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justfandomwritings · 4 years ago

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She’s Got A Friend (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings: Fluff, Angst and nongraphic “off page” minor character deaths

Summary: Happy endings are a matter of perspective. At some point in every story, there will always be some glorious, shining moment of hope, love, redemption, success. No good story is complete without it.

And if you end the story then, if you end it on a high, you can almost forget that anything came after that.

Notes: Hospital AU for @captainscanadian 1k follower writing challenge! I have taken the “Hospital” in hospital AU rather liberally to mean a field hospital in WW2. I thought I’d try a bit of a different writing style for this. Let me know what you think.

The condolences came in the mail only a few days after the official notification arrived on her doorstep from the mouth of some general or another.

She didn’t bother to remember the man’s name, and why should she? He wouldn’t remember her brother’s, let alone hers.

It was hard to stem the tide of her anger in the face of a man so visibly faking his sympathy for her pain. It was harder still to unleash her anger on him; she pitied him almost as much as he faked pitying her. It was just before sunset, and she was his sixteenth stop of the day, with a further 5 to go before he got off that night.

She imagined that, at some point, months ago, he had cared. He had sympathized and cried with grieving widows and orphaned children. No doubt, he had written them letters and checked on their wellbeing, asked after their emotions and made sure they were well. No more. He’d grown numb to the pain his presence inflicted, and with it less sympathetic to the plight of those around him.

By the time he reached her door, by the time he said “Ma’am, we have received word that your brother’s plane was shot down over Occupied France last week. His body has been recovered from the wreckage and will be on route home at the earliest possible date,” to her, he didn’t mean the “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this news. Your brother died a hero, and if there is anything I can do to ease your pain, it would be my honor to do so in his memory,” that followed.

The nameless general had never met her brother. He called every soldier a hero when he met their families, whether it was true or not. If they asked him about how their loved one died, or if they began to cry on his shoulder, he had a practiced speech about how their son or brother or husband had died fighting, died bravely, died to save the lives of millions, died to protect them all.

(Y/n) knew all of that because, even though she didn’t remember his name, she remembered his face. They’d met before. It wasn’t the first time he’d knocked on her door. He was the same general who had come to inform her of her father’s tragic end a few months prior. The general hadn’t remembered her father’s name either, nor hers.

She didn’t bother to point out their association to the man. She thanked him for his service and left him standing on her front step as a door closed in his face.

It was easier for both of them that way.

The letter that came from her brother’s commanding officer was more heartfelt, (Y/n) assumed, but she didn’t read it.

“Ms. (Y/n), By now you have no doubt received word of your brother’s tragic end. Selfishly, I am glad that I was not the one who had to inform you. Your brother was a flying ace in my squadron and a good friend. Retrieving his body brought me to tears for far longer than my commanding officers would like me to admit…”

That was as far as she read. Her brother was dead. They had his body. She was numb to everything else, as numb as the general who showed up at her door, as numb as her brother’s corpse in the grave.

She couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

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(Y/n) walked into the hospital the next day and handed in her resignation. She was just the next in a long line.

Dorothy had resigned the week before. Her husband had been killed in North Africa. She could no longer afford to live in New York, not that cost of living was at the front of her mind. She was moving back South with her two children, both under 5 years old, to live with her aging parents.

Vera had gotten married to a hotshot factory owner and resigned to plan her wedding. The rest of the ward had scorned her as she trotted out with her chin held high and a smirk on her face. She’d never done the work because she loved it like the rest of them, and she had no qualms about letting them all know it.

Ruth was on her way out the door in a week. She was following her husband to England where he’d be training pilots at an RAF airfield. Normally, that sort of thing wouldn’t be allowed, wives being stationed with their husbands. Ruth, however, was a pretty good mechanic and often worked on her husbands planes in her free time, and without any children to worry about, the Army was really getting two for the price of one.

Juanita’s departure had no doubt hit the hardest. With so many men dying overseas, crime on the home front had been virtually forgotten. Juanita’s son brought it back to life. Too weak to be enlisted in the army, her son had taken up work at the docks that he never would’ve been physically qualified for if not for all the men being drafted. Three weeks on the job, he was mugged by a group of drunken sailors out for their last night of freedom. He died in the hospital with his mother only a few doors down in a different wing.

The most senior nurse on staff, Juanita used to run the ward, but after her son died in the building, she couldn’t even look at the hospital anymore.

