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Human names;
  • Erik – Ladonia
  • Klaus – Kugelmugel
  • Zoe – Wy
  • Fedrico – Seborga
  • Benjamin – Molossia
The sign was messy, Erik wasn't so good at writing by hand, as he was with typing, but the message still read well enough. Good enough that when Zoe had seen it, she'd pitched a fit. Erik didn't feel sorry for it. He'd hung it out as Peter pulled the ladder up.

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It all started with an offhand comment Tony had made about some stupid commercial. If he’d known it would turn into this, he never would have said anything about it at all. But it was obviously too late now, and the living room was a mess, with the furniture rearranged, and blankets and pillows everywhere- where did he even get all those blankets? Why did they have so many!?

And what was worse, was Steve looked so damn happy and pleased with himself. Laying under the floor, with pillows to cushion the floor, and blankets overhead held up by chairs and the back of the couch- and fuck Tony was not drunk enough for this to be normal.

Cap’, this is stupid.”

Just get in Tony.”

And he did. And he complained the whole time they were in that stupid little fort. But Steve ignored it, and Tony didn’t mean it, cause even if it was awkward and uncomfortable, it was pretty sweet and hey, no one could see what they were doing under there right?

fixitpixie: (Default)

It all started with an offhand comment Tony had made about some stupid commercial. If he’d known it would turn into this, he never would have said anything about it at all. But it was obviously too late now, and the living room was a mess, with the furniture rearranged, and blankets and pillows everywhere- where did he even get all those blankets? Why did they have so many!?

And what was worse, was Steve looked so damn happy and pleased with himself. Laying under the floor, with pillows to cushion the floor, and blankets overhead held up by chairs and the back of the couch- and fuck Tony was not drunk enough for this to be normal.

Cap’, this is stupid.”

Just get in Tony.”

And he did. And he complained the whole time they were in that stupid little fort. But Steve ignored it, and Tony didn’t mean it, cause even if it was awkward and uncomfortable, it was pretty sweet and hey, no one could see what they were doing under there right?

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The triplets were the first newborns Merida had ever seen, and when her Mum made her sit, and pushed Harris into her arms, the little girl had been terrified she’d accidentally drop him, or he’d start crying, but neither of those things happened. The little baby just looked up at her through sleepy eyes and squirmed a little in her arms. Harris would always be the quietest of the boys. He was a heavy weight in her arms, warm and delicate. It was really amazing, and for a moment, Merida thought this was probably the most amazing moment ever, and he was so cute (even if he was all wrinkly and pink), and she thought maybe having babies around wouldn’t be so bad.

And then Hubert started to scream in her dad’s arms, and Hamish in her mum’s, and Harris joined them after just a moment. His little face twisted up and his tiny mouth opened and the noise of the three was unbearable. She couldn’t get away from him quickly enough, her mother immediately took the baby back into her own arms, and Merida jumped off the hospital bed and plastered herself against a wall. Once the babies were calmed down, and all asleep, her mum and dad laughed about it, saying she’d better get used to it, since her room was right across of from theirs.

Merida immediately hated the idea of babies again, and sulked the whole ride home from the hospital. As her dad unlocked their apartment door, she leaned against a wall and stared down the long hall, and all she had to say, as he pushed the door open was, “When Mum comes home, could she leave those things there?”

Her father’s laugh echoed down the hall and she flinched away from the sound. Later that night she’d ask her mum the same thing and get the same response. She took this as no, and spent the night sulking in her room.

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A month later, two men appeared on the Jones front porch. They wore uniforms and carried with them a familiar dufflebag, a set of polished dog tags and a folded flag.

Mrs. Jones stopped smiling after that. Her lips would never quirk up again, she was never able to be around others who were smiling. Amelia smiling, even a little, triggered tears and sobbing almost instantly.

Amelia didn't smile for a long time after that. She spent a lot of time at the Williams house, and out with friends, coming home rarely because she couldn't bare her mother's tears and her father's silence, or the room that sat next to hers and continued to collect dust.

It would be years later, after her mother passes, and her father moves out of the house into a smaller one further in town, and Amelia is married and has two little girls. She wears the dog tags that had been given to her mother, and there's a photograph on the mantel of her and Al at the age of fifteen sitting on the fence at their uncle's ranch. She can smile again, at her little girls and her husband and her life, and thinks Al would have been happy for her. For the life she has.

She'll never stop aching for the part of her that she lost when Al stopped writing. She'll never forget the boy he'd been as he climbed on that bus, or years they'd had together. But life continues, and she knows he would have wanted her to be happy, so she tries, and is.
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The letters come frequently, at first. Al talks about boot camp in them. About the others that were there with him. How he had to shave his head, and get up before the sun. Running laps, doing drills, falling into bed exhausted.

Amelia wrote back about how they missed him. She told him about school and Maddie, and how their parents were, and let him know he was still loved.

The letters stopped for a while when he was deployed. Eventually, a few more came. They weren’t about training anymore, but about pain and blood and a war he didn’t understand. How were they the good guys? How did they shed so much blood, and still be right? Why did so many have to die on both sides…

Amelia never had an answer to these questions. She cried herself to sleep some nights thinking about them. Missing him. Some days, she would get a letter and let it sit unopened for a day or two, afraid to read it. Wishing there were fewer. She had boxes of them under her bed.

And then they stopped again.

There was no word for a long, long time. No letters, no calls, no contact. Like Al had dropped off the face of the earth. Everyone worried themselves sick over him.

The last person to get a letter from Al, was not Amelia, but Madeline Williams. She had written him herself since he’d left. The letter he sent her was messy, the ink smudged, some of the words blurred, it was only half a page long. It was the last anyone would see of his handwriting or signature, and she let Amelia read it, before putting it away with all the others, safe. And the two sat together for a long time, silent and still, not sure what to say.
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That night the Jones family huddled around the radio in the living room after dinner, listening with baited breath. When the words "July 4th," came from the speakers his mother dissolved into tears. His father slid an arm around her slender shoulders and turned his head so Al could see nothing but the hint of anger and worry. His sister's hand slid into his own, thumb rubbing soft circles into the top of his hand. She was biting back tears, shoulders trembling as she resisted the urge to sob.

Later that night, long after the radio had been shut off and his father had led his shakey, still crying, mother to bed, Al found himself alone in his room. He sat on the bed and stared helplessly out the window. Told himself that there was nothing he could do. They were close enough to the Canadian border that he might be able to make that run, but it felt like the cowards way out. Al didn't want to be a coward. But...

He jumped when a soft knock on his door broke the silence he'd let fall. Thinking it was likely his father, Al gave immediate permission for entrance. It was Amelia, though, looking pale and small in a way she hadn't since they were children.

There were no words needed, not as she crossed the room to stand beside him. Her hair was still tangled and messy, eyes glossy with unscheduled tears, hands twisted in her night shirt. She was quiet at first, just standing at his side, staring out into the dark of the night with him.

It was the oddest thing, the two of them near silent. Arthur would have laughed if they ever told him it possible. But it was, and they let it be until the air felt thick and the silence oppressive.

The sound that ended it wasn't a word, but a sob. It seemed to echo in the room, bouncing off the walls and it took a moment for them to realize it had come from Al. But once they both knew that, there was nothing to hold back the rest. Al let tears slide down his cheeks, and his shaking shoulders soon came with gasping sobs. It took less then seconds before Amelia was in front of him, her fingers in his hair, his face against her stomach.

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