Oneshot. Hetaverse. OCs: Upper Peninsula and Lower Peninsula of Michigan. Written for the 100 themes challenge, Mother Nature.

A/N: The only oc I have for Michigan is Jean Togquos Marquette (Jones) who is meant to represent the UP. This oneshot takes place in the Les Cheneaux Islands (which is a gorgeous area to see if one is given the opportunity) because my family has a place there.
Both UP and Lower Peninsula have a sort of Michigan accent (though it may really only apply to the Western portion - ie where I live) where one doesn't pronounce the hard constanants at the end of the word. Also, it is spoken quickly and the words mesh together ("to go" becomes "t'go" and "going to do" becomes "gunna do"... don't get me started on "can't", "can'", and "kin"). What this comes down to is that people from (West) Michgan speak quickly and run all their words together. It is also said that we speak nasally, though I could never really tell the difference.

Finally, yes. People from the UP refer to the lower peninsula dwellers as "trolls". True story. They also dislike people from Ohio...


The sun was setting gloriously, dipping low beyond the endless wall of separately hued trees and watercoloring the sky with subtly overlapping tones of gold, crimson, rose, lavender, and indigo. Kicking his bare feet through the still lake water, Jean inhaled deeply through his nose. Somewhere, someone was having a bonfire, the comfortingly familiar scent curling gently into the chilly night air.

When he was here, he felt more at peace than anywhere else. These bays were his bays, and these islands, his islands. When he was here, he was surrounded on all sides by the wild, natural force that had birthed him so many hundreds of years ago. This land wasn't just his home – it was his mother.

"It's too dark up here," his twin grumbled from behind him. "Too quiet, too."

"It's called peaceful, Troll," Jean corrected with a sigh. "If you're so bothered by it, why don' you jus' drive your ass back over the bridge t'go home?"

His southern counterpart let out a snort and probably rolled his eyes in an unseen, unheeded gesture. "Tha's, like, a four hour drive 'n' I don't feel like havin' to worry about spatterin' some deer across the fron' of my car."

"Tha's tough."

"You're a dick."

"You're a troll."

They lapsed into a brief ceasefire as they simultaneously tilted their heads back to observe the limitless expanse of stars that was emerging with the approach of the nighttime.

"I's nice… I guess," his brother admitted finally, exhaling contentedly. "We don' get stars like this downstate."

"You used to."

"Not all of us cling to our forest-dwellin', naked savage ways, UP."

"I's too cold up here t'be a 'naked savage,'" Jean chuckled softly. "But poin' taken."

Humming, the northernmost peninsula of Michigan drew his feet from the water and rested them against the warped wood of the dock.

"But seriously, you never get lonely up here?" his brother asked suddenly.

"Nah, not really." With a thoughtful pause, Jean continued, "I mean, I get t'see Uncle Matt a lot, 'n' even if I'm by myself, I've got Mackinaw to keep me company."

"Mackinaw's your pet turtle."

"And I have this." He gestured to the surrounding area. "The land."

A crooked smile graced the lips of the lower peninsula as he shook his head at his crazy, redneck sibling. "I guess you're righ', there's always the land."