“(Y/n),” Mary sighed and scrubbed the heel of her palm into her eyes to try to wipe away the sleep. “We’re short staffed already.”

There was a begging to her tone, and any other day the pain etched across her face would’ve been enough to convince (Y/n) to stay. Mary was her friend, by some accounts her best friend.

“I know Mary, and I’m sorry. I just can’t stay here anymore. I can’t walk past my brother’s room. I can’t ride down the streets my brother and I used to play in. I can’t go in the shop he used to own. I just can’t.”

Mary swallowed hard; when she spoke the lump in her throat became more apparent with each word. “I understand that you’re in pain, but this hospital…”

“That’s just it,” (Y/n) cut her off, slipping into the seat across the desk from her friend. She’d refused to sit when she first came to see Mary, hoping to be in and out quickly, but not now. “I don’t feel anything, Mary. I can’t look at his room because I know I should be heartbroken. I can’t travel down the street because I know I should be in pain. I can’t go in his shop because I know I should be crying. But I’m not. I don’t feel hurt or worried or upset. I don’t feel anything; I’m just numb.”

“Numb?” Mary furrowed her brow. “You’re leaving because you think you should be in more pain?”

“I’m leaving because I loved my brother, because I should be feeling something, but I’m not. I feel nothing, and that scares me even more.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet. Somewhere I will feel something.”

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Her brother had been Air Force, but her father had been Army.

She couldn’t bring herself to go to one of the Air Force’s recruiting offices. Part of her was worried she would have an emotional breakdown speaking to the men in charge. A larger part of her was worried she would feel nothing at all, a sign she was heading in the wrong direction.

The Army felt safer. She hadn’t been numb to her father’s death. She’d cried and mourned, and though the thought still overwhelmed her with sadness, she knew she would one day move on. About her brother, (Y/n) didn’t know what to think.

“What experience do you have?”

(Y/n) found herself sat in front of some captain or another responsible for organizing the Army Nursing Corps. He looked bored with her; she doubted managing a bunch of women was what he’d had in mind when he joined the war.

“I’ve worked at Wyckoff Heights Hospital on St. Nicholas in Brooklyn for eight years. I have copies of all of my reviews that show exemplary performance and no reprimands on record.”

The man took the stack of papers from her hand and began flipping through them. He stared at each of them for a long time, occasionally giving a ‘hm’ or ‘huh’ to show that he was thinking.

(Y/n) noticed after two pages that he wasn’t actually reading. His eyes weren’t moving from where they looked thoughtfully at the center of the page, and the noises of contemplation came randomly, even on pages that wouldn’t require much consideration.

(Y/n) turned away from the show to glance around the room. To the left was a door to the waiting rooms. Occasionally, when it swung open she could see the rows of shirtless men waiting for their number to be called up for evaluation. There didn’t appear to be many seats open.

She wondered, to herself, how many of them would be accepted, how many of those would make it back alive.

There were family members milling around the hall. A young woman was already weeping near the exit, and she hadn’t even been rejoined by the man she was waiting for. One of the doctors, (Y/n) assumed the portly, greying man was not one of the recruits, was trying his best to comfort her, but he didn’t seem to be having much success.

For the overwhelming number of men waiting to be evaluated and find a place in this war, there were a surprisingly few number of nurses. (Y/n) hadn’t been shown to any waiting room. There was a bench in the half she’d first entered with half a dozen or so women occupying it when she arrived. By the time her name was finally called only two more had come in behind her. The recruiters desk was in a notch in the hallway, not even its own room. The women were forced to state their credentials and make their case with no privacy to his judgments.

At least a dozen of the people milling around, including the old man and young woman by the door, could hear what was being said to her.

The man snapped her file closed with sharp flip of his wrist. “On your application, you’ve marked that you’d like to be assigned to a field hospital. I’m assuming you know nothing about the war. Field Hospitals are on the frontlines, girl.”

“I’m aware.” (Y/n) smoothly replied.

He raised an eyebrow, but none of his other features changed. (Y/n) couldn’t tell if it was condescension or confusion. “Are you now? The nurses in Field Hospitals are shot at almost as much as the soldiers. You think the Germans will spare you because you have a pretty face?”

“I don’t expect to be spared by anyone.”

His grilling was catching eyes from those milling around.

“And why would a girl like you want to find herself on the front lines?”

“I just want this war to end with as little bloodshed as possible. Helping where the men need it most seems like a good start.”

