still recovering after the Cutthroats (aka the Lakota) burned down our old village. And with so many enemies, the Pawnee can't afford to have any more losses."

"... We're not like other travelers," he said bitterly. "We'll hunt when necessary, but we don't intend to be wasteful of flesh."

"Thank you." The old chief bowed his head. "I wish your people a safe journey."

~

May 7, 1847—A Sea of Buffalo

A week had passed since the first sighting of buffalo, yet the Saints remained in awe of the big brown beasts of the Great Plains. Hundreds of thousands of them took over the prairie, covering every square mile as far as the human eye could see. It was tempting to hunt one for sport. Unfortunately, they couldn't without worsening their leader's mood. Besides, there was plenty of buffalo meat in their wagons.

Though there was plenty of food for the pioneers, there was barely any food for the oxen and the horses. The springtime prairie fires and the thousands of free-roaming buffalo left nothing for their livestock to graze. The grain they kept stocked in their wagons was depleted long ago. Hungry and exhausted, the oxen were unable to carry the wagons an entire day. Having started the journey late at noon, their leader decided it was impossible to continue traveling in their weakened state, forcing them to retire early around 3 p.m. This consequently worsened their leader's mood.

Speaking of their leader's mood...

"Are you still upset about yesterday?" asked Erastus Snow.

"Of course, I am," Young grumbled, refusing to look him in the eye. "If you hadn't lost control of the cattle, I wouldn't have lost my $40 spyglass in the frantic chase. That's, like, the equivalent of losing $1,257.55 in 2020."

"What? How would you know that?"

"That's beside the point," he huffed. "You had one job I trusted you to do, and you failed to do it properly. Had we failed to fix your mishap, our plans to settle in the Great Basin would've been in jeopardy."

"You—"

"You should cut him some slack, Brother Brigham," Heber B. Kimball, an original member of the Quorum of Twelve, interjected. "It's not easy herding the company's cattle amid an ocean of buffalo. A careless act, yes, but it won't happen again. Right, Erastus?"

"... Right," Snow relented. "My apologies, Brother Brigham. It won't happen again."

"It better not." Young scanned the surrounding area. "In this desolate prairie, far from civilization, we can't afford to make a mistake that'll risk our livelihoods. For everyone's sake, do a better job from now on."

Unable to find good grass for the cattle to graze upriver, Young and the five men joining him went back to the company campsite a short distance away. Upon their return, there was some daylight left, about three hours before bed. Young was about to call the company to gather around him when a team captain rode up to him upon his horse.

"Brother Brigham! Brother Brigham! We found your spyglass!" The team captain got off his horse and presented the $40 spyglass.

Young took his spyglass with eyes full of amazement. "Color me impress. You found it."

"Yes, sir. My team and I went back to where you lost your spyglass, wanting to search for it once more," he said. 'Nor did we want you to act grouchy the entire weekend.'

He smiled. "Good job. And thank you for finding it." He placed the spyglass in his chest pocket. "Now, if you don't mind, can you call the company to gather in the nearby field? It's time for a military drill."

The team captain gaped at him. "I beg your pardon."

"There's no harm doing some training," he chuckled. "Hurry up, now. We're wasting precious daylight." He went off to check on one of his wives, leaving behind the group of exhausted men.

"At least he's in a better mood," the captain mumbled as he went away to gather men for a military drill.

~

May 28, 1847—Scotts Bluff

'The morning was very fine,' William Clayton, recording scribe for Brigham Young during the journey, observed. 'We have seen several romantic spots throughout the week. On Sunday, we stood atop Ancient Bluff Ruins and marked our presence on a buffalo skull. On Monday, we met and traded with Sioux Indians opposite of Courthouse Rock; the interaction was surprisingly positive. On Wednesday, we spotted Chimney Rock which Orson Pratt, a skilled mathematician, estimated to be 200 feet/61 meters tall (he was off by 86 feet/26 meters). However, it was nothing compared to Scotts Bluff. Majestic and sublime, the prairie over our route was very level and green as far as we could see. The scenery was truly delightful beyond imagination. May we continue to see such wonders along our journey.'

~

June 4, 1847—Fort John (later known as Fort Laramie)

While resting themselves and their animals for several days, Young and his companions met with James Bordeaux, the principal man of the fort. The Frenchman was willing to answer all their questions, including ones regarding the Oregon Trail.

"It's 350 miles/563 kilometers from here to Fort Bridger," he informed them. "Depending on your pace, it should take around a month to get there. But be warned, the mountainous desert-like region is known to make anyone ill. If I were you, I stock up on water and medicine, at least anything that can bring down a fever."

"Thank you for your advice," said Young. "I'll keep that in mind when we venture to the valley of the Great Salt Lake."

He raised a brow. "The Great Salt Lake? You're not going to Oregon or California?"

"No. We plan to settle in the Great Basin."

He scratched his noggin. "Is there something great about the valley I don't know about? I heard from mountaineers it's unhabitable. No offense. I know the trails to Oregon and California are long and tedious, but the land is much better compared to where you're heading."

"I'm aware of what they say about the Great Salt Lake," he acknowledged. "But for our good, we'll find a way to make it work."

Bordeaux smirked. "Mormons, is that what you call yourselves? From what I've observed, your people are the most civil and well-behaved company to ever pass the fort. It's hard to believe your people are so hated by most of the civilized country."

"Indeed, it's hard to believe..." Young somberly recalled the violence in Nauvoo. "... If you don't mind answering another question I have, I like to know the items you have in stock as well as their prices."

"Sure, sure. I'll tell you what we have." He brought out a list. "A pair of moccasins will cost about $1.00. Fabric is sold for $1.00 per yard. Buffalo robes sell between $3.00 to $5.00 each depending on size and quality. For animals, cows cost from $15.00 to $20.00 while horses and ponies cost $40.00 each on average. At the moment, our spring supplies have yet arrived. Sorry to say, we don't have sugar, coffee, or spices in stock, but we do have flour for 25¢ per pound."

"I'm fine with no coffee."

"Oh?"

"We, Mormons, don't drink coffee."

"Quoi (What)?!"

~

June 28, 1847—South Pass

Dry Sandy—two appropriate words that described the desert crossing across South Pass. Destitute of timber and vegetation except for wild sage, the words of mountaineers were true from what they saw. If the land surrounding the Great Salt Lake was barren like they said, it would be impossible to thrive and create a paradise.

"You have to be foolhardy to bring an entire town here!" A liquored-up mountaineer named Jim Bridger let out a wheezing laugh as he offered his flask to the surrounding Mormons at the campsite. "Anyone want some? The water here is too brackish to drink."

"We don't drink," Brigham Young declined for the entire company. "But thank you for the information. I'll give you a pass on our ferry across the Platte."

He snickered, "So, you're serious about creating a paradise in the Great Salt Lake? Well, good luck then. I give $1,000 for a bushel of corn raised in the basin."

"Wait a little," he smirked, "and we will show you."

"Sure, you will!" He guzzled down the rest of his flask. "Hey! Anyone wanna hear another tale of my adventures?"

"Erm, sure," said Wilford Woodruff, a member of the Twelve Apostles.

"So, there's this narrow canyon. At the head of it is this 200-foot waterfall. One day, I was passing through when a bunch of wild Indians jumped out of the waterfall and chased after me. I barely made it out of there alive!"

"How did you escape, Jim?"

"I didn't," he answered. "They scalped me."

"Uh, what...?"

~

July 7, 1847—Fort Bridger

Fort Bridger wasn't as nice as Fort John. It was a poorly built adobe structure showing early signs of decay despite being put up five years ago. Seeing the poor conditions of the shambling shack, Young decided their stay wouldn't be as long as their stay at Fort John. While there to do some trading and repairing, the Mormon leader decided the time was appropriate to write a letter to his brethren at Winter Quarters.

To everyone at Winter Quarters,

By the time you receive this letter, the vanguard guard and I will have hopefully reached the Great Salt Lake. Once everything is settled, we'll make our return and bring everyone to the region. Until then, I ask everyone to continue praying for us. So far, the journey hasn't killed our spirits thanks to our faith in the Lord. But there are hardships we continue to face almost daily. Even so, we're thankful to have made it this far. As always, the Spirit of the Lord and the love of the Saints in our hearts will drive us home. Please continue to pray for our safety and our success in the hopes we can come back and show everyone the Promised Land.

President Young

~

July 13, 1847—The Needles

"Cough! Cough! Cough!" Brigham Young laid in the sick wagon, hot and nauseous in the head.

The Mormon leader had been sick since yesterday. Fever, chills, headache, abdominal pain, nausea... He had the symptoms of mountain fever (aka Colorado tick fever). Unfortunately, he wasn't the only person in pain. A couple of Mormon pioneers had become sick, suffering from the same conditions. Though the medicine they had relieved their fevers, they were too weak to continue the journey. For now, Orson Pratt was in charge of leading the company, looking for a stable path to the valley. Heber C. Kimball and several individuals stayed behind in the rear guard to take care of the sick.

Clara Decker, the sixth wife of Young, placed a damp cloth over her husband's forehead. "Are you sure the medicine is working?"

"Yes..." he breathed. "My fever isn't as bad as yesterday... Tomorrow, I should be able to continue the journey."

"For everyone's sake, please don't push yourself too hard."

"But we're almost there! Cough! Cough!"

She gave him some water. "We know. The valley is close. We'll go once you're able to continue traveling." She looked up at the Needles where Kimball and several pioneers prayed for the recovery of Young and the rest of their sick party.

~

July 24, 1847—Salt Lake Valley

The Valley of the Great Salt Lake—a land depleted of timber and happiness. On second thought, there was timber—on the mountains in the long distance. Either way, it wasn't plausible to build log houses. Maybe they could make Spanish brick or build lodges similar to the ones in Pawnee villages. In either case, it wasn't what the Latter-Day Saints had in mind, yet they remained optimistic.

'Though I'm happily disappointed in the appearance of the valley of the Salt Lake, I hope it's rich as its appearance,' William Clayton observed while spending his labor tilling the land. 'The deep blue lake is handsome but full of salt. Fortunately, there are plenty of streams, creeks, and smaller lakes in the valley—also full of salt. Though the land is dry from a lack of rain, the springs—despite being full of salt— have made the surrounding soil nice and rich, good for farming and grazing. Timber is lacking, but we expect not to find a timbered country. There are groves of small fir, cedar, and pine in the mountains, but it'll take a vast amount of time and labor to make use of it. Overall, the lack of timber is the only complaint among everyone. Otherwise, the valley is fertile with potential. I have no fears the Saints can live here and do well.'

He wiped the sweat off his brow. 'To live as a poor person in the wild country surrounded by friendly Saints with privileges and blessings of the everlasting priesthood, or live in the wealth of gentile society at the cost of being mobbed, harassed, hunted, and be in danger for eternity. There's no doubt about it. I choose the quiet wilderness. Though I fear the road to this valley and its many dangers, I hope to bring my family here, so I can truly be happy.' He gazed at the mountains with an optimistic smile.

Atop a mountain summit, riding in Wilford Woodruff's carriage, the languished yet bright-eyed leader of the Latter-Day Saints took in the magnificent view of the great valley. He expressed his satisfaction in the appearance of the valley as a resting place for the Saints, simply telling the driver, "This is the right place. Drive on."

~ Hetalia! ~

July 24, 1857—Salt Lake City, Utah Territory

An hour past bedtime, Utah snuck out of his bedroom on the third floor of the Lion House. As quiet as a mouse, he snuck across the hall, down the stairs, down more stairs, and across more halls after opening multiple doors. He almost made his way around the house in the dark and without getting caught. Well, almost...

Opening the door to the office, Utah was shocked to find his father working at his desk, awake during this late hour. Caught up with fear and embarrassment, he shrank behind the doorway, about to dash back to his room. But then a calm voice from the office called his name. He froze and took a deep gulp. Slowly, he stepped back into the office, carrying the journal behind his back. The Lion of the Lord stood in front of his desk, waiting for him to come near. But the closer he drew, the smaller he became. The courage he gathered was little compared to the immense amount of fear he held. He wanted to cry.

"It's past bedtime," said Brigham Young, showing no anger.

"Yes, sir. I know I should be in bed," Utah mumbled, unable to look him in the eye.

"Why are you awake?" He watched the boy glance at his feet in silence. "Are you still hungry?"

He shook his head. "No, sir. I've eaten plenty."

 "Then, are you having trouble sleeping?"

He shook his head.  "No, sir. That's not it. I..." Lowering his head, he revealed the journal and presented it to his father.

Young watched the little boy shiver like a scared pup, close to shedding tears as the silence between them grew increasingly unbearable. "... You read everything?"

"Y-Yes, sir!"

"Any impressions?"

"Erm... The entries were short—shorter than Aunt Snow's poems." He lifted his eyes, surprised to see a smirk on his father's face.

"Honest but true," he said. "I left most of the observations for others to write in greater detail. If you read their journals, I'm sure you would've gotten a better idea of the journey." He took back his journal.

He frowned. "You're not mad...?"

His father paused. "No, not really. I was paranoid to find my office in slight disarray, but that feeling disappeared after I figured out what was missing and who could've been responsible for the mess."

"Sorry."

He sighed, "There's nothing wrong being curious as long as it's within respectful boundaries. I'll give you a pass for borrowing stuff without my consent. But next time, I won't tolerate it if it becomes a habit."

"I understand. It won't happen again."

