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femgenficathonTitle: Love, Angie
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
trascendenza
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Angela Petrelli, her mother, father, Arthur “Dallas” Petrelli
Rating: PG
Words: 1,200
Prompt #9: “The sad truth is that most evil is done by people who never make up their minds to be good or evil.” – Hannah Arendt.
Summary: Pre-series. From age seven to thirty-five, letters that Angela Petrelli has written.
Notes: Sorry for how incredibly late this is! And thanks so much toxenokattz for the beta.
Love, Angie
January 17, 1951 (7 years of age)
Dear Mama,
Papa said hell give this to you next time he visits. I wish I could come see you. He said only grown-ups are allowed in. I think thats very mean. Papa says your having a good time. I listened to the radio after Papa and Bobby fell asleep last night & Samantha at school is my new best friend. You dont have to worry because I have lots of friends. I have to go get dressed for the party now.
I miss you. Bobby misses you too. But I miss you more.
Love,
Angie
--
January 18, 1952
Dear Samantha,
Will you be my new best friend?
– Angie Castiglioni
--
January 17, 1952 (8 years of age)
Dear Mama,
Do you think next time you come home we can go on a picnic? Papa said you were too sick to come out last time. I’m sorry I was at Sam’s and didn’t get to see you.
It isn’t the same going with Stella. She wears the uniform even when I tell her not to (I thought she was supposed to listen to me) and won’t roll down the hills with me like you do.
I had a dream about you flying like a plane. We’re flying to Italy to see Grandma next week. Bobby is still a snot.
Love,
Angie
--
November 22, 1956 (11 years of age)
Dear Mama,
Papa told me you can’t come home for Christmas. But I saved stuffing for you. Grandma Maria said she made it just the way she did when you were a kid. She likes it here, but she has a hard time speaking English. Bobby fell asleep in his chair because he ate too much and Papa had to undo his belt.
Mrs. Templeton asked about you at brunch last week. I hate her but Papa always invites her. I told her you were coming back soon.
My teachers at school are mean. Are your teachers mean? If they are, you should come home.
I have a Christmas present for you. Please come home for it.
Love,
Angie
--
August 13, 1957 (12 years of age)
Mama,
I don’t like that place. Those people are very mean to you. You didn’t look happy. Papa won’t tell me why you’re so sad. Will you tell me why you’re so sad, Mama?
Please stop going back.
Love,
Angie
--
May 15, 1959 (14 years of age)
Sam,
Do you ever think that maybe we’re not like all the other girls?
– Angie
--
September 7, 1961 (16 years of age)
Sam,
I’m grounded. My brother the fink told on me again and my dad flipped his wig. Like ragging those socks was such a big whoop. Meet you at your locker tomorrow.
– Angie
--
January 18, 1962 (17 years of age)
Ma,
I don’t think those straightlaces gave you my last letter, but I’m pretty sure this one will get to you. Let’s just say the attendants there don’t make much dough.
School is fine. Sam says hello. You remember Sam, right? She’s got a boyfriend now. She’s pretty happy about that.
I’m well. But… I don’t think Pa always understands what it’s like to be my age. I try to talk to him about stuff, but he bugs out as soon as I get real.
Yesterday I was looking at pictures of you from years ago. You looked just like me, Ma.
Do we have anything else in common? Anything Pa wouldn’t tell me about?
– Angie
--
May 7, 1963 (18 years of age)
Sam,
I’m going to do it. Wish me luck.
– Angie
--
May 8, 1963
Arthur:
Heard your car got fixed. You should come by and take me for a spin in it.
– Angela Castiglioni
--
February 13, 1965 (20 years of age)
Ma,
His name’s Arthur. He’s incredible. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have him. Pa will be giving me away; we were hoping you might get a special allowance to come.
If it’s all right with you, I’d like to wear your dress. Stella said she could alter it for me.
I’ll see you next month and we can talk more about it.
– Angie
--
September 23, 1965
Sam,
The weather here is amazing. We may get a villa out here; you and Caleb will have to join us in the summer. Arthur is a terrible honeymooner—my shoes are practically disintegrated from sight-seeing.
I really couldn’t be happier.
Love,
– Angela
--
November 2, 1966 (21 years of age)
Ma,
I have these dreams sometimes. It’s as if you’re right here with me, but transparent. Floating.
You tell me terrible things.
I’m going to talk to father about stopping your dosages. I’m not a child, anymore. He can’t deflect me with lies. This has to stop.
I love you.
– Angie
--
January 9, 1967 (22 years of age)
Father,
I’d like to discuss a transferal of assets into a trust fund for Nathan. Please contact me at your earliest convenience.