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

German.

(Y/n)’s eyes whipped around, as did many others in the hallway. There was a German here.

“My name is Dr. Erskine,” He proclaimed, more quietly this time, “I may have a job for you.”

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Erskine didn’t try to replace her father.

He offered a guiding hand out of the goodness of his heart. He offered a shoulder to cry on because he could see she hadn’t yet grieved. He offered insight, advice, from the wisdom of his own experience.

Erskine wasn’t trying to replace her father, and yet he did so many things she wished her father was there to do.

He offered her a job because he could see she wanted to find her purpose. He put her up in the barracks because he knew she needed space from her past. He accompanied her on walks at night to keep her nightmares at bay. He filled her waking hours with work when she needed distraction and took the load away when it became too much.

Erskine didn’t try to replace her father. No one could ever replace her father. He was a good substitute though. In times as dark as those, family was what she needed.

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He reminded her of her brother.

That was the first thought that came to (Y/n)’s mind when she met Steve Rogers.

Her brother was younger than her by two years, and as a child he’d always been the smaller of the pair. For most of their childhood, her brother could barely reach her shoulder. Stretching his arms as wide as he could, he’d be lucky if his reach went from (Y/n)’s wrist to wrist. Short and scrawny, he’d not caught up to his sister’s size until he was a teen, but once he’d caught up, there was no looking back.

Steve reminded her of him. The size, for one thing, was an unmistakable similarity, but there was an air to Steve, an air of familiarity that made her feel at home. Every time she looked at him, she saw her baby brother. Not the strong, handsome man he was when he died, but the fearless, young boy she wished he would’ve stayed forever.

She monitored the health of all of Erskine’s candidates in the Strategic Scientific Reserve, but she couldn’t deny she paid special attention to Steve.

They all paid special attention to Steve.

Erskine liked his sense of justice. His conscience oozed out of his every pore. No one had ever argued with Steve and been right about it. They were talking about making a superhero here, and yet there was a very real sense amongst them that Steve already had a superpower: always doing the right thing.

Peggy had an immediate fondness for him. He was determined, beyond belief, and she admired that spark in him that refused to be snuffed out. He knew, in his heart, what he believed, and he was more than willing to die for it. Peggy was too.

Only the Colonel, Chester Phillips, doubted Erskine’s decision. He paid special attention to Steve, but he did so only as a foil. He liked to compare Steve to other men in the camp, men he’d chosen for the project, rather than the one Erskine had brought on. “Brown is stronger,” or “Donalds is faster,” were common phrases in his office.

In truth, they were all stronger. They were all faster. On paper, any one of them would’ve made a better super soldier than Stever Rogers.

“That’s what Phillps does not understand,” Erskine told her one day while they worked in his lab. “It isn’t about what’s on paper. It’s about what’s in his heart.”

“So it’s going to be Steve?” (Y/n) asked.

Erskine nodded. “Do you agree?”

(Y/n) hesitated. She didn’t want to blindly agree with the accolade simply because he reminded her of her brother. She also didn’t want to naively dismiss it to save him the risk because he reminded her of her brother.

She knew Steve Rogers; she would like to think she knew him well. They were friends. Yet the more she got to know him the more she saw her brother in him. That chest cold that wouldn’t go away when her brother was eight, the fight he lost with a boy who’d made a lewd joke about her skirt, the way he’d adamantly stood up for their father’s memory as a soldier; their kind hearted mother teaching him to temper his words.

She knew Steve Rogers well, and the more she knew him the more she saw him as her brother. The more she saw him as her brother, the more she knew he had to do this. He needed to do this.

“I agree.”

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“Steve, you may as well ask her out. If you’re going to spend this much time ogling her, she at least deserves dinner out of it.”

Steve’s face turned as red as the apple she was chewing, and (Y/n) couldn’t hold in her smirk.

“I-I wasn’t…” Steve glanced over his shoulder, checking that Peggy wasn’t within earshot of (Y/n)’s ribbing.

“It’s all right, Steve. I won’t tell her, but you really should.”

Steve shook his head, definitively turning his back to Peggy. “Please, my entire life girls like that have passed me by.”

(Y/n) rested a hand on Steve’ shoulder. “Your entire life girls who look like that have passed you by, but Peggy isn’t like those girls. If you don’t ask her out, you’ll never give her a chance to prove it.”