"Now," he placed his journal back inside his desk, "if that's all you came here to do, I want you to go to bed and get some rest."

Though free to go, Utah remained in the office, still facing his father. "Actually, can I ask you a question?"

"What is it?"

"... Do you know anything about my mother?"

He tilted his head. "I thought I told you. I found you playing in a meadow all by yourself. I couldn't find your mother."

"Oh..." He rubbed his arm. "I thought otherwise..."

Young walked over to him and patted the top of his head gently. "These doubts blind you from the truth."

"The truth?"

"A stable household with plenty of food, clothes, books, toys, and room. A family with mothers, aunts, siblings, servants, and friends." He kneeled to hug him. "Though you have no mother, God has given me the power to do whatever I can to provide you the best life possible, full of love, peace, and prosperity. Everything around you is a blessing not everyone in the world has. Even I grew up without some of these things."

"A blessing..." he murmured, shedding some tears in his father's warm embrace. "I'm sorry, Father. I should've never doubted you. If anything, I should've been grateful for all the good things you've done for me."

"It's alright. I forgive you." He softly smiled as he wiped the tears off his cheeks. "There'll be a time when I'll depart from this world. When that time comes, I hope the things I've done you'll appreciate, more than ever."

"I will," he sniffled. "I'll always be grateful for everything you've done for me. I won't forget such warmth and compassion."

He softly smiled. "It's getting late. I'll escort you to bed. It's the least I can do as your father."

Without argument, Utah followed his father. They retraced his steps, going across halls, up some stairs, up more stairs, and across more halls until they reached his bedroom. Not a word was uttered between them since leaving the office, mainly not to make noise that would disturb the peaceful night. Though, Utah swore he heard his father say something to himself as he took a step into his room.

"An evil?" He looked back at his father with innocent eyes.

"Oh. It's nothing."

He frowned. "It's alright. You can tell me."

Initially reluctant, Young decided to confess, telling him, "An evil will be coming here soon."

"And?"

"We may have to leave this house if necessary."

"Oh... I think I understand." His mature response amazed his father. "Don't worry. I know you'll do what's right and what's best for everyone."

He softly smiled. "Thank you for understanding. Your kind words will help me sleep tonight." He watched Utah tuck himself to bed. "Alright. Good night and sleep tight."

"You, too. Good night and sleep tight, Father. Don't stay up too late."

"I'll try not to," he whispered as he closed the bedroom door, his head hung low. After standing in front of the doorway for a long haunting minute, he started to make the slow walk back to his office. "That's right," he mumbled to himself. "I'll do what's right and what's best for everyone. So, for everyone, I'll defend this place with unwavering determination..."

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, want some Postum?
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of those
Funeral potatoes I ate before!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hello, I'm Utah!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Beehive State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A beautiful world can be seen!
The honey bees are busy today!
I am Utah!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

'Oh no! I'm going to be late for the States Annual Meeting!' Oregon sprinted down the hall while brushing her hair.

This situation could've been prevented if she charged her phone last night. If she did, the alarm set for this morning would've gone off. Instead, she woke up to the sun shining on her face, her blurry eyes reading 8:33 a.m. on the digital clock atop the nightstand. She only had enough time to get dressed in business attire. Staying in her hotel room any longer meant a greater risk of getting scolded by D.C. in front of the entire room. That would be embarrassing!

"Hopefully, I'm not too late," she panted as she pushed open the doors, hit by a bright white light that made her close her eyes for a few seconds.

"Hey! You! You're late!" yelled a posh female voice.

She immediately bowed her head, saying, "Sorry! I forgot to charge my phone."

"No excuses! Stupid commoner, you should be ashamed for wasting everyone's time!"

"Commoner?" Oregon looked up at a young woman whose eyes matched the color of money with a shade of snobbery. "Who are you?" She wasn't familiar with her, yet she resembled a certain character from New England.

She scoffed, "Don't try to fake amnesia. You're still in trouble for being late."

"But—"

"Give the poor girl a break. No need to bark at her for being a tad late," said a high-pitched female voice with an Italian accent.

Once again, Oregon was caught in confusion, questioning another newcomer's identity. The young woman striding toward them looked like she stepped out of a nightclub after being filmed for an MTV series. No kidding. She wore a shimmering strapless dress that didn't fit today's formal occasion. She smelled like a hangover mixed with a morning cigarette and a bunch of sweet smells—a nauseous blend of perfume, hair spray, and tanning spray. Oregon had to back away a couple of feet to gulp in some fresh air. If she didn't, she would've suffocated to death.

"You!" The posh woman poked the newcomer's busty chest. "Not only are you late, but you also dared to show up looking like a whore! Do you even have a shred of decency?"

"Fuck off, bitch!" The busty woman slapped her hand away. "Be grateful I showed up. Otherwise, I wouldn't have bothered dealing with your clam-chowing cunt."

She gasped, "Take that back!"

"Why should I?"

The women exchanged glares.

"Hey! Do I have to break up another fight?" A bubblegum-chewing tomboy wearing an unbuttoned Yankees jersey stepped between them, wielding a baseball bat that rested on her shoulder. "You fucking bitches are wasting my time with your pointless bickering. If I miss the Yankees game, I'm gonna break both your kneecaps."

The busty woman snickered, "Go ahead, Yorkie. Break a leg. I like to see you try."

"Okay! You asked for it!" The Yankee tomboy swung her bat at the busty woman but missed.

"Ha! Strike one!"

"Shut up, skank!"

"Quit it, you two!" The posh woman pulled out a wand from her suit jacket. "Any more buffoonery, I'll turn you into turkeys!" Her warnings did nothing to diminish the violence.

"Massachusetts...? New Jersey...? New York...?" Oregon watched helplessly, unsure how to feel about the situation she stumbled upon. "WHAT IS GOING ON?!"

☆☆☆☆☆

"Do you like jazz?" asked a woman resembling Illinois as she started playing her saxophone.

Before Oregon could answer, an arm suddenly wrapped around her shoulders. She looked up at a country girl whose charming smile resembled a certain Tennessean. She was too shocked to ask if she was the female version of that state.

"Howdy, cutie! Ya like country? Wanna help me write a song about my complicated love life?" She started strumming her classical guitar.

"U-Um, no thanks...!" Oregon pushed her away and stumbled backward, unintentionally bumping into another unfamiliar woman.

"Hey! You! Tell me who's better. Me or Michigan?"

"Uh..."

"Wrong! It's me, Ohio!" she laughed. "Michigan wishes they're me!"

"Okay..." she mumbled. "Seriously, what's going on?"

Nearby, a female Washington with long dark hair rolled her eyes at all the states that surrounded her. "I'm surrounded by idiots," she grumbled before putting on a pair of headphones, listening to grunge music while smoking weed to soothe her head.

"Hey," a seductive voice made Oregon turn around, confronting a tall woman with silver eyes, "I can make your dreams come true if you give me a hundred bucks." She smirked.

"Wh-Wh-What?!" Her face turned rosy red.

"Stop that, Nevada!" An uptight girl with blonde hair in a beehive hairdo confronted them. "Have you any shame?"

"Huh? Why would I be ashamed? There's nothing wrong—" The rest of Nevada's statement was censored by the Saints of the LDS Church which nevertheless appalled the conservative girl.

"By the Book of Mormon, I command you cease your debauchery!"

"And if I refuse?" She stepped toward her, forcing her against a wall.

"I..." She gritted her teeth. "I won't submit to your lustful trickery!"

"Oh?" She held her chin, gleefully watching the Mormon girl tremble. "Come on, Utah. Don't you wanna—" Once again, the censors prevented the audience from learning the sexual act she was suggesting.

Despite quivering like a leaf, Utah stubbornly maintained her dignity with reddened cheeks, "H-Ha! As if I let you do such perverted things!"

"But if you ladies do decide to do the deed," a short girl in a white beach dress interrupted the tension with a question, "can I watch?" She prepared a camera in hand. 

"Sure, Rhody. You're always a perve for these kinds of things," Nevada gave her permission.

Utah gaped at both of them. "No way! And you're not filming this either! Also, we're not going to do those kinds of things because it's disgusting!"

"... Seriously, what's going on?" Oregon continued to silently sink further into the background of the ongoing chaos in the room.

"Honestly, I don't know," answered a female version of Idaho standing next to the disturbed Oregonian, eating a buttery baked potato without a care in the world. "I may have a vagina, but I still love potatoes."

~ Nyotalia! ~

Oregon groaned, "How on Earth did my friends turn into girls?"

"That is something I can explain to you." From the doors that led to this room, a holy man in white robes appeared from a pure bright light that nearly blinded her sight.

"God?" She stared dumbfounded. "The same one who made the Four Corners Gang switch bodies?"

"Yep! That's me!" He appeared to be proud of himself, much to her disappointment.

"What's going on? Why did my fellow states transform into girls?"

"Isn't this what you wished for?"

"Wish?"

"You wished for more girls." God spread his arms out with a happy harem of beautiful women behind him. "Therefore, I surrounded you with ladies to fill you with happiness."

She scowled. "Thanks. I hate it."

"Hate it?"

"I wished for more girls—I can relate to," she clarified in an irked tone. "These girls are horrible! They're violent! They're perverted! They're obnoxious! They're...not what I wished for!"

"Too bad." New Jersey appeared over her shoulder. "This is what you get, so get over it."

"No!"

"You must not turn away God's generosity." Utah and the female states pressed closer to her.

"No! Noooo!" She shook her head.

"One of us! One of us!"

"No! No! Uwaaaaaaaugh!"

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Screaming herself awake, Oregon sat up in her bed, sweat dripping down her forehead as she slowly recognized her surroundings. Looking to the side, there was her beaver, acting cute and cuddly. She felt the numbness on her cheek and breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank goodness. It's only a dream." She picked up her beaver and placed it on her lap, giving them a gentle hug. "Thanks for waking me up." She softly smiled.

The beaver grunted as though to ask, "What did you dream about?"

She giggled, "The dream I had was pretty scary. Some of the states turned into girls which didn't turn out as expected." She stroked her beaver's fur. "But that's okay. All that can be fixed in fanfiction."

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me some wine!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of those
Potato croquettes I ate before!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Gosh, I'm Idaho!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I am the Gem State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Let's make a toast to the Pulaski!
I'm Idaho!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

It was 1837. Missouri was ordered to resurvey the Sullivan Line—the boundary between her and the Territory of Wisconsin (the Territory of Iowa would be created a year later). Unfortunately for her, Wisconsin would rather milk cows than help her with fieldwork which made the job a lot harder. Trying to distinguish a vague border from survey markers made way back in 1816 while navigating the remote wilderness was as difficult as it sounded. Even with tools to help her out, there was a lot of confusion regarding the precise location of Sullivan Line. In summary, the job sucked horse cock! 

"Extending westward of the rapids of the River Des Moines..." Missouri mumbled while studying the survey notes. She looked up at a shallow river with a scowl. "This is the Des Moines River, but I don't see any rapids around here." She bemoaned, "Mr. Sullivan, am I missing something? Is this right? Why are your notes so confusing?"

Thinking there was a miscalculation, Missouri decided to continue her search around the river. During her quest, she made observations of the wooded area. It was fertile thanks to the Des Moines River. It was especially abundant with bee trees which piqued her interest. Honey was an important commodity as a natural sweetener, and beeswax was significant in candlemaking. For sure, her farmers would be happy to learn the existence of these hives unless it turned out these hives were located outside her borders. That would be disappointing if that was the case.

Eventually, Missouri came across "ripples" of the Des Moines River. She doubted this marked her northern boundary. However, after looking back at the bee trees, she decided to place a survey marker by the "ripples" and trust her final judgment. "If Wisconsin has a problem with it, she can take it to the federal court." She wiped her hands together and let out a haughty laugh. "My job here is done."

☆☆☆☆☆

Two years later, it was 1839. In the time between, the Territory of Iowa was established. That resulted in him being Missouri's northern neighbor instead of Wisconsin. Unlike the cheesehead, however, Iowa took the Sullivan Line dispute seriously. After all, this was his land Missouri claimed to be within her so-called boundaries.

"Missouri, it's nice to meet you, but what are you doing in my home?" Iowa questioned her intrusion.

"You must be mistaken," she replied smugly. "This land you're farming is within the borders of my home."

"What are you talking about?" He frowned. "I didn't agree to make the Brown Line, the boundary you created, the official border between us."

"Your opinion doesn't matter." She waved him off. "My say is greater than yours. Therefore, I say the Brown Line is the official border between our houses. Meaning, I get to collect property taxes from you."

"You can't do that!"

"Yeah, I can." She smirked. "This farm you built is located on land within my borders. Therefore, you must pay me this much if you want to continue farming here." She revealed a report of taxes he supposedly owed, making his jaw drop.

"No way! I'm not giving you a single cent!"

"Okay. That's fine. We can sort out another option for payment." She looked over at his pigpen.

"No! I'm not paying you anything!" He shielded his pigs from her sight.

She sighed, "If you can't make a choice, then I'll make it for you." She walked over to a trio of bee trees situated closeby.

"H-Hey! Don't! Those bee trees are valuable!"

"Yeah, I know." She smiled as she brought out an iron ax. "Which is why I'm gonna collect them. That'll be enough to pay the taxes you owe." She swiftly chopped down the bee trees, much to the Iowan's infuriating horror.

"S-Stop that!" He went after the tax-collecting Missourian with a raised pitchfork.