– Angela
--
September 29, 1968 (23 years of age)
Arthur,
I wish you could have been here to see our son. He took his first steps yesterday. He’s going to make us proud one day. Our godsend.
I love you. May this letter reach you safely.
Angela
--
June 6, 1972 (27 years of age)
Ma,
Sometimes I think I write to you more for my sake than your own. They have you so drugged that I doubt you can tell reality from dream, anymore.
I will find a way for you to come home—one way or another. I swear it.
– Angie
--
October 11, 1975 (30 years of age)
Father,
The truth always comes out, in the end. Destroy all the records you like. I will not be dissuaded.
– Angela
--
April 24, 1978 (33 years of age)
Ma,
There are others. I always wondered, always hoped. Arthur and I are closer than either of us thought possible.
We’re going to great things, Ma. All of them—they’re like me.
And, maybe, like you?
You don’t have to answer me on paper.
– Angie
--
July 19, 1978 (33 years of age)
Kaito,
You are a dear friend, but never again. My moment of weakness was an aberration. I lost my composure—seeing one’s husband in a straight jacket tends to have that effect on one. I tell you this not as an excuse: merely an elaboration on circumstances.
I will be attending the next board meeting.
Until then,
– Angela
--
July 22, 1978
Daniel,
Arthur needs to see you. Please come as soon as possible. I will not have him locked up for this.
– Angela
--
March 18, 1979 (34 years of age)
Daniel,
You’re absolutely certain there is no other recourse?
I’m sure you know the gravity that your answer will have on this situation. Please consider very carefully.
– Angela
--
November 3, 1980 (35 years of age)
Sam,
I’m about to do a terrible thing. But I don’t think I have any other choice. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to figure out the right thing to do.
I don’t think there is one.
--
December 1, 1980
Ma,
I love you. I want you to remember that, no matter what else they’ve told you. I love you.
But what they’ve done to you—they had no right. And maybe I have no right, either, but I don’t know how else to help you. I can’t let them hurt you anymore.
I made you a promise.
The man giving you this letter will take care of you. He can’t give you back what you’ve lost. But you won’t feel any pain.
I want you to hold this letter up to your face, Ma, and take a deep breath. Think about those flowers we used to pick out front. The yellow ones, remember? You used to make necklaces out of them and tell me that I could whisper all my secrets into them.
Hold this letter up, Ma, and tell it your secrets. Let it take them away.
I love you, Ma. Never forget.
Your daughter,
Angie
Author:
trascendenzaFandom: Heroes
Characters: Angela Petrelli, her mother, father, Arthur “Dallas” Petrelli
Rating: PG
Words: 1,200
Prompt #9: “The sad truth is that most evil is done by people who never make up their minds to be good or evil.” – Hannah Arendt.
Summary: Pre-series. From age seven to thirty-five, letters that Angela Petrelli has written.
Notes: Sorry for how incredibly late this is! And thanks so much to
xenokattz for the beta.Love, Angie
January 17, 1951 (7 years of age)
Dear Mama,
Papa said hell give this to you next time he visits. I wish I could come see you. He said only grown-ups are allowed in. I think thats very mean. Papa says your having a good time. I listened to the radio after Papa and Bobby fell asleep last night & Samantha at school is my new best friend. You dont have to worry because I have lots of friends. I have to go get dressed for the party now.
I miss you. Bobby misses you too. But I miss you more.
Love,
Angie
--
January 18, 1952
Dear Samantha,
Will you be my new best friend?
– Angie Castiglioni
--
January 17, 1952 (8 years of age)
Dear Mama,
Do you think next time you come home we can go on a picnic? Papa said you were too sick to come out last time. I’m sorry I was at Sam’s and didn’t get to see you.
It isn’t the same going with Stella. She wears the uniform even when I tell her not to (I thought she was supposed to listen to me) and won’t roll down the hills with me like you do.
I had a dream about you flying like a plane. We’re flying to Italy to see Grandma next week. Bobby is still a snot.
Love,
Angie
--
November 22, 1956 (11 years of age)
Dear Mama,
Papa told me you can’t come home for Christmas. But I saved stuffing for you. Grandma Maria said she made it just the way she did when you were a kid. She likes it here, but she has a hard time speaking English. Bobby fell asleep in his chair because he ate too much and Papa had to undo his belt.
Mrs. Templeton asked about you at brunch last week. I hate her but Papa always invites her. I told her you were coming back soon.
My teachers at school are mean. Are your teachers mean? If they are, you should come home.
I have a Christmas present for you. Please come home for it.
Love,
Angie
--
August 13, 1957 (12 years of age)
Mama,
I don’t like that place. Those people are very mean to you. You didn’t look happy. Papa won’t tell me why you’re so sad. Will you tell me why you’re so sad, Mama?
Please stop going back.