Steve chuckled and looked off into the sky. “My friend said something like that to me about this girl, Maria, not long before he left for the front.”

“And did you listen to him?”

“No,” Steve admitted. “He was the one the girls always passed me by for.”

“Well, did he ask them out?” (Y/n) chuckled.

Steve hesitated a second before saying, “Yes.”

“Then that’s why they passed you by. Your friend sounds like he has a good head on his shoulders. You should listen to him.”

Steve gave (Y/n) a fond smile. “You remind me a lot of him. It’s easier, having you here.”

“It’s easier having you here too.”

(Y/n) didn’t know if that was true, but she was starting to think it might be. She was starting to feel something. Steve was helping her remember the good times with her brother, before the Army and the War. Back when they were just two kids in Brooklyn.

She missed him.

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Erskine. Gone.

Would this war take everyone from her?

(Y/n) kneeled in a pool of his blood, his body splayed out in front of her.

She’d dedicated years of her life to Erskine’s work. She’d dedicated time, money, opportunities. She’d dedicated everything she had and more. Gone.

His work was gone. Erskine was gone.

He was her friend, her family; and he was gone.

She summoned a tear, more than one.

They came slowly at first and then spiralled uncontrollably. Sobs racked her body as she gripped at his hand.

Someone tried to help her up, but she didn’t want up.

Vaguely, she recognized Stark’s voice. He was calling out to her.

“(Y/n), he’s gone.”

Yes, she already knew he was gone. What good was all of his genius when he could only state the obvious.

What good was all of her years in a hospital, all of her years of training, if she couldn’t save a life when it mattered, the one life that mattered.

It felt like hearing her father was gone again.

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They were taking Steve too, as if she had anything left to give.

“Phillips would just as soon send me home. I’m just a lab rat to him.” Steve spat the word out in disgust. “That’s all I am, an experiment, Erskine’s experiment. They wanted an army, but they got me.”

“That’s all you are to him.” (Y/n) quietly corrected.

“And what am I to everyone else?” Steve turned on her, his eyes as red as hers were. “What am I to you?”

“His legacy,” she answered immediately.

She’d been thinking about it a lot. Erskine had been dead for two days, and all she’d been thinking about was him and Steve and the little family she’d made for herself at Lehigh. Erskine the father, Steve her brother, Peggy her sister, even Phillips, the grumpy uncle who didn’t want to be in the picture.

What did it all mean?

“You are his legacy. If you were any other soldier you’d be just another experiment, but you’re not. You’re Steve Rogers. Erskine chose you. You carry on his legacy; you carry on his work.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Steve asked in a desperate tone. He slumped onto the bench and let his head fall into his hands.

“I don’t know Steve,” (Y/n) sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s for you to figure out. You don’t have to know now. No one’s expecting you to know now, but when you do piece it together, I’ll be waiting.”

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“Stark says you’re going to have your pick.”

Steve was lying on his back next to (Y/n), tossing a ball in the air and catching it repeatedly with a satisfying thunk as it hit his palm.

A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have been able to catch it once. He had all of the coordination of a newborn foal and would’ve whacked himself, or her, in the face the first time he tried to throw it.

It reminded her, again, of her brother. After his growth spurt, when he finally caught up to her, passed her, when he got tall and filled out. The girls started to notice him; the guys started to respect him.

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Any Allied hospital in Europe…” Steve stopped tossing the ball and glanced over at her, “Know where you’re going to go?”

(Y/n) didn’t meet his gaze. She kept her eyes on a cloud floating by overhead. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” She confessed. “When I applied, when Erskine took me in, I was planning on going to the frontlines.”

“You don’t have to now.” Steve rolled onto his stomach and watched her expressions carefully. “You could go to the evacuation hospitals or England…”

“Would you?”

“What?”

“Would you go to the frontlines? If they let you?” (Y/n) asked. She already knew the answer, but she needed to ask.

“You know I would,” Steve admitted.

“Then that’s where I’ll go.” She’d joked, when Erskine was still alive, that Steve’s real superpower was always doing the right thing. If he’d go to the front, then that’s where she’d be, waiting for him to find his way.

(Y/n) met Steve’s eye finally. “You said your friend was in the 107th?”

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It was only about a month before (Y/n) was running the field hospital attached to the 107th.

They sent mostly inexperienced girls out to the frontline. Supposedly, it was an easy job. They didn’t have time for complex treatment or procedures, so in theory, it was all triage and wound treatment. They claimed anyone with a little bit of training could handle it.