Enduring a bunch of bee stings all over her body, Missouri quickly got back on her horse and rode off with a wooden cart full of loot. "Ow! Ow! I should've planned this better. Ow! I should've brought a smoker. Ow! Ow!"

Iowa stopped running once she crossed back to her side of the border. "T-This isn't over!" he stammered, out of breath.

~ H-Hetalia... ~

About a month later, Missouri returned to see Iowa, proclaiming joyously, "I've come to collect your taxes!"

"Not this time!" Iowa shakily stood his ground, backed by a mob of fellow Iowan farmers with sharpened pitchforks in hand, all of whom had enough of the Missourian tax collectors.

Outnumbered by a large margin, Missouri suddenly lost her confidence, slowly backing away from the fierce mob. "W-We can work something out," she suggested with a nervous smile.

"Take her to jail!" The farmers pounced on the Missourian.

"Hey! You can't do this!" She struggled to be free of the rope that bounded her tightly.

"Yeah, I can." He loomed over her with an angelic grin. "You held illegal authority collecting taxes within my borders. Therefore, it's off to jail you go!" With a skip to his step, he and the farmers carried the tied-up Missourian, taking her to the county jail.

"Don't think I'll forgive you for this!" Missouri protested. "I'll go to war if I have to make you pay for humiliating me!"

~ Hetalia! ~

Using a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card, Missouri got back home safely. Unfortunately, the incident that led her to jail didn't sway her negative opinion on the Iowans. Adamant on keeping land she considered to be hers according to her constitution, she worked hard to draw support for a militia to get back at Iowa. Resentment gradually grew until it was ready to be released on the fourth day of December.

Marching in the snow, Missouri faced the bitter cold, more than thrilled with thoughts of retaliation. Her musket was polished and loaded, ready to fire at any given moment. A cold heart full of icy malice, she was ready for a brutal fight to uphold what rightfully belonged to her. Even though he was merely a territory that was established last year, she wasn't going to make this easy for him. Besides, this whole conflict could've been prevented if he simply paid his dues. He had it coming for making a mockery of her.

"This is it, Iowa!" She arrived at the border, aiming her weapon at the other side. "I'm ready to fight for this land! My gun's loaded, so don't think I'll go easy...on... Is that a sausage stuffer you're holding?"

"L-L-Look!" He shivered in rags on his side of the border. "My pitchfork is broken, s-so this all I have! B-But even s-so, it'll knock you back across the border for good!" He struggled to raise the heavy iron sausage stuffer at her. "I-I'm not scared! T-This is my first battle, b-but I'm ready to fight you! S-So, come at me! D-Death to the invading p-pukes!"

Missouri didn't budge from where she stood. A part of her bitter heart wanted to laugh at the poor condition he was in and watch him freeze his ears off. Then, there was the other part of her heart that felt sorry for him. Not in a sympathetic way since she still disliked him. Rather, it would be pathetic to fight a half-frozen little boy who could fall over from a sneeze. There was no satisfaction beating a wimp suffering from hypothermia, nor could it be called a victory if she were to win in this kind of fashion. Thinking long and hard on the ethics of the conflict, the cold-driven motivation she held began to break and crumble.

"You know what." She lowered her musket. "How about we call a truce and let this be settled in a federal court?"

He shook his head. "I-I refuse to let you have your way... B-But I accept your truce! I can barely feel my toes, and I'm s-scared!"

"Yeah. I figured," she muttered. "Can you at least consider my offer to settle this in a federal court?"

"I can't make any promises." He took a few steps away and stopped. "B-But I'll think about it!" He took a few steps and stopped again. "A-And thank you for not shooting me!"

"Sure?" Missouri watched him walk away, more unsure how to feel about him. "I gotta give him some credit. At least he didn't wet himself during the whole ordeal."

~ Hetalia... ~

About ten years later, the U.S. Supreme Court reluctantly took on the border dispute case between Iowa and Missouri. Behind a bench, Washington D.C. in black robes read out the final decision made in court, "In the case of Missouri v. Iowa (1849), the U.S. Supreme Court has voted unanimously in a 9-to-0 decision the Sullivan Line of 1816 is the accepted boundary between Missouri and Iowa—"

"Yes!" Iowa's cheers interrupted the annoyed judge. "I was right! The Des Moines rapids were the ones in the Mississippi River!"

"Actually, no." She cut his celebration short with a glare.

"Then, the rapids were indeed located in the Des Moines River," said Missouri. "So, I was right."

"No. That's not correct either." D.C. scowled.

"I'm confused." Iowa scratched his head.

"If you two didn't interrupt me, you would've learned the court's reasons behind the unanimous decision by now." After shutting them up, D.C. proceeded to explain the reasoning behind the ruling, "Truthfully, the Sullivan Line isn't precise, but it does need to be respected due to its involvement in multiple tribal and territorial arrangements. Still, the court expresses skepticism concerning the exact location of the boundary. Referring to Mr. Sullivan's survey notes, there's no mention of the Mississippi River when discussing rapids of the Des Moines River. However, it'll be wrong to constitute the ripples Missouri found during the 1837 survey of the area as the same rapids Mr. Sullivan observed. Therefore, the Brown Line used by Missouri cannot be used as a boundary."

"Okay..." Missouri mumbled. "That's fine, but where's the Sullivan Line marked exactly?"

"Yes. As both sides pointed out in their surveys, the Sullivan Line didn't extend far enough west to meet with the western border of Missouri which was the main root of the problem." She shuffled the papers on her desk into a neat stack. "So, in conclusion, the court orders a commission be paid by both parties to resurvey and remark the Sullivan Line which will be acknowledged by the court as the boundary between both states. Case closed. The court is dismissed." She banged her gavel and got up from the bench.

"Hang on! You didn't answer my question!" Missouri protested.

"And what do you mean paid by both parties? The Sullivan Line was the federal government's doing!" Iowa called out.

Ignoring their objections, D.C. got out of there faster than a robber from a bank, getting away scot-free. Missouri and Iowa were too exhausted to give chase. They didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed with the closure of this issue.

"At least I don't have to pay your taxes," Iowa sighed, trying to stay optimistic.

"Sorry," Missouri apologized awkwardly. "I guess greed got the better of me."

"After today, I know now it's not entirely your fault," he grumbled. "I guess I can forgive you since no one got hurt."

"Thanks." She handed him a slip of paper. "By the way, here's the bill to my militia being active for seven days. You owe me $46 (the equivalent of $1,275.12 in 2020)."

"NO WAY?!"

Watching them argue from behind a pillar, Wisconsin giggled to herself, "Thank goodness I didn't get caught up in this conflict. Sounds like a pain in the dairy'ere." She winked at the audience.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, get me a pop!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of those
Blarney Stones I ate so long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
My name's Iowa!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Hawkeye state!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The field of dreams is full of corn!
I'm Iowa!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

July 23, 2020—Seattle, Washington

"It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the age of enlightenment. It was the age of absurdity. It was the epoch of dreams. It was the epoch of nightmares. It was the season of light. It was the season of darkness. It was the spring of hope. It was the winter of despair. We had everything laid out before us. We had nothing laid out before us. We were all going directly to the Stanely Cup. We were all going directly home to rebuild—"

"Wash, what are you trying to tell me on this Skype call?" British Columbia interrupted his monologue.

"Before I tell you, I want you to know I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. You were there to comfort me in 1975 when my heart broke hearing the Totems went broke. You graciously accepted me, and we cheered for the Canucks ever since. Though, there were times I hated being a Canucks fan, notably after the Stanley Cup Finals in 1982, 1994, and 2011. Yet, I remained loyal to your team throughout the riots and the rebuilds. In short, it was fun and bittersweet, for better or for worse, being on the Canucks bandwagon for over forty years. I'm somewhat sad to say this, but it's time for me to get off the bandwagon...at least until 2021. Because from now on," he placed a neon green squid hat on his head, "I'm a Krakhead!"

He raised his arms and cheered, "YEEEAAAAAH! Release the Kraken! It's time to get Kraken! Wooooo!" He stepped away from his computer, revealing a Seattle Kraken T-shirt he had been wearing this whole time.

'I guess I gotta come up with some squid jokes now that we're rivals on the ice.' She didn't know what to make of his weird wavy dance, but she was nonetheless happy for him with the return of professional hockey to his home. 

☆☆☆☆☆

March 1821—Corydon, Indiana

After toiling a morning's worth of labor on his family farm, a twelve-year-old boy named Abe went on his merry way, traveling to Harrison County to see Indy's farmhouse of literary wonders.

"Didn't you agree to lend a hand on my farm in exchange for borrowing my books?" Indiana scowled at the "lazy" boy who had been sitting on a tree stump for the past thirty minutes, engrossed in reading one of her books to no surprise.

"Sorry, Miss Indy," he apologized sheepishly. "I'll get back to work soon. I'm almost done finishing this chapter."

"So-called self-made man you are," she grumbled.

~ Hetalia... ~

Late afternoon, Abe and Indiana shared a roasted grouse served with boiled potatoes and stale cornbread for a splendid supper to cap off a long day of work.

"I didn't think you would cook supper for me," Abe admitted with a satisfied smile, his stomach delightfully full.

"I had no choice," she spoke while eating her supper. "It would be horrible of me to let a guest head home without some kind of courtesy."

"Oh..." He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed for his selfish behavior. "You don't have to do that for me if it's a bother for you."

"It wasn't really a bother. I was going to cook supper whether you were here or not." She maintained her neutral expression as she took a bite of her cornbread. "To be honest, it's odd sharing food with a stranger."

"Stranger?!" He gave her an outlandish look. "We've seen each other three times since February! We're acquaintances at the very least!" He folded his arms across his chest and pouted. "... But I see where you're coming from."

"You do?"

He nodded. "There's a lot I don't know about you," he spoke in a serious tone. "Granted, it's none of my business to ask. Even so, I think it's...odd for someone like you to live alone." After setting his doubts aside for the past month, Abe finally gathered the courage to ask the lonely girl some personal questions, "Why are you alone? Where are your parents?"

"I'm an orphan," she answered bluntly with a straight face.

"O-Oh!" Suddenly, Abe imagined himself drowning in a hot spring, overwhelmed with steaming hot embarrassment that brought more shame than comfort concerning this piece of news. The courage he gathered to ask more than necessary ended up costing her trust and his dignity. All he could do was apologize, genuinely telling her, "I'm sorry. I didn't think you were unfortunate."

Judging by the regretful look on his face, Indiana thought to correct herself. However, she didn't know whether there was a word that existed for her circumstances that would also not hint at her true identity. She figured orphan was the best word to explain her parentless situation. But that didn't necessarily mean she had an unfortunate upbringing, a common notion associated with the term. As much as she disliked revealing more about herself to strangers, she didn't want him to look at her with such pitiful eyes.

"Don't feel too bad for me," she assured. "I do have a family of sorts. They live elsewhere, but I'm perfectly fine living here on my own."

"Oh. That's good, I guess." He rubbed the burning skin at the back of his neck. "So, you don't know who your parents are?" 

She simply shook her head, not wanting to complicate things with lies and explanations.

"Then, does that mean you don't know the circumstances of your birth?" After asking, he realized he was asking more questions that could get him into more trouble. He might be digging a deeper hole. But for some reason, there was a sense of comfort in their conversation that made him feel at home. "You don't have to answer if it's a touchy subject," he added.

There was a pause before she answered his question, "It's hard to say, but that doesn't matter."

"But it does!" he spoke aloud with a grimace. "Remember the first book I borrowed from you?"

"What about it?"

"Well, it was around my birthday—February 12th." He twiddled his thumbs. "Thanks to your books, I can tolerate chores and continue to spread knowledge to my community. I know I agreed to work on your farm as payment, but I want to get you a gift to show my gratitude. I figure I do something special for your birthday, but," he sighed, "I guess I can think of another special day. Perhaps, a holiday or a day you least—"

"December 11th."

"December 11th?" He cocked his head. "Is it your birthday?"

"Sort of. It's not a birthday, but it's a special day for me," she recalled the past in her memories.

 ~ Flashback! ~

December 11, 1816—Washington, D.C.

A holiday feast was set before Indiana, overwhelming her senses with jolly and cheer for becoming the most recent member to join the Union. On her right was America, the country she served. On her left was Washington D.C., the capital of the country. The rest of the seats were filled out by eighteen other states who entered the Union before her, starting with Delaware and Pennsylvania near the front and ending with Ohio and a very drunk Louisiana at the back.

"Louisiana! How much cider did you drink?" Georgia scowled.

"Just enough. Hic!" She laughed, "Hey, Kentucky! Another drinking contest? How 'bout it?"

"Let's go!" He slapped five silver coins on the table. "This time, I'll hold my drink!"

"No! There'll be no drunken shenanigans on my watch!" Georgia got up from her seat to quell the younger states.

"Remember not to make too much of a mess," Virginia reminded them while calmly drinking a cup of tea.

America chuckled at their silliness. "Don't worry. She can be strict at times, but she has a good heart," he assured his newest state.

"Oh. Okay." Indiana quietly watched their ruckus and the many conversations that surrounded her, feeling isolated from where she sat. "... Mr. America."

"Just call me, America. You don't have to be formal around me. I'm not strict like England." He smiled.

"America... Is this party necessary?"

He cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm not used to this kind of thing. I appreciate everyone's support, but I don't know. It feels like a lot of pressure. Compared to the likes of Pennsylvania, New York, and Virginia, I don't think I can be successful like them as a state." She recalled having second thoughts about becoming a state, wondering if she made her decision rashly.

He scratched his head. "I mean, you shouldn't compare yourself to Pennsylvania, New York, and Virginia since they were born over a century before you were born."

"If it makes you feel better, we accepted Ohio and Louisiana without much of an issue," said D.C. as she nonchalantly drank her cup of coffee.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Besides, I'm sure you'll grow bigger at your own pace in the coming years."

"I guess you're right..."

"Hey, Indiana." Ohio approached her with a smug face. "As the first state of the Midwestern region, I want you to know you can count on Big Brother Ohio for anything."

"Big Brother..." She felt shivers running down her spine saying those two words together. "I-It's alright. I'm sure I can handle things on my own without bothering you."

"Yeah, Ohio!" The drunken Kentuckian let out a loud burp. "The lady can handle things herself!"

"Butt out of this, dumb hillbilly!" he huffed. "All Midwestern affairs have nothing to do with you."

"Midwestern?" He gave Indiana a dumbfounded look. "You're a Midwestern state? You seem Southern."

"Well, she's not."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever she is, she can have a glass of bourbon with me whenever she's bored of you."

"No problem. She won't ever be bored because nothing is boring about me." When Ohio said that, the entire table burst out in obnoxious laughter. "I-I'm completely serious!" he stammered with tomato-red cheeks. "Don't deny the great potential I have stored for the future! I'll become so great of a state, everyone will be envious of my success!"

Kentucky snickered, "Whatever you say, Butteye."

"Pfft!" Indiana tried to hold back from laughing at Ohio's suffering, but that stupid nickname was just too much for her to handle. The room's infectious laughter had her in tears without feeling sorry for her neighbor. She vowed to apologize to Ohio later. But admittedly, this was the first time throughout the entirety of today she felt like she was a part of the Union.

Amid their shared laughter, some of the states noticed a change in the Hoosier's behavior. She was normally shy, polite, and reserved. But the smile she wore when Kentucky uttered that childish nickname was a good indication of things working out between them. Even Ohio, who didn't like being the butt of jokes, decided to roll with the punches, wanting her to enjoy herself and be happier with today. Though they were all different in various aspects, they were all states of the Union. Old or young. North, South, or Midwest. They were all American.

For many people, December 11th was a normal day. For many Hoosiers, December 11th was the anniversary of Indiana's statehood. For Indiana, December 11th was more than a normal day, an anniversary, or even a birthday. December 11th was a special lesson, a reminder she was a part of something greater—a family.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me coffee!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Dungeness crab I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hey, I'm Washington!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Evergreen State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Named after the first president!
I'm Washington!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

A brindle-coated dog of medium size hopped onto a couch, appearing aloof until it noticed the audience reading every move they did. "Arf! Arf! Arf!" Translation of they said: "Oh, hey. You seem pretty friendly, so I won't bite you." They barked some more. "The name's Barrett. I'm a Treeing Tennessee Brindle. I love hunting for squirrels, but my owner isn't here at the moment. Do you wanna know why?"

The dog sat in silence.

"... That's right! Arf!" They wagged their tail as they let out a celebratory cry. "My owner is bringing home a little sister! Arf! I can't wait to see her!" They suddenly stopped baying for joy. "I know something we can do while we wait for my owner and my sister to come home. How about I give my dogmates a call to tell them the good news?" They hopped off the couch and scampered off. "I don't have hands, but I'll find a way to make it work!"

☆☆☆☆☆

"Howdy, howdy, howdy, Lacy Blue!" Barrett greeted the Blue Lacy, a blue-coated cur from the Lone Star State.

She barked back, "Howdy, howdy, howdy, Barrett! How ya callin' me on this bright brick without your partner around?"

"I got the audience to help out," he barked. "So, how ya doing?"

"Alright. My partner isn't getting any better, yet she's working hard, helping people prepare for a big storm." She glanced out the window where her partner was packing supplies into her truck, getting ready for a long drive to shelters.

"I see. If it makes you feel any better about today, I have some good news."

"Let me hear it."

"This evening, my owner is bringin' home a little sister."

"Oh? Bark! That's fantastic! I can't wait to meet her."

"Me, too. I can't wait." He wagged his tail.

"So, do you know her breed?"

"My owner says she's a Bluetick Coonhound."

"Ah, I see. A coonhound like her should have a good nose. I bet she can smell ya a mile away before enterin' the house."

"Is that your way of telling me I smell?" He sniffed his coat. "That stupid skunk from three days ago is gonna get some teeth the next time I see it lurkin' around the trash can."

"Yikes. I rather deal with a bear than a skunk." She shook her head. "Anyway, I gotta go. Hope you and your new sister get along."

"Yeah. Stay safe, Lacy. It's nice talking to ya. Bye." He ended the call.

~ Howdy! ~

"I'm so happy for you and your sister," Pumpkin, a Chinook belonging to New Hampshire, congratulated him. "Hope all goes well between you two."

"Thanks. By the way, any advice on how to get along with her?" Barrett asked.

"Hm... I don't have doggy siblings, so I may not be the best dog to ask."

"Yeah. I guess you're right." His head drooped. 'I should've asked Lacy while she was available.'

"But if I were in your pawsition," she pondered, "I offer her my favorite treats."

"Ooh!" He lifted his head in excitement. "That's a great idea! She'll definitely like bacon strips!" He went away for a minute, coming back with a bag of Beggin Strips' in their mouth. "Do you think she'll like them?" he mumbled.

"I'm sure she will." She watched him shake the bag around.

"Grrrr..." He dropped the bag at his paws. "Why do humans have to put delicious food in things I can't tear apart? It's so frustrating!"

~ Woof! Woof! ~

"A sister! That's pawesome!" Brandy, an American Water Spaniel belonging to Wisconsin, smiled after hearing the news. "I can't wait for you to introduce me to her."

"Yep!" Barrett nodded. "I was wondering if you have any advice about getting along with a sibling."

"Obviously, you must play with them to develop a close bond!" she barked. "What kind of toys do you have?"

"Um, let's see... I have this stick." He came back with a decent-looking stick in his mouth.

"Oh, no, no, no! That doesn't count! Don't you have something that doesn't come from the woods?"

"Not really. My owner doesn't buy toys for me."

She gaped in disgust. "I can't puggin' believe it! That's terrier-able! Howl are you ever not bored? Fur Dog's sake, even the badger living under my house has a ball to play with!"

"Quit hounding me with your dog puns!" he growled. "All I need for entertainment is the outdoors. That's it."

She shook her head. "That won't do. You need  proper toys if you ever want to befriend your sister."

"Then, what kind of toy should I get for her?"

"Well, since she's a scenthound, I figure it needs to be something that...catches her nose. Heh." She went away for a minute, coming back with a scarlet beehive-shaped toy in her mouth. "For starters, I recommend a KONG wobbler. Whenever I knock this thing down a couple of times, a treat comes out of this tiny hole." She made a demonstration, playing with the toy until a piece of kibble came out of the aforementioned hole. "Sometimes, my owner puts peanut butter in there, and it sure is tasty." She snacked on the kibble and licked her lips. "Yummy!"

"Hm. Doesn't look as fun as hunting for squirrels, but I'll give it a shot. Who knows? Maybe my sister will like it."

~ Bark! Bark! ~

"I can't believe I'm holding my phone up for my dog to take this call," North Carolina sighed, doing just that for her Plott Hound in the middle of a forested hiking trail. "This better be quick."

Venn let out a low woof, translated into human English, "Don't worry. It'll take a moment." He looked back at the bright brick in her hand. "We're in the middle of an hour-long walk, so I can't talk to you for long. We can talk later if you want."

"It's alright," Barrett barked. "I just want some advice about getting along with a sister. You see, my owner is bringing home a Bluetick Coonhound who'll be my sibling from now on."

"Wow. Congratulations." He made a droopy smile. "Let's see. My tip for you is to behave yourself."

"I am behaving myself." He wagged his tail. "I'm a good, well-behaved boy."

"That's not what I mean. Take my sister, Lily, for example. She's not fond of strangers other than me and our owner, often hiding somewhere whenever we have company at our house. Your sister may have that kind of personality. Then again, she's a Bluetick Coonhound. She should be mindful and friendly. Otherwise, don't make a complete doofus of yourself like what you're doing now."

"What?" He lifted his head from licking his privates.

"... I gotta go." He placed his paw on the red button, ending the call.

~ Bow-Wow! ~

"What do you want? You're interrupting something important."

"Are you...at a dog spa?" Barrett questioned Spartan, South Carolina's pampered pooch.

Lying on top of a cushioned bed, the Boykin Spaniel was getting his nails polished by a dog groomer. Their chocolate-colored fur was already cleaned-up from a refreshing bath, so their peach-smelling coat turned out smooth and luscious after some blow-drying and brushing. He loved the relaxing atmosphere and the spoiled treatment he was getting, so he wasn't fazed by the cur's disgust when he admitted he was getting a pawicure of sorts. (Don't question how he's able to take the call without his owner. It's a fictional story.)

"It's National Dog Day," Spartan explained in an indignant tone. "It would be shameful of my master not to do something nice for me."

"You're not even a toy dog."

"So what? All dogs deserve to be pampered like royalty. Just so you know, I've worked very hard to cheer my master up during these turbulent times. She'll be even happier to see me later this afternoon once the groomers are done making me beautiful."

"You're an embarrassment to hunting dogs."

"Geez. If you're going to act like that, I'm gonna end this call. You're ruining my spa day."

"Hang on. I wanna ask you something."

"Sorry. You've dampened my mood with your insults. Also, I'm about to get a blueberry facial, so I can't talk to you anymore."

He cocked his head. "What's a blueberry facial?"

"Goodbye." Spartan booped the red button with his brown nose. "Now, then. I need to figure out what my master will be doing for my birthday on September 1st. Making a homemade cake, perhaps? If so, I can't wait." He relaxed as the groomer placed cucumber slices over his eyes, preparing him for his blueberry facial.

~ Chuff! ~

Listening to Barrett's story about Spartan, the Chessie named Susan let out a howling laugh. "I mean, he's called a Swamp Poodle for a reason."

"I still don't get it," he grumbled. "Are dog spas that special?"

"Who knows? I never had one, but I'm open to the suggestion." She basked in the sun's rays while laying with Maryland on a picnic blanket at the beach. "Anyway, what's your reason for calling me on my owner's day off?"

"You see, my owner will be bringing home a little sister. I want to know if there's a certain way I should behave around her. Venn told me not to behave like a doofus, but that was it. I know you don't have doggy siblings of your own to call, but your input is much appreciated."

"Well, then." She thought about what he said for a moment. "Has she been spayed?"

"Erm, I don't know."

"If she isn't for whatever reason, be leery of her estrus cycle."

"Estrus?" He appeared clueless in the head.

"Her heat cycle," she clarified.

"O-Oh!"

"I know you and your sister aren't blood-related, but don't make things awkward." She paused. "By the way, she may attract male dogs in your area whenever she's in heat, so be on the lookout for that possibility."

"S-Sure!"

"Also, don't freak out when you see a little bloody discharge—"

"B-Blood!" he whined. "There's so much to comprehend. Have females always been this complicated?"

"Depends," she answered casually. "You don't have to worry about heat cycles if she's spayed for she won't have them. But if she isn't, don't be a doofus. No matter how good she smells or how helpless she sounds, don't stick your red rocket in her."

"I-I won't!"

~ Fetch! ~

"Hershey." Pennsylvania woke her Great Dane up from a nap. "One of your dog pals wants to talk to you." She set a tablet up for her dog before returning to the kitchen.

He yawned. "Who is it?"

"It's Barrett."

"Oh. Hello, Barrett," he spoke slowly like the gentle giant he was. "My owner is making homemade treats for me and Sylvester. Do you want me to send you some?"

"Sure! My sister and I would love to have some."

"Sister?"

"Yeah. My owner is bringing home a little sister."

"That's wonderful." He smiled sleepily. "Is she a puppy?"

"Um, I don't know. I only know she's a Bluetick Coonhound. Does it matter?"

"If she's a puppy, you need to be aware of your size. She may not be able to run as fast as you, nor will she have the same strength as you. Believe me." He slowly nodded. "It's even possible she may be afraid because of how big you are compared to her."

"Aw," he whimpered. "If she is a puppy, how do I behave around her?"

"Always be careful," he recommended. "Keep an eye not to step or fall on her by accident. Whenever you play with her, don't get too rough. Even if she acts tough, don't use your full strength unless you're certain she won't get hurt."

"Got it."

"Hopefully, that helps." The Great Dane let out another yawn. "I'm gonna nap until the treats are done baking. Goodbye." He closed his eyes, immediately falling back asleep.

~ Snore... ~

"It's a good thing I have a lot of free time on my hands," Alaska muttered as she brushed one of her Malamute's coat, adding fur from the dog brush to a mountain of fluff. "With two Huskies and a Klee Kai left to maintain, this is going to take me many days..."

Yeti continued to smile without a care in the world, not even paying attention to the Treeing Tennessee Brindle on the tablet. 'Must be patient. Must be patient. My back kinda itches... But I must be patient!'

"Are you listening?" Barrett questioned.

"I think so." The Malamute glanced at the shiny screen. "Say, is she good at sledding?"