Love,
Angie
--
May 15, 1959 (14 years of age)
Sam,
Do you ever think that maybe we’re not like all the other girls?
– Angie
--
September 7, 1961 (16 years of age)
Sam,
I’m grounded. My brother the fink told on me again and my dad flipped his wig. Like ragging those socks was such a big whoop. Meet you at your locker tomorrow.
– Angie
--
January 18, 1962 (17 years of age)
Ma,
I don’t think those straightlaces gave you my last letter, but I’m pretty sure this one will get to you. Let’s just say the attendants there don’t make much dough.
School is fine. Sam says hello. You remember Sam, right? She’s got a boyfriend now. She’s pretty happy about that.
I’m well. But… I don’t think Pa always understands what it’s like to be my age. I try to talk to him about stuff, but he bugs out as soon as I get real.
Yesterday I was looking at pictures of you from years ago. You looked just like me, Ma.
Do we have anything else in common? Anything Pa wouldn’t tell me about?
– Angie
--
May 7, 1963 (18 years of age)
Sam,
I’m going to do it. Wish me luck.
– Angie
--
May 8, 1963
Arthur:
Heard your car got fixed. You should come by and take me for a spin in it.
– Angela Castiglioni
--
February 13, 1965 (20 years of age)
Ma,
His name’s Arthur. He’s incredible. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have him. Pa will be giving me away; we were hoping you might get a special allowance to come.
If it’s all right with you, I’d like to wear your dress. Stella said she could alter it for me.
I’ll see you next month and we can talk more about it.
– Angie
--
September 23, 1965
Sam,
The weather here is amazing. We may get a villa out here; you and Caleb will have to join us in the summer. Arthur is a terrible honeymooner—my shoes are practically disintegrated from sight-seeing.
I really couldn’t be happier.
Love,
– Angela
--
November 2, 1966 (21 years of age)
Ma,
I have these dreams sometimes. It’s as if you’re right here with me, but transparent. Floating.
You tell me terrible things.
I’m going to talk to father about stopping your dosages. I’m not a child, anymore. He can’t deflect me with lies. This has to stop.
I love you.
– Angie
--
January 9, 1967 (22 years of age)
Father,
I’d like to discuss a transferal of assets into a trust fund for Nathan. Please contact me at your earliest convenience.
– Angela
--
September 29, 1968 (23 years of age)
Arthur,
I wish you could have been here to see our son. He took his first steps yesterday. He’s going to make us proud one day. Our godsend.
I love you. May this letter reach you safely.
Angela
--
June 6, 1972 (27 years of age)
Ma,
Sometimes I think I write to you more for my sake than your own. They have you so drugged that I doubt you can tell reality from dream, anymore.
I will find a way for you to come home—one way or another. I swear it.
– Angie
--
October 11, 1975 (30 years of age)
Father,
The truth always comes out, in the end. Destroy all the records you like. I will not be dissuaded.
– Angela
--
April 24, 1978 (33 years of age)
Ma,
There are others. I always wondered, always hoped. Arthur and I are closer than either of us thought possible.
We’re going to great things, Ma. All of them—they’re like me.
And, maybe, like you?
You don’t have to answer me on paper.
– Angie
--
July 19, 1978 (33 years of age)
Kaito,
You are a dear friend, but never again. My moment of weakness was an aberration. I lost my composure—seeing one’s husband in a straight jacket tends to have that effect on one. I tell you this not as an excuse: merely an elaboration on circumstances.
I will be attending the next board meeting.
Until then,
– Angela
--
July 22, 1978
Daniel,
Arthur needs to see you. Please come as soon as possible. I will not have him locked up for this.
– Angela
--
March 18, 1979 (34 years of age)
Daniel,
You’re absolutely certain there is no other recourse?
I’m sure you know the gravity that your answer will have on this situation. Please consider very carefully.
– Angela
--
November 3, 1980 (35 years of age)
Sam,
I’m about to do a terrible thing. But I don’t think I have any other choice. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to figure out the right thing to do.
I don’t think there is one.
--
December 1, 1980
Ma,
I love you. I want you to remember that, no matter what else they’ve told you. I love you.
But what they’ve done to you—they had no right. And maybe I have no right, either, but I don’t know how else to help you. I can’t let them hurt you anymore.
I made you a promise.
The man giving you this letter will take care of you. He can’t give you back what you’ve lost. But you won’t feel any pain.
I want you to hold this letter up to your face, Ma, and take a deep breath. Think about those flowers we used to pick out front. The yellow ones, remember? You used to make necklaces out of them and tell me that I could whisper all my secrets into them.
Hold this letter up, Ma, and tell it your secrets. Let it take them away.
I love you, Ma. Never forget.
Your daughter,
Angie