Early on when the fighting had just begun she imagined there might have been some truth to that claim, but as the war slogged on, it wasn’t so simple anymore. Every soldier had some kind of injury. The Army couldn’t afford to send everyone with more than a bump or bruise back from the frontline to an evacuation hospital. There wasn’t the time, manpower, money.

The field hospitals were overflowing with infected wounds, illness, bullet holes, broken bones, and there weren’t enough experienced nurses to go around. Not only did they lack the know-how, many of the inexperienced nurses were just young woman, some girls even, who didn’t properly know what they’d signed up for. They were shaken by the crack of every bullet, the boom of every grenade, the scream of every dying man.

(Y/n) had a sneaking suspicion that the real reason the Nurses Corps didn’t send out any of their trained nurses was that they want to risk their better nurses dying on the frontlines.

(Y/n) had watched a stray bullet tear through the chest of a young girl named Lydia only a week into her time with the 107th. She’d been reliably told by another nurse that Lydia was the fifth to die so far that year.

The second most experienced girl in (Y/n)’s unit had been a midwife for a few years before she shipped out, not exactly a skill that was necessary in an army full of men, but it came with some transferable knowledge. Her name was Maria, and it only took a few weeks before she was happily handing over the reins.

“They’re bringing in a batch of men from the front,” Maria reported to (Y/n). “Nothing serious, a couple broken bones. They took a fall to avoid a grenade; I’m told.”

(Y/n) motioned for Beverly and Viola at the other end of the tent. “We need to clean down some beds.” (Y/n) turned to Maria, “Did they say how many?”

“Not exactly, but I think it was only a few.”

(Y/n) only had a few beds to spare anyhow. There were a dozen cots set up in the field hospital, and six of them were currently occupied by men waiting for transport to the nearest evacuation hospital back West, another two by men with leg fractures. When she’d arrived, the beds were first come first serve, but (Y/n) had quickly started a process of dismissing anyone who could walk back to their own tents to come in to the hospital for regular checks on whatever ailed them.

“They’ve already reached camp; they’ll be here any moment.”

“If the bones aren’t through skin, then I don’t want them hanging around here. We’ll set them and send them on their way. We haven’t had free beds in a week, and I don’t want to take them up with something trivial.”

“Trivial? Glad to know you care about my leg, nurse.”

The tent flap was being held open by two soldiers, a sergeant and a private, around the girth of a much larger man propped up between them.

(Y/n) ignored the jab, “Get him on the bed.”

The two men helped their friend onto the nearest cot, and (Y/n), Beverly, and Maria quickly descended on him.

(Y/n) was the most experienced one there, but she’d made a point of having Beverly watch every bone she set. When things got busy, she might be needed elsewhere, and it was good to know that Beverly knew her way around things well enough to take a few bones off her plate.

“What happened?”

“Bit of an ambush, ma’am.” She recognized Gabe Jones immediately. She’d treated a broken finger of his on the first day she’d got here, followed by a number of bumps and bruises that probably wouldn’t have required her attention if Gabe weren’t such a flirt. “We had to jump into a ravine. Sergeant, here, did a number on his knee, and I got grazed by a bullet.”

“Maria, will you clean Private Jones’ wound?” (Y/n) began inspected the Sergeant’s knee.

“Of course,” Maria motioned Jones away to another open bed.

The third man took a step back towards the tent flap, but before he could get more than a few paces, he crumbled.

“Barnes!” The sergeant in the bed bolted upright. Beverly held him still, as (Y/n) rushed to his side.

“Are you alright, Sergeant?” (Y/n) slipped her arm around the man’s back and helped him stumble back to the nearest bed.

“I guess I’m not,” The man winced as he slumped back against the metal bed frame. “My side is killing me.”

(Y/n) nodded at the other sergeant, “Relocate his knee, while I do this, Bev. Maria can help when she’s done cleaning Jones’s wound.”

With deft fingers, (Y/n) unhooked the buttons down his uniform to check his complaint.

“I’d normally take you to dinner first, Doll.” These men hadn’t seen a woman in a long time, and usually they acted like it. She’d heard every bad joke in the book from the soldiers around camp and a couple from Jones in the bed next to them, but his tone was far more lighthearted, less learing than the others. He was teasing, trying to lighten the mood of how much pain was written across his face.