"Um, no. I already told you. Her breed is best-suited for scent-tracking and hunting."

"Oh. Okay." He maintained a chillaxed smile. "Sisters are awesome, but they can be very annoying. One time, Yuki stole a piece of venison from my food bowl while my owner wasn't looking. She betrayed me." He tilted his head back and let out a sad howl. "Awooo! Never forget my venison! Awooooo!"

"Did I hurt you? Why are you howling?" Alaska stared at him weirdly.

Barrett wasn't fazed by the sob story in the slightest. "I'm so sorry for your loss..."

"It's okay." He returned to acting chill again. "I love my sister, so I forgive her."

"Oh. Cool."

"My back is very itchy, so give me a minute to get that spot." He slowly rolled onto his back.

"H-Hey! Stop moving. You're getting too close to the fur pile." Alaska tried to keep her dog still.

But out of the blue, her other Malamute named Yuki jumped out of the fluff, creating a snowstorm in the living room. Yeti made things worse by rolling all over the floor, making sure to spread all that fur everywhere. The Huskies, who had yet to be brushed, added to the chaos by jumping at the falling fluff like they were snowflakes. Her Klee Kai yipped in fear, aware of what was to come when her owner went to the closet to bring out the roaring monster for clean-up. Barrett decided he heard enough from the Alaskan household, ending the call before he could hear the loud vacuum.

~ Iruvyou! ~

"You want my advice?" Judy the Boston Terrier questioned the Treeing Tennessee Brindle.

Barrett nodded. "Since you have a doggy brother, I figure I can get a doggy sister's advice about sibling relationships to prepare myself when my sister comes home."

"What's there to say?" she yapped. "My brother is a Merry Cocker. He used to be a hunting dog until he grew out his coat and started behaving like a show dog. He gets on my nerves sometimes, thinking he's stronger and smarter than me. Yet, he'll get stressed whenever he hears a car honk during walks around the city. And whenever I try to wrestle with him, he'll whine and slinker off to our master like a pussy cat. Unbelievable."

"I thought you two get along."

"We do, but we fight on occasion." She scratched behind her ear. "He'll call me a snorting gasbag, and I'll call him a scaredy-cat who sucks at playing fetch. We'll nip at each other's fur on our worst days. In the end, we still live under the same roof, living with the same master who loves us both unconditionally. Fighting isn't so bad as long as we don't let it affect us too much. After all, living with hate isn't good for a happy family. You get what I mean?"

"I think so," he mumbled. "It's kinda like what Yeti told me earlier. Siblings may disagree and get into fights with each other. But somehow, we get along for the good of ourselves, our siblings, and our pack. It's pretty good advice."

"You're welcome." Her ears suddenly perked up, hearing a door creak open. "My master's home."

"That's alright. Your master has been working hard lately, so I'm sure your company will cheer him up greatly."

"Yeah." She smiled. "Alrighty then. Good luck with your sister. I wish you the best."

~ Arf! Arf! ~

"Are you nervous?" Jamie, an old American Foxhound belonging to Virginia, questioned Barrett's nervousness.

"What? No way!" he bayed in denial. "Why would I be nervous? I'm an adult, so there's nothing to be afraid of."

"It's okay to have butterflies in your stomach," he assured. "It's better than the pit of jealousy or the boiling of rage when expecting a new dog to live with you. I've heard some terrifying stories of dogs reacting horribly after learning they'll be living with another dog they've never known."

He laid his head down and sighed, "Do you think she'll like me? I mean, what if I mess up? What if I rough her up so badly during playtime she ends up being scared of me?" He dejectedly howled, "WHAT IF SHE HATES ME?!"

Jamie blinked his eyes. "Why would she hate you? In all my years of knowing you, the only things you've hurt are squirrels, opossums, raccoons, and bears." He softly smiled. "Honestly, it's nice of you to be overprotective of her well-being. I'm sure she'll appreciate it."

"Really?" He lifted his head from despair.

"Assuming she'll hunt alongside you, it's up to you, as her big brother, to make sure she doesn't get hurt. At the same time, you need to trust her. Let her sniff the air. Give her some space to run. She'll gradually grow to love her home and the stuff associated with it, including you."

Barrett smiled. "Thanks, Jamie. That's probably the most useful advice I ever need for this situation."

"You're welcome. Just remember, relationships are like flowers. It may not look impressive at first, but it'll blossom into something beautiful when given time and care."

~ Ruff! Ruff! ~

"Can't talk right now," grumbled the Louisiana Catahoula Leopard Dog named Jazz. "I have a litter of pups who need fosterin' until— Quit bitin' my tail!" She growled at a scampering puppy and sighed. "As I was sayin', I'm fosterin' a bunch of fat-headed pups until the big storm passes."

"They sound like a pawful," Barrett noted the yipping and yapping in the background.

"They're more than a pawful," she huffed. "Even with Rouge and Soul lending extra paws, the pups won't let us breathe as long as they have the energy to cause mischief. I swear I'm gonna lose it if they—" The sound of broken glass caught her attention. "Alright. Who did it? Who broke the vase?" She left the tablet on the couch to go scold a bunch of hooligans.

While she was gone, a small, brown, mix-breed puppy managed to get on top of the couch while the adult dogs were distracted getting the other fostered pups in line. They noticed the adult dog on the bright brick and greeted, "Where y'at?"

"Alright," Barrett barked with a smile. "I'll be getting a little sister soon."

"A little sister?" They cocked their head. "Can I be your little sister?"

He chuckled, "I wish you could. You seem nice compared to the other pups Jazz complains about."

"That's because the other pups are a bunch of buttheads." She laid her head on the couch and whimpered, "Jazz told us a big storm is comin'. She said it's going to be bigger and badder than the previous storm we saw a couple of days ago."

"Don't worry, little pup," he assured. "Jazz and the other adults have been through a lot of big storms. You and the rest of the pups will be safe as long as they're around."

"Ya sure about that?"

"Pawsitive."

She giggled, "Whoever's gonna be your little sis, they're lucky to have a big bro like you."

Watching her hop off the couch, he softly smiled. "Hopefully, they feel the same way about me."

~ Yip! Yip! ~

From dawn to dusk, Barrett spent all his pent-up excitement informing every dog about his new sister. After informing the last of his friends, he was left to wait in silence. He hung around the front door, keeping an eye and an ear open for any sights and sounds that indicated his owner's return. He watched the house grow dark and even more silent, eventually succumbing to slumber.

Click-clack!

His ears perked up as he lifted his head. "Finally!" He ran to the unlocked door, baying with enthusiasm. "Hey! Glad to see you home! What took you so long? Where's my sister?"

Stepping inside his house, Tennessee was amused to see the brindle-coated dog welcome his return with great energy. "Hey, bud. Sorry for being gone for so long. I know you're excited, but let me settle down first. The drive to the shelter was a long one." He glanced at the blanket-covered pet carrier he was carrying in his left hand.

"Oh? Is that my sister? Is she in there?" Barrett sniffed the carrier while following Tennessee to the living room.

"Calm down, bud." He set the carrier down on the floor, right next to the couch. "You're gonna scare her if you keep baying so loudly."

He whimpered, "Sorry."

He softly smiled. "I'm gonna get some water for your sister." He petted the top of his head. "If you're a good boy when I get back, I'll let you see her briefly. She needs some rest after a long drive." He left the living room to fetch some water from the kitchen, expecting Barrett to behave himself while he was left alone with the pet carrier.

Once Tennessee was gone, Barrett continued to sniff the plastic box, wanting to get a look at his new sister. The cotton blanket that covered the carrier was in the way, so he snagged it by the corner, pulling it away until it was off the cage. There was a metal door that allowed him to get the best look inside the pet carrier. Even then, all he could see was a large softly-snoring mound formed underneath a fluffy blanket.

'Oh. She must be sleeping. He did say she needed some rest after a long drive.' Barrett laid his head next to the metal door. "Hello. The name's Barrett. I'm a Treeing Tennessee Brindle. From now on, I'm your big brother," he softly barked. "Anyway, what's your name?"

"Hm?" A small snout poked out from the soft blanket. "Where am I...?"

"You're home, of course!" He wagged his tail. "Say, you must be hungry after a long drive. Do you like bacon strips?"

"Bacon strips? What's that?" she asked cluelessly.

"You've never heard of bacon strips!" he gasped. "Wait right there."

"Not like I have a choice," she mumbled.

Less than five seconds later, Barrett came back with a ripped bag of Beggin' Strips. "Here," he offered a strip through the metal door.

Her little black nose twitched, taking in a smoky meaty smell. "Is that bacon?" Still covered underneath the blanket, she moved from the back of the carrier to where the metal door was. She nipped at the bacon-like strip and pulled it inside, chewing it like it was jerky.

"Do you like it?" he asked while wagging his tail in anticipation.

"Uh-huh." She continued to gnaw the strip that was rather big for her size. "It's better than puppy chow."

"You're darn right!" he barked happily.

"Barrett!" Tennessee came back to the living room with a bowl of water, his eyes focused on the bag of Beggin' Strips that weren't supposed to be ripped open. "I thought I told you to behave yourself."

"No! You'll never take away my bacon strips!" Barrett ran away with the bag of Beggin' Strips in his mouth while Tennessee chased after him.

"So noisy..." the Bluetick Coonhound let out a yawn before going back to sleep.

~ Happy National Dog Day 🐶! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, get me Natty Boh!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Smith Island cake I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
My name's Maryland!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Old Line State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A fabulous world can be seen!
Let's have a toast at a poet's grave!
I'm Maryland!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

"Wahahahaha!" A human personification of Hurricane Marco appeared all smug, standing before Louisiana. "Be prepared! I'm about to pummel you with tornadoes, torrential rain, and storm surges!"

"Bring it on! You don't scare me!" She got her fists up, ready for a fight.

He let out an arrogant laugh. "Very well. Take this!" He blew a gust of wind, and Louisiana dodged the attack with ease.

The gust of wind ended up hitting Mississippi when she wasn't looking. "Ooh! That tickles!" she giggled.

"What the hell? Why was my attack so weak?" Hurricane Marco complained. "That attack should've caused some damage at 75 mph (120 km/h)."

"Ha!" Louisiana placed on a scouter. "According to my doppler radar, your wind power level is only 38 mph (61 km/h). That's a 36 mph (58 km) drop from a Category 1 hurricane."

"Impossible!" he growled. "Very well. If I can't blow you away, I'll drown you with flash floods!" He drew out a long scream as he summoned a blue sphere between his palms. "Taaaake this! Kyaaah!" He pushed his palms and the blue sphere toward her, expecting to take her away with a turbulent torrent.

Instead, all his attack did was splash a bucket's worth of water at her face. She didn't even flinch, still appearing unimpressed. "That was pretty pathetic."

He collapsed on his knees and cried, "Curse this increase in wind shear! I was given the power of a hurricane for only a day!"

"In the end, you turned out to be a weak tropical storm." She smirked.

"S-Shut up!" He got back on his feet. 

She snickered, "You can't defeat me."

"I know," he gritted his teeth, "but she can!" He pointed to Hurricane Laura coming into the Gulf of Mexico.

"Oh, come on!" Louisiana groaned at the bigger storm. "Fuck this! Fuck 2020! I'm fucking done! I'm fucking done with this shit!" She stomped back inside her house and slammed the door shut.

☆☆☆☆☆

With a warm coffee mug in hand, North Carolina leaned against the balcony railing, watching the cardinals fly around the nearby forest. Far from the city, there were no obnoxious sounds to be heard. Only the sounds of nature permeated her ears, filling her head with wholesome chirps and wind chimes from gentle gusts of wind.

She breathed in the roasted aroma coming from within her mug. "What a peaceful morning to go with a cup of Joe." She drank her coffee and softly smiled. "You know. Despite the state of the world, I think things are calming down and getting better. I mean, what else can go wrong?"

R~U~M~B~L~E!

"W-Whoa!" North Carolina dropped her coffee mug by accident, and it shattered into a hundred fragments onto the patio below. Her hands clung to the wooden railing tightly as though it were the metal bar on a shaky roller coaster as she endured the sudden quake. "I-I take e-everything back!" she stuttered. "Everything that could go wrong will go wrong in 2020!"

~ H-Hetalia! ~

On the other side of the United States, Arizona and Oregon broke into a burning house, calling out in-between coughs, "California! Where are you? Cough! Cough! We're here to help you! Cough!"

It took them a while to find her until Oregon broke through the door to the dining area with a hatchet after multiple blows. What they found was hellfire contained in a single room. The ceiling was blackened by dense clouds of charcoal-black smoke. The copper-colored carpet was blackened by bright flames that nearly covered the entire floor. What had yet to be turned into ash and soot was a calm Californian sitting in a chair next to an untarnished table with a coffee mug in hand.

"There you are!" Oregon went over to her. "We need to get out of here!"

"Don't worry." California smiled ominously with black soulless eyes. "This is fine."

"No! This is not fine! If we don't get out of here, the wildfires are going to consume your house!"

She chuckled creepily, "It's all cool. This is all perfectly fine and normal."

"Snap out of it, blondie!" Arizona slapped her across the face. "I know it's 2020, but you need to get a hold of yourself! You can't give up!"

"Give up? Hahahahahaha! I'm not giving up. I'm accepting this cruel reality we live in." Her head suddenly caught fire from the flames, yet the Californian continued to laugh the pain away like it was the best medicine for the situation.

Oregon turned to Arizona and whispered, "Can't you perform a rainmaking dance or something like that?"

"I can, but the thunderstorms may make things infinitely worse and create more wildfires."

"Then, what else can we do?"

"I don't know. She's totally gone crazy from this heatwave." They watched the Californian roll around in flames and laugh like a lunatic in a straight jacket at an insane asylum.

~ THIS IS FINE! ~

'Looks like things have calmed down...' Nebraska drove through the countryside, observing the toppled trees and the flattened fields of corn on both sides of the two-way road.

Yesterday, a huge wind storm called a derecho affected half the Midwest, including Nebraska. In her case, some trees went down, and power had yet to return to her area. Overall, it wasn't too destructive compared to what happened to Iowa. The storm did him dirty.

"My cornfields... My precious cornfields..." Iowa cried in front of a flattened cornfield. "Months of work wasted... And so close to harvest season, too."

When Nebraska arrived at his farm, she kept in mind to remain calm despite the destruction. Nevertheless, she didn't expect the damage to be as disastrous as Iowa described in the phone call. The steel silo was twisted and torn with long slits, allowing tons of grain to spill out into a massive pile which the chickens took the opportunity to feed. Speaking of which, the coop they were usually kept in was tipped over; the roof was torn off and somewhere on the farm. The barn and the farmhouse remained intact, however, she noticed significant damage done to their roofs; some shingles were missing. She also noticed a tree branch had pierced through the windshield of his truck, indicating the strength of the wind storm to cause that to happen. It was a miracle the farmhouse remained standing. Otherwise, the farmhouse could've been crushed by the weight of the nearby oak tree or obliterated by a tornado, both of which fortunately didn't happen.

"You weren't kidding about the damage," Nebraska approached the distraught Iowan.

He turned around, and his eyes grew wide with tears. "You came! You came!" He fell at her feet and cried some more.

"H-Hey. Calm down. You called for my help, so I came."

"Yeah, but you actually came to help me. I called D.C., and she told me to wait a week until aid was approved and provided for me. Like, I can't wait a week to recover from this!"

"What about the National Guard?"

"They were no better. They told me they would help out starting tomorrow." He pouted. "I mean, it's better than the federal government's response. I can't complain, yet it still feels like I'm being ignored. Like, they've abandoned me." A couple of tears dripped from his eyes.

"... It's okay." She petted the top of his head. "It may take a while to fix the damage, but I'm here to help out," she assured.

He wailed, "T-Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"No problem," she mumbled uncomfortably. "I don't mean to offend you, but can you please stop crying? Your tears are soaking into my shoes and socks."

~ Sniffle... ~

Brum-brum-brum-brum-brrrrrrrr!

Using a chainsaw to cut a tree that had fallen across the road during the storm, Texas and a dozen volunteers from her home did whatever they could to clean up around Lake Charles the morning after Hurricane Laura made landfall. Their main priority was to clear the roads from debris, so they could deliver supplies to people in areas hit the hardest. It was the least they could do. They knew what it was like to go through a devastating hurricane, having three years ago went through Hurricane Harvey. At that time like many times prior, many Louisianans came to their state to help out during the disaster. Right now, it was their turn to do the same for them.

"Phew!" Texas took the time to wipe the sweat off her brow and drink some water. "Not gonna lie. I was prepped for another stormy rodeo until I saw the hurricane steer in your direction. Thank God I wasn't hit too hard, or I'd be madder than a puffed toad like you."

"You're welcome," Louisiana grumbled as she chucked a tree limb into the wood chipper.

"Did I offend you?"

"Naw. Unless you start square-dancing on a flooded street, good for ya to dodge a disaster." She got herself a bottle of cold water, drank about half of it, and groaned, "Why are we still here? Just to suffer?"

She shrugged. "Just saying, it could've been worse. It could've been like Harvey."

She sighed, "Four more months... Four more months until the end of 2020..."

~ Hetalia... ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me Kool-Aid!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Reuben sandwich I ate long ago!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
My name's Nebraska!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Cornhusker State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A beautiful world can be seen!
Planting trees to save the planet!
I'm Nebraska!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

September 2014—Topeka, Kansas

"Boss— I mean, Doctor Brownback, may I confess something I believe has been bothering me lately?" Kansas asked during her checkup.

"If it's about your chest size, I'm sure they'll inflate into balloons in due time," the old doctor assured without batting an eye.

"I'm sure they will, but that's not the issue that has been on my mind." She rubbed her arm. "I think the injection you gave me last year isn't working. If anything, it's making me feel worse."

"Really?" He scratched his head. "Well, that's to be expected. Your body is still getting used to the drug. But eventually, you'll feel better than ever. So, trust me. It's working wonders for your body."

"I don't know. People keep saying it's not working, and I'm beginning to believe—"

"What you need is another shot of adrenaline to the heart!" He pulled out a syringe and stabbed it into her flat chest, knocking her breath away.

"D-Doctor... Ah..." She dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the floor.

"Oh my gosh!" A terrified nurse returning to the examination room screamed, "Doctor Brownback, what have you done?!"

"It's okay. The adrenaline is gonna upstart the heart of her economy." He loomed over the half-conscious girl. "Feel any better?"

"No... Not really..." she moaned in more pain than before.

"Doctor, she's losing a lot of blood," the nurse advised worryingly. "Also, I don't think the drug is working."

"Nonsense." He dismissed their comments. "The drug I prescribed is working as expected. Just wait and see. This is going perfectly according to my plan." He let out a lofty laugh while Kansas continued to lie on the ground, slowly dying from blood loss.

☆☆☆☆☆

In all seriousness, Kansas's economy wasn't getting any better ever since Governor Brownback signed a bill that significantly cut income taxes. Though it was nice to pay fewer taxes, the bill resulted in budget shortfalls by hundreds of millions of dollars. As a consequence, the state government couldn't properly fund social services such as public education.

"Boss, this isn't right," Kansas confessed as she followed her boss around the capitol building. "I know I'm broke, but I don't want to underfund public schools. After all, the success of my future can only happen by educating the next generation. There's gotta be a way for me to raise money for the children."

"Don't fret," he assured with confidence. "I know a great way to raise money for children's education. Look no further than here." He opened a door to a room full of unsavory things that sent the poor girl into cardiac arrest.

From front to back and top to bottom, the storage room was full of erotic pleasures that offended her Christian eyes. From where she stood, Kansas could see bottles of clear liquid, a stack of naughty DVDs, a crate full of phallic devices, a cardboard box full of round objects, a rack of transparent underwear, and a swing made of black leather hanging from the ceiling for some unknown reason. Frankly, she didn't know the names of these deviant items, nor did she ever want to know their names. But one thing was evident—the fear that came when she saw her boss pick up a box of smut without blinking an eye like this was normal.

"B-B-Boss!" she stammered with crimson cheeks. "What's all this?! Why's all this here?!"

"Recently, the government confiscated property from the owner of a series of adult stores for failing to pay his share in state taxes," he explained. "After considering the state of our budget, we agreed to help the owner raise enough money to pay his taxes by auctioning off his merchandise."

She whimpered, "Boss, this isn't right either. I don't want to get into the porn business."

"Calm down." He handed her the box of porn. "This is purely business. It's nothing new."

She whined, "I'm not looking forward to this at all!"

~ Help me... ~

"Beads... Beads... Get some beads..." Kansas delivered with low energy, holding up a black rubber beaded string.

From behind the camera used to film the online auction, Missouri snickered, "What's that? I can't hear you. Can you tell me what you're selling?"

She scowled. "Beads."

"What kind of beads?"

"... Anal beads." She hid her burning red face in shame, too depressed to stop Missouri from laughing at her embarrassment. "I think I'm better off in Hell..."

"Nonsense!" California appeared with a megaphone in hand, acting as a director on a porn set. "Come on, girl! If you're gonna pull this off, you need to be more confident! Smile more! Say anal from the top of your lungs! Hold those anal beads up like it's a picture of your dog! You gotta make it sell like it's the hottest thing on the market!"

"I... I can't."

"Yes, you can!" She wrapped her arm around the Kansan's shoulders. "Do it for the kids!" 

She sighed, "When you put it that way, I guess I can put up with this at the cost of my dignity. Still, how am I supposed to make this a success when I'm selling...t-this!" She flailed the anal beads toward the ground.

"Easy!" She pushed her aside, making herself the only person at the center of the shot. "No worries, Kansas. I'll show you how this is done!" She dramatically flipped her hair.

"Okay." Missouri pressed a button on the camera. "Let's hear your sales pitch."

California made a natural smile that made her sparkle with enthusiasm as she spoke, "Attention, horny hounds and super sluts! What I'm about to tell you is going to make you gag harder than this $2 ball gag." She showed the product on camera. "The government of Kansas is fucking kids like this twelve-inch dildo with a suction cup base which, by the way, is a good deal at $40." She held the dildo up in her left hand. "I mean, the government isn't actually fucking kids, but they may as well be. Because the stupid budget shortfall they're responsible for is taking a toll on public education which sucks harder than this $60 Fleshlight!" She held the product up in her right hand.

"Sure, you have three dildos and a spare fleshlight at home. Guess what? I don't fucking care! The only things I care about are the poor kids who won't be able to learn their ABC's and 123's because some dildo with a bigger head than this $20 inflatable sex doll," she dropped the toys and brought up a creepy sex doll to show off on camera, "doesn't understand how the fucking economy works. If you want to have a heart of gold like me, buy any of the products shown at this auction like the fluffy handcuffs I'm currently wearing. Then, you can proudly say you save the kids' lives by wasting $15 on a hot pink vibrator which I highly recommend for an intense orgasm!" She winked at the ladies who might be watching. "So, what are you waiting for? Hurry up and buy while they're available at auction!"

Missouri made a round of applause. "Well done! The best adult sex toy advertisement since...ever!"

"Thank you! Thank you!" California and the sex doll bowed graciously.

"Oh, hey!" Nebraska exclaimed at the computer on her desk. "Looks like Mr. France bought a pair of those fluffy handcuffs you showed off."

"Cool!" She gave a thumbs-up. "See, Kansas. With great passion, you'll be able to accomplish anything your heart desires."

"Hm..." Kansas looked over at a box of sex stuff, feeling more neutral instead of disgust this time around. "Okay. I think I got this." She grabbed a random toy from the box and appeared on camera again. "Hello, freaky weirdos! In my hand is something you may be interested in purchasing. It's a...cock ring?" She looked over at her friends. "What's a cock ring?"

"You can't be serious?" California groaned in disappointment. "It's a ring...for a cock."

"O-Oh!" She stared at the package of colorful cock rings in her hand. "Where's this supposed to go on a rooster?"

"It's not that type of cock," Missouri stifled a laugh.

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me root beer!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Sour cream raisin pie I ate before!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Hello, I'm Kansas!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Sunflower State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
Rolling in amber waves of grain!
I am Kansas!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

Shimmering sunlight as bright as diamonds. Spectacular skies as blue as sapphires. Silky sands as white as pearls. And sparkling waters as clear as crystals. Cool and lustrous, the jewels of summer were a spectacle to behold. Wave after wave, all come to the charming shores, setting the stage for adventure, comedy, drama, romance, filler, and fanservice—for "plot" purposes. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to...the Beach Episode.

"Wooooow! It's the ocean!" Mississippi awed.

"No shit." Alabama strolled up to her. "Why ya actin' excited? You live next to the ocean."

"Sure, but it's always fun to say it out loud," she giggled.

Today was the Southern Summer Solstice—a gathering that takes place every four years around June 21st for the Southern states to celebrate the coming of summer as a family (apart from the rest of the United States). For this occasion, it was Florida's turn to host the gathering. She wanted to take them to Disney World, but not everyone wanted to spend hundreds of dollars on her tourist scheme. Instead, a majority agreed the beach was the better option. Emphasis on a majority because not everyone was fond of the idea.

"Has Florida's house always been this hot?" West Virginia fanned his irritated face. "I knew the beach was a bad idea. We should've gone to the mountains instead."

"The only mountains I know in Florida's house are landfills and the ones at Disney World," said Kentucky while taking the beer cooler off the back of the truck. "Otherwise, I don't think there are real mountains in the area."

He stopped at the line where the concrete of the parking lot met with the beach and grumbled, "I don't get it." He glared at Alabama and Mississippi who were running around barefoot in the warm sand. "Beaches are so overrated. If not the mountains, the lake is a good option. There's less sand, and we can go camping afterward."

"You shouldn't complain," Georgia interrupted his rant, appearing in a sun hat and a rose romper with a pair of amber-rimmed sunglasses over her eyes. "Though there are many things I disagree about her, I do acknowledge Miss Florida's hard work to secure a private beach for us. The least we can do is appreciate her efforts and enjoy ourselves as she desired." She looked up at the beach. "Speaking of whom, where is she? Her convertible is in the parking lot."

They looked around the beach, unable to find the Floridan in their sights. Although, they did see a four-foot-long alligator basking next to an orange striped towel on the beach about thirty yards away from the seashore.

"Pardon me, baby girl." Mississippi patted the alligator's back with a carefree smile. "Have you seen Florida?"

The alligator didn't hiss, nor did it move.

"Hm. Did a shark get her?" She gazed at the ocean.

"I doubt it," Alabama muttered. "It would be crazy stupid for that Floridan to die from a shark attack."

"Then, where could she be?"