“Well, the rations around here aren’t very appealing, so you’ll have to settle for…” She found what she was looking for. A bruise spanning his entire right side. “You carried him back like this?” Her fingers probed gently at the edges of the dark blue stain.

“Someone had to; not like Dugan carries his own weight around here.” He winced as she touched a particularly sensitive spot.

“Broken ribs,” (Y/n) told the other girls over her shoulder, “three from the looks of it. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“That’s alright, Doll. I’ll just get to see more of your smiling face.”

(Y/n) wasn’t smiling. She hadn’t smiled in quite a while.

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“You’re healing well,” (Y/n) observed Barnes’s side, peeking out of the sheets, a few days later. “Right on schedule. You won’t need to be on the next train to the evacuation hospital.”

“Of course not,” Barnes scoffed, “How could I ever leave your lovely company?”

(Y/n) cocked an eyebrow. “That work on the girls back home?”

“Depends on the girl really,” Barnes confessed. “Most of the time a smile and a dance does the trick, but I like the ones that make me work for it.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and went back to inventorying the supplies she’d spread out on the cot next to his.

“Where is home for you, (Y/n)?”

It was the first time he’d called her by her name, also the first time he’d asked her a genuine question. “Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn!” He exclaimed, “I knew there was a reason I liked you. I’m from Brooklyn myself.”

“Really?” She glanced back at him, pausing cataloging the rolls of gauze. She had to remember to put in for that. They desperately needed more gauze.

“Born and raised,” With a wince, he adjusted pushed himself higher in the bed. “My whole family and my best friend still live there. I’ll go back there too, if I make it out of your care in one piece.”

(Y/n) snorted; she couldn’t help it. Her care? They were in a war, and he wanted to joke that he wouldn’t make it out of her hospital. “I’ll have you know my care is perfectly fine. I served 8 years in ambulatory at Wyckoff.”

Barnes’s brow furrowed. “Can’t say I’ve ever been to Wyckoff, but I was a frequent guest at Beth Moses Hospital.”

“You break ribs running from Nazis often in New York?” She jabbed.

“No, but my friend may as well have. He picked a lot of fights. Didn’t win many, but that never stopped Steve.”

(Y/n)’s head jerked around and she dropped the papers in her hands. “Steve? Steve Rogers?”

“Yeah,” Barnes had her attention now, and she had his, “you know him?”

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“I swear, Bucky, next time you come in here you better be losing an arm. You’re wasting my time with these little scrapes.”

Bucky rose to his feet in front of her.

She came face to chest with his shirtless torso, and her ego absolutely refused to allow her to turn her head away or take a step back. Even as she felt her cheeks coloring from his state of undress, she adamantly met his smirking eyes.

“It’s okay to admit you’d miss me, Doll. Around here, I’m like a little slice of home, a breath of fresh air, a…”

“The smell of maneur wafting out of the stables,” She cut off.

Bucky chuckled and began buttoning back his uniform. “One day, Doll, one day.”

Bucky always said things like that. ‘One day, when we’re both back in Brooklyn’, ‘When I finally get the chance to take you dancing’, ‘Me, you, Steve, and a friend’.

(Y/n) never took any of it to heart. Bucky had popped in and out of the medical tent on many occasions since he’d broken his ribs, and he flirted with all of the girls who treated him. She never let it get to her heart, and she tried not to let it go to her head that his flirtations were infinitely more personal with her. He’d teasingly compliment the other girls’ uniforms, make observations about how nice they looked that day, wink suggestively as he ducked out of the tent. She was the only one he made plans for: Brooklyn, Steve, Coney Island, dinner, dancing.

The thought was nice, but she left it all there, just a thought.

“Don’t be a stranger, Doll,” Bucky called as he made his way to the door. “I’m sick of faking injury just to see you.”

He gave her his signature wink before he turned and left the tent.

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The SSR had moved in. She saw Phillips riding in from a mile away.

She stood side by side with the commanding officers; everyone over the rank of Sergeant filled in a pseudo welcome party for the reinforcements as they rode in.

None of the men could figure out why she was there, at the front, out ranking them. She wasn’t even properly in the Army. She was just a nurse, a field medic, nothing more or less.(Y/n) couldn’t say she was expecting any sort of comraderie from the Colonel. She’d expected a firm handshake, an acknowledgement of their acquaintance, and a swift dismissal back to her duties.

When Colonel Phillips jumped out, the men behind her became painfully aware of who she was, and she became painfully aware how things had changed.