When the question was asked, a loud voice pierced the air, screaming, "YAHOOO!" Florida jumped out of the ocean on the back of a bottlenose dolphin, one hand on the dorsal fin with the other holding a grenade launcher. The mouths of the Southern states were wide open like a dumb bass. Not because they were shocked to see her riding a dolphin. Not because they were shocked to see her holding a grenade launcher. They were shocked because of what she was wearing: the skimpiest bikini they had ever seen.

"What in the Devil are you wearing?!" Georgia stomped past the others, taking off her sunglasses to let the Floridan see the fiery anger in her amber eyes.

Arriving onshore, Florida wasn't aware of the issue, hence her confusion when confronted by Princess Peach in a puffy rage. "What kind of question is that? It's my swimsuit, duh."

She scoffed, "How is that thing a swimsuit? It looks like a bunch of bare excuses tied together by flimsy string."

"It's a microkini. It covers the rosebuds and the honeypot, so you can't see my private regions." She rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you're complaining. This is a free country where everyone like you can wear clothes from the fifties while people like me can wear the latest trends in the current decade."

"You're giving the boys boners!"

"H-Hey! Don't drag us into this!" Tennessee laughed off the embarrassment.

"It's all good, dude. Everyone can't resist getting a look at me." Florida winked at him.

"Stop that!" Georgia waved her arms furiously. "This is supposed to be a family-friendly gathering. Therefore, you'll need to wear something more appropriate."

"¿Qué (What)?" She appeared offended. "Florida Man and I just saved us from an incoming sharknado, and this is the thanks I get."

"That explains the grenade launcher," Delaware muttered in the background.

"How can I enjoy myself when you're prancing around naked?"

"That's your problem."

"This isn't just my problem! This is a problem everyone has with you! If you don't wear something more appropriate, we're leaving the beach."

"What?" Everyone gave her shocked looks.

Except for West Virginia who cheered, "Yeah! Let's go to the Appalachian Mountains!"

Florida scowled. "You're fucking joking. Do you have any idea how much I have to pay for this beautiful private beach?"

"I don't care." She crossed her arms, refusing to budge from her stance.

She groaned, "You're such a prune!"

☆☆☆☆☆

The quarrel over the microkini came to an end when Florida reluctantly agreed to change into a "proper" swimsuit. She went to the swim shop and came out wearing a tropical sunrise orange bandeau bikini with a palm-printed sarong wrapped around her waist in the colors of a sunset. There were no complaints by Georgia afterward who only gave a silent nod of approval.

By the time they returned to the beach, most of the female states had stripped off their clothes, revealing more of their luscious skin in lovely swimsuits (which the author must describe in a long descriptive paragraph). South Carolina wore the classic bikini in her favorite color, navy blue. Her sister, North Carolina, went for the tomboyish look, preferring solid black swim shorts and a camo high neck halter top to match the visor she was wearing. For her petite body, Maryland went with a frilly flounce bikini printed with daisies. For her plus-size body, Mississippi went with a bright and colorful floral swim dress—something that wouldn't make her feel insecure. Louisiana had on a simple black tankini with her dark curly hair tied back with a black and gold bandana. As for Texas, well, her swimsuit was...very Texas-like.

"Texas, what in the world are you wearing?" Louisiana questioned while trying to keep a straight face.

"It's my swimsuit, of course!" She proudly showed off her one-piece swimsuit in the pattern of her state flag.

"You look ridiculous," Florida snickered.

"It goes with the cowboy hat, okay!" She pouted. "Don't know why all y'all lookin' at me like I'm the personification of Austin. There's the Confederate flag printed on Alabama's swim trunks, yet no one gives him weird looks."

"At least those swim trunks look good on him, even if they're debatable. The swimsuit you're sporting looks stupid and super ugly."

"Screw your dumb opinion! My swimsuit isn't stupid or super ugly at all! It's awesome, and you can't say otherwise!"

Their argument continued to escalate. Not to the point guns were drawn, but there was just enough fire in their breath to bring the temperature up a couple of degrees. It didn't help Alabama egged the gals to wrestle to prove their point. Fortunately, Georgia herded her Southern family away from the nonsensical argument, encouraging them to leave the idiots be. Though, most of the country boys stayed behind to egg the fight for their entertainment.

"Hey." Delaware looked back on what was written so far with a scowl. "How come the girls get all the spotlight? There's barely anything to describe the rest of us."

"Oh, yeah," Maryland observed with a nod. "The author has yet to describe the white tank top and buff swim trunks you're wearing, nor has she described the rest of the guys' swimsuits other than Alabama's. Although, I notice she has yet to describe Virginia's outfit." She turned to her neighbor who had been reading a book on a beach lounge chair, sporting a white beach dress. "You're not getting dressed in a swimsuit?"

"I'm good right here," she assured with a relaxed smile. "You boys and girls have fun."

~ Hetalia! ~

Unwilling to let Florida get away with her derogatory comments, Texas took their fight to the sand volleyball court a couple of yards away from the beach. Louisiana and Maryland tagged along, wanting to play some beach volleyball for fun. Delaware reluctantly joined them as the referee who would keep score. As for Arkansas, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Alabama, they sat in beach chairs along the sidelines, cheering for whoever they bet would win the game.

"Texas is going to get obliterated by Florida," Kentucky snickered.

"Watch what you say," Tennessee chuckled. "You'll only fire her up."

"You're damn right!" Texas pointed at the opposing team, showing teeth. "I'll make you eat your words when I win!"

Florida smirked. "But if you lose, you're throwing that swimsuit in the nearest garbage can."

"Never in a million years!"

Maryland giggled, "Enough trash talk. Let's start the game already."

"Alrighty then! Get ready!" Louisiana tossed the volleyball up in the air. She leaped up and smacked the ball across the court. "Let's go!"

Maryland slowed the ball down with a soft bump by her fingertips. The volleyball curved to the left, close to the net. Florida eyed the ball as she slapped it up in the air, setting it up for an attack. Then, Maryland ran and jumped as high as she could before spiking the ball toward her opponent's court.

"I got it!" Texas dived into the sand, saving the ball from hitting the ground.

"Don't hit it too hard!" Louisiana yelled as she bounced the ball close to the net.

"I'll do whatever I want to win!" She sprung up in the air. "TEXAS...SMAAAAASH!" She slammed the ball with her palms, sending it back at her opponents at an alarming speed.

Maryland had to dodge, not wanting to get concussed from a hit to the face. Florida tried to send the ball back, but the ball flew past her, sending her head in a whirl. Everyone thought the ball was going to fly to the sun until an alligator jumped up and caught the ball in its jaws. The country boys were cheering until a loud burst of air erupted from the gator's jaws.

Delaware blinked his eyes at what he just witnessed. "Um... The ball flew out of court? Point goes to Team Florida?"

"Damn it!" Texas kicked the sand around her.

"I told you not to hit the ball too hard." Louisiana shook her head, watching Florida and Maryland celebrate the point they won.

~ Chomp! ~

Back at the beach, South Carolina noticed Oklahoma set the big watermelon they had bought on a blue checkered picnic blanket. "Hey! Don't be a pig! That watermelon is supposed to be for all of us!" she called him out.

"I'm not eating it by myself!" he snapped at her before composing himself. "I'm setting the watermelon up for Suikawari."

"Sweequawaii?" She cocked her head.

"It's known as the Watermelon Splitting game. It's commonly played in Japan during the summertime."

"But this is America."

"I know, but it's required we play the game for the Beach Episode."

"Okay," said North Carolina with a shrug, "how do we play Soykawary or whatever it's called?"

"The rules are similar to piñata." He held up a black blindfold and a wooden rod. "Everyone will take turns wearing a blindfold. With the suikawari stick, the person wearing the blindfold is spun around a few times. Then, they can attempt to swing and crack the watermelon open."

"Sounds easy enough." South Carolina smirked. "Can I give it a try?"

"Sure." Oklahoma began to tie the blindfold around her eyes. "By the way, you can't use the stick to tap or feel for the watermelon. Also, you can only swing downward in one swift motion."

"Drats!"

North Carolina grabbed her shoulders and giggled, "Good luck."

"H-Hey! Wait!" She was swiftly spun around multiple times. When the spinning stopped, she staggered to stand, trying not to fall on her bottom like a clumsy buffoon. "C-Can I get a hint? Am I close to the watermelon?"

"Yeah," said her sister. "Turn your stick to the right."

South Carolina did as she suggested until she realized something. 'Wait a second. Why is she helping me?' She scowled. 'This must be a trick! She thinks she can make a fool out of me, but I'll show her!' Turning back to the left, she lifted the stick straight up at a 180-degree angle and took in a deep breath. "Hyah!" She swung downward, making a soft thump in the sand. Laughter erupted from her sister, making her blood boil. "Shut up! I like to see you try!"

"You have two more chances," Oklahoma reminded her.

"I told you to turn your stick to the right," North Carolina snickered.

"Like I believe you!" She turned more to the right and swung downward, hitting the sand again. At that point, she wondered if this was all a mindfuck. Maybe the watermelon was to her right the entire time. She wouldn't know until she swung. Thus, on her final attempt, she turned her body drastically to the right. "Hyah!" She swung down and hit the soft sand.

"Woooow!" North Carolina burst out laughing. "You were waaay off!"

"S-Shut up!" Pulling the blindfold off, South Carolina couldn't believe how right her sister was. She was facing the opposite direction of the watermelon on the picnic blanket. Her face became heated like the top of a stove as she slammed the stick onto the ground. "This is your fault! You spun me around to look in the opposite direction on purpose!"

"I did tell you to turn right."

"You didn't tell me how far right it was!"

"Want to give it a try?" Oklahoma offered the blindfold and suikawari stick to North Carolina.

"Sure. I'll show y'all how to crack a watermelon in half." After being blindfolded and spun around by her sister, North Carolina did her best to do at least better than her. Which she already did in her first attempt, slapping the stick onto the picnic blanket.

"Whoa! So close!" said South Carolina in an exaggerated voice. "If only you moved more to the left, you would've gotten it!"

Without wasting a second to think about what she said, North Carolina modestly turned to her left and swung downward, scrapping the watermelon's side. "Ha!" She smirked as she adjusted her aim slightly. Raising the stick as high as she could, she swung the stick downward, hitting what might be the center of the watermelon. And as it turned out when she took off her blindfold, she was right. However, it was only a small dent. "Damn. What is that watermelon made out of?" She wiped her forehead. "Oh, well. At least I cracked it," she said arrogantly, watching her sister turn into an irate pufferfish.

Following North Carolina, it was Georgia's turn to try and split open the watermelon. In her attempt, she was smart to use her feet to move around until she felt the smooth surface of the picnic blanket. With some "help" from South Carolina, she managed to strike the watermelon twice, hitting harder the second time. Even then, the watermelon had yet to crack open. It was easier for Mississippi, West Virginia, and Oklahoma to locate the watermelon with the guidance of their fellow Southerners, however, none of them could break open the watermelon; Virginia favored to watch instead of participating in the game which might be wise of her to do. After Oklahoma's turn, West Virginia suggested they shoot the watermelon open, but Georgia smacked him on the head for suggesting that awful idea.

"Hey, everyone! We're back" Maryland and her friends came back to the beach to see their fellow Southerners loafing around with defeated faces.

"That was a quick game," North Carolina noted. "Who won?"

"Me, obviously!" Florida smiled.

"Actually, the game was suspended," Texas grumbled. "It would've been longer if Florida's dumb gator didn't chew the ball up like bubblegum." She showed them the volleyball carcass.

"Hey, hey! She was trying to catch it. It isn't her fault her teeth are sharp and pointy." She cuddled her gator like a baby. "Anyway, what are y'all doing? Why are there cracks on that watermelon?"

"We're playing the Watermelon Splitting game called Suikawari," Oklahoma explained to them. "It's kinda like hitting a piñata, but the piñata is a watermelon."

"Oh!" Texas exclaimed with excitement. "Can I give it a go? I'm great at breaking open piñatas."

He shrugged. "Knock yourself out." He handed her the blindfold and the suikawari stick.

After being blindfolded and spun around, the Texan began the game with great confidence. With her friends' guidance, she was able to position herself in an ideal spot in front of the watermelon. She tittered, "Look here! Y'all about to get some delicious watermelon!"

Watching her raise the stick, Oklahoma's eyes grew wide, realizing what she was going to do. He tried to stop her, reaching toward her. "Wait. You can't—"

"TEXAS SMAAASH!" She swung the stick like a golf club, hitting something hard at the end of her swing, causing her friends to gasp and groan. "Did I split it in half? I heard something crack!"

"You split something in half alright..." Louisiana crouched over Oklahoma's unconscious body, cringing at the large lump on his forehead.

~ Ugh... ~

After receiving first-aid for that hit to the head, Oklahoma rested in the shade of a beach umbrella, munching on a slice of watermelon which ended up getting sliced open with a machete lent by Florida. It wasn't the outcome he desired. Then again, no one wanted the cowgirl to have a second go at the watermelon. He had yet to sort out his feelings, whether to blame the dumb Texan for ruining the fun or not. His head kept pulsing whenever he thought too hard on the matter.

"Are you sure you don't wanna go to the hospital?" Mississippi asked worryingly.

"A hospital in Florida's house? I'm good." He glared at the dumb Texan from afar, watching her swim furiously to beat Florida in a swimming competition. "Damn it. It was stupid of me to approach her. I wouldn't have gotten a bump on my head if I explained the rules to her earlier."

"Hey, now. What happened was an unfortunate accident. Don't blame yourself. It isn't your fault."

"Then, it's Texas's fault."

"Um, no. That's not it either."

He sighed, "Whatever. I don't want to stay mad for the rest of the day. I'm here to enjoy the beach." He took a bite from his watermelon and gulped. "By the way, is that okay?" He referred to Florida's alligator getting buried in the sand.

"I think so. She hasn't snapped at me yet." She paused from placing more sand on top of the gator's back, looking to her left. "Looks like I'm not the only one burying someone," she giggled.

Closeby, Kentucky and Tennessee were trying their hardest not to laugh and wake Alabama from his afternoon nap. They not only buried his body, but they also took the time to sculpt the sand around him into the shape of a mermaid—with a fishtail and a big pair of boobs that came with seashell nipples. Somehow, Alabama remained asleep during the duration of their shenanigans.

"We should find some seaweed, so we could give him some locks," Kentucky suggested.

"Great idea. Let's go find some."

"Hopefully, he doesn't wake up when we get back."

On their way to find some seaweed, they passed by the sandcastle building competition between the Carolinas and the Virginias. Though, the competition was more one-sided than what Arkansas hoped for. Even though there were thirty minutes left on the timer, he already decided on the winner. It was that clear and obvious.

"Hoo hoo hoo!" South Carolina wiped her brow. "I say I've created another masterpiece." The sandcastle she built had multiple towers in incredible detail. The entire castle looked like a miniature that could be used for a movie set.

Arkansas looked over at North Carolina who had been sitting around in the sand the entire time, watching her sister make extra details to the sandcastle. "Shouldn't you lend a hand? This is a team competition."

"I did lend a hand, remember? I built the moat around the sandcastle." She pointed out. "Even if I wanted to do more, she wouldn't let me, saying I would ruin her masterpiece. But if you want to continue to nag about this being a team competition, you should scold the other team."

He turned his attention to Virginia who had built a small and modest sandcastle by herself since the start of the competition. About ten yards away, there was a giant sandy hill that appeared more man-made than natural. "What the Hell?" He stomped toward the giant pile of sand. "Darn it, West Virginia! I told you to help your sister build a sandcastle!"

West Virginia poked his head up from behind the hill and hollered, "No way! I rather build a mountain than a stupid sandcastle!"

Mississippi laughed at the spectacle. "This is so much fun!"

"WHAT IN TARNATION?!" Alabama's screams echoed across the beach. "WHO BURIED ME AND GAVE ME BOOBS?!"

~ Hetalia! ~

Meanwhile, some of the states—Delaware, Georgia, Louisiana, and Maryland—went off to explore the private coast, beachcombing for things they thought were neat to bring home.

"Hey, Mary! I found one!" Delaware went up to her, holding a volcanic black shard between his fingers.

She gasped, "Where did you find it?" She took it from his hands, holding it up to the sun to see amber-brown reflections, indicating its authenticity.

"I found it among some pebbles ahead of here." He pointed in the direction he came from. "I didn't think there was sea glass on this beach, especially of rare quality."

"Yeah. There may not be much sea glass, but I'll take it." She placed the shard into a miniature, white satchel, hoping to add it to her collection.

While they went off to search for more sea glass, Georgia and Louisiana wandered around the seashore, getting their feet wet while they look for sand dollars.

"Oh, hey. There's a beer bottle coming up behind you." Louisiana pointed at the green bottle floating toward Georgia. "Can you get that out of the water?"

"Sure." As she was picking up the bottle, she noticed the silhouette of a paper scroll inside of it. "Oh my! It's a message in a bottle!"

"Really?" She came closer toward her. "Well, darn. I thought some lazy drunk dropped it in the ocean."

"I wonder where it came from and who wrote it." She popped the cork out. "A message from a homesick sailor? A poem from a lovesick lover? A wish from a lonely widow?" She swooned over the thought of these romantic possibilities.

"We won't know until we read what they've written." She made a good point.

After sliding the scroll out of the bottle, Georgia untied the string and unfolded the scroll, reading the message aloud, "My love. What did the ocean say to the shore? ... Nothing. It just waved..." A long painful silence trailed at the end.

"... Good joke, yes?" Louisiana uttered the last sentence in the message before Georgia wrapped the scroll back up and stuffed it back into the bottle. "What are you...?"

She threw the bottle back into the ocean and huffed, "There. I spared their love from lackluster disappointment."

Louisiana frowned. "Wouldn't it be more efficient to tear the message up instead?"

"... Shucks. You're right," she groaned, regretting what she had done.

~ Hetalia... ~

As the hours went by, the bright blue sky gradually changed colors to reflect a dusky palette. Golden yellows mixed with blurred orange lines. Pastel pink clouds accented the ever-growing violet night. Even the blueness of the sky had shades growing light to dark as the sun continued to lower into the ocean. The Beach Episode would soon draw to a close.

The Southerners were hungry for some food, particularly barbecue. Though there were plenty of restaurants nearby, it was better to have a cookout on the beach. After all, food tasted better when cooked alongside family and friends. The barbecue they had wasn't ordinary for most of the Southerners. It was best described as a tremendous sample platter of Florida cuisine. Floribbean-style ribs, lemon pepper chicken kebabs, spicy barbecued shrimp paired with mango salsa, roasted okra, and grilled fruit skewers sprinkled with lime and chili powder, all of which went nicely with sweet tea or a cold can of beer. There were also marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers, the main ingredients for s'mores later in the evening. However, that wasn't the main dessert. That would be key lime pie. Everything was good, and no one complained.

But then, Florida noticed someone was missing out on the cookout. "Has anyone seen my alligator?"

"I buried her in the sand," said Mississippi as she looked back at the spot she buried the gator, "but I don't see her."

She scowled. "Weird. She doesn't usually miss out on food."

Everyone looked around until Virginia spoke up when she spotted something in the ocean. "Is that her?"

Mississippi gasped, "It's her, but she's being chased by a shark!"

"Nooooo! My baby girl! I'll save you!" Florida fetched out the grenade launcher.

"Whoa there!" Louisiana stopped her. "You might hit your gator by accident."

"Then, what should I do?"

"You should wrestle the shark," said Alabama jokingly.

"Good idea!" Florida exclaimed as she dropped the grenade launcher in favor of a machete.

"You're crazy!" Georgia yelled in disbelief.

"You bet your ass I am!" She winked at her before charging at the ocean, screaming, "Here I come, bitch! I'm about to remind you who's at the top of the food chain!"

From the top of the sand mountain, West Virginia watched the ocean fight with disinterest, grumbling, "This wouldn't happen if we went to the mountains instead."

~ Hetalia! ~

Hey, hey, daddy, give me whiskey!
Hey, hey, mommy, hey, hey, mommy!
I cannot forget the taste of that
Alabama Lane cake I ate before!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
I'm Alabama!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth!
Looking closely, that's the Earth!
Or maybe, that's the Earth?
I'm the Yellowhammer State!

Ah, with just a brushstroke,
A wonderful world can be seen!
The Heart of Dixie beats loudly!
Alabama!

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter Text

~

Representing the Cheese & Burger Society, Wisconsin asked her friends about the origins of the cheeseburger and received various answers.

"Obviously, the cheeseburger was invented in my home," California boasted. "It happened back in 1926. There was this sandwich shop in Pasadena, and this dude ordered a burger topped with everything. True to their word, the cook got his hands on whatever ingredient he could top the hamburger. At one point, he accidentally dropped a slice of American cheese on the burger patty. Hence, the 'Aristocratic Burger' aka the 'Original Hamburger with Cheese' was born. You're welcome." She took a bite out of her cheeseburger.

"Actually," Kentucky countered, "the cheeseburger was invented in my home. It happened in 1934 at a family restaurant in Louisville. The mama was cooking burgers one day when the papa casually suggested she put cheese on them. Three burgers later, he couldn't get enough! Word of mouth spread, and that was how the cheeseburger came to be." He took a bite out of his cheeseburger.

California scowled. "Dude, that was in 1934. You were, like, eight years too late."

"So what? It was the first time the word 'cheeseburger' was used; it wasn't called a hamburger with cheese."

"Um, I hate to break it to you dudes," Colorado interrupted, "but the cheeseburger was invented by me. I even have proof."

"Proof?" California and Kentucky blinked their eyes.

"Check it out." He showed them an old document. "In 1935, a man from Denver registered and received a trademark for the word 'cheeseburger'. Therefore, the cheeseburger was my invention." He smirked as he took a bite out of his cheeseburger™.

California scoffed, "That's a bunch of crap. People were making cheeseburgers before 1935. That trademark doesn't mean a damn thing."

He shrugged. "You're not wrong. The trademark isn't enforced, but my point stands. The cheeseburger is my invention."

"No way! The cheeseburger was my doing, made way before it became cool!"

"Ahem." Connecticut poked his head into the conversation. "I can't help but hear you guys talk about burgers."

"Steamed cheeseburgers don't count!" She shooed him away.

Wisconsin giggled, "There's one thing I can't disabrie. Whoever invented the cheeseburger, they did the nation a grate service." She took a bite out of her cheeseburger and hummed.

☆☆☆☆☆

The 1980s—Manila, The Philippines

The McWorld—the globalization of McDonald's fast-food restaurants—was rapidly expanding like U.S. military bases. There was a McDonald's in Canada. There was a McDonald's in Japan. There was a McDonald's in the Netherlands. There were even McDonald's restaurants in the Land Down Under. Despite criticism for its invasive and destructive influences, the American franchise managed to succeed in the countries it established. So far, there were no signs of slowing expansion. Wherever there was a market, there was room to set up the Golden Arches; it was free real estate. With the most recent success of the first McDonald's in Singapore, the fast-food corporation decided to greenlight more locations in Southeast Asia. Their next destination: the Philippines.

California stood in front of the first McDonald's in the Philippines, holding a giant pair of scissors in hand, posing in front of news cameras. "Salamat sa pagpunta (Thank you for coming)!" she spoke briefly in Filipino, smiling from cheek to cheek. "The grand opening of the first McDonald's— I mean, McDo in the Philippines is an opportunity for everyone, both for the people of these islands and for the franchise. Without further ado, McDo is now open for service!" A grand round of applause and camera flashes went off as she cut the red ribbon in half, opening the restaurant to the public.

But as she was opening the door for the first customers to walk into the restaurant, expecting customers to gather inside, no one came forward. The crowd dispersed, heading next door to a smaller building called Jollibee. A human-sized red and yellow bee wearing a chef hat stood by the front door, greeting customers as they went inside the restaurant, while California gaped with disheartened eyes.

~ Ba da ba ba ba I'm hatin' it! ~

"What the hell?!" California marched toward the building that was "stealing" McDonald's customers' hearts. "What is this?"

"You've never heard of Jollibee?" gasped a young dark-haired man, appearing before the American blondie in a white barong tagalog (a type of embroidered long-sleeved formal shirt) and a pair of bright blue denim jeans. "By the way, I'm the Philippines. It's nice to be mentioned even though I'm no longer a colony of America." He smiled and waved at the camera/audience.

"Hey! Focus!" She clapped her hands, grabbing his attention. "Please explain. What's Jollibee? Should I be worried?"

"Worry?" He let out a light-hearted chuckle. "There's no need to worry. Jollibee is like America's McDonald's, but it's for Filipinos like me. The food at Jollibee tastes delicious, so there's nothing to fear."

California glared at the bee mascot who continued to smile and wave happily at her. "Yeah... I doubt that."

"If you don't believe me, how about we get some food for you to taste?" He and the Californian went inside the crowded restaurant; he waited in line while California waited at a table.

Looking around the place, California recognized the interior and atmosphere to be like McDonald's. White walls, brown tables, red cushioned seats, yellow lighting, the choices in decor could easily be approved by a McDonald's representative or any fast-food representative for that matter. Not only did everything look like a fast-food restaurant, but it also sounded like one. At lunchtime, the place was chocked full of families with little kids. All the babbling, the giggling, and the yelling annoyed California. At the same time, it reminded her of all the restaurants back at home. Overall, the place was like McDonald's but Filipino. She wondered if the food was like that, too.

"I'm back!" The Philippines set a tray of food onto the table as he sat himself down in a seat. "Which one do you want to try first?"

There were four options to choose from, three of which were typically seen in a fast-food restaurant. There was a cheeseburger. There were french fries with (banana) ketchup. There was a fried chicken drumstick with a side of gravy. There was spaghetti—

"What the fuck? They serve spaghetti?" California swirled the noodles around in the sauce with her fork.

"Yep! But not just any spaghetti, they serve Jolly Spaghetti!"

She cracked a smile. "Is that really what's it called? Please tell me the fried chicken is called Jolly Fried Chicken."

He shook his head. "It's called Chickenjoy."

"And the burger?"

"It's called Yumburger...with cheese!"

She burst out laughing. "And the french fries?"

"They're called Jolly Crispy Fries."

"Oh. That's lame." She picked up the Cheesy Yumburger. "So, if I eat this, it'll taste like a normal cheeseburger."

"Yes...but Filipino."

"What? What does that mean?"

"That means it tastes like a cheeseburger...but better! The cheeseburgers I tried outside my home taste bland. But at Jollibee, it tastes like home." He took a bite out of his Yumburger, humming, "Yum! Langhap sarap (Delicious aroma)!"