“(Y/n),” Phillips ignored the officers in charge and marched straight for her. “Good, you’re here. I need someone with a head on their shoulders.” He clapped her on the back and led her towards the truck.

From the back, they came filing out, the men she and Erskine had rejected for the supersoldier program. Each of them a hand picked reminder of her lost companion. All of them could’ve been the poster boy for a ‘join the army’ campaign if things had gone a different way.

She had to remind herself that these men were Phillips choosing, that, even if Erskine lived, none of them would have ever been Steve. These were good soldiers, but that didn’t make them good men. There may well have been a few good ones in the bunch, but being strong, being able, didn’t make them so. She preferred the men behind her, the 107th.

“There’s someone else I know you’ll be happy to see.”

It took a moment more of men filing out of the truck bed before Phillips’ surprise came to face her. She felt her heart building up hope, anticipation, excitement.

Peggy. It was Peggy.

She hid her disappointment well as she smiled and hugged the Englishwoman.

She loved Peggy, but she was no Steve.

Where was Steve? It had been so long since she heard news. She was worried.

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“So you’re a hotshot then?”

Bucky had swaggered up to her the moment she stepped outside of the hospital tent.

“You must be if you have the Colonel’s ear. Everyone’s been talking about it. My little Brooklyn in league with the bigwigs.”

“Your?” (Y/n) chose to ignore the rest of the sentence. She stopped midstep and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think you’ll find me ‘your’ anything, let alone all of Brooklyn.”

Bucky smiled mischievously and matched her stance. “Of course you’re not mine, but who do you think’s been keeping the rest of these scoundrels off your back?”

“Oh?” Her lips quirked up instictively in response to his smile. She really couldn’t help it. Steve had told her once that Bucky had that affect on women, that they couldn’t help themselves arounf him. “You’re protecting me from the wandering eyes of your fellow soldiers in hopes that someone will kindly cave into your flirtations.”

“No,” Bucky drawled, taking a step closer. “I’m protecting all of our dear nurses from the wandering eyes of my fellow soldiers because you have more important things to do like treat the broken ribs of a cocky sniper trying desperately to keep from crying like a child in front of his men.”

“Well your service is greatly appreciated.” (Y/n) chuckled, turning back to her walk, “If you must know, I’m not a bigwig at all.”

“Really?” Bucky fell into step by her side. “Didn’t look that way to me.”

“My mentor was a bigwig,” She confessed, her smile turning stale on her lips, “I was just in the right place at the right time.”

Bucky looped his arm through hers and dragged her to a stop, rounding her to face him. “That can’t be true.”

“It is.”

“If your mentor was that important, then you must’ve been pretty great to catch their eye.” Bucky gave her an encouraging smile.

She saw it in his eyes then. She hadn’t seen it before, not even when he was making her laugh with his flirting. She could see the kind heart, the trusting nature, all the things she admired about Steve. They were there, just buried deep beneath a layer of bravado and natural charisma.

She finally understood why Steve would be his friend.

“Have you heard of the Strategic Scientific Reserve?” The question slipped her mouth before she could stop it.

“No,” Bucky’s expression furrowed. “Why?”

It was top secret. She really shouldn’t be mentioning it. She’d already lied to him about how she knew Steve. She should just lie about the SSR, forget she said anything. She should…

She didn’t. “It’s a program my mentor and I founded…”

She told him everything. Everything about the SSR, about Steve, about Peggy, about Phillips, about Erskine.

He led her off to the edge of camp, away from stray ears and wandering eyes. He sat with her under a tree.

She told him about signing up for the war, about the general who delivered the news about her brother and before that her father. She told him about her mother leaving. She told him about her childhood.

She couldn’t help it. Once she started, she just couldn’t stop.

She understood why Steve would be his friend. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d inadvertently trusted him with everything.

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“(Y/n),” Maria came running through the tent flap, not even bothering to push it aside as it draped her shoulder. “Come quick. It’s Bucky.”

(Y/n) was in the middle of handing out rations. She dropped the box on the cot in front of her and bolted for the door.

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“What happened?”

She found Peggy first.

“The regiment was ambushed by Schmidt.” Peggy liked to talk as she walked. In that moment, (Y/n) appreciated that about her. “Only a third of them made it back. We’re doing rolls now, but the men in the yard are all that’s left.”

(Y/n) burst into the square field that functioned as the town center of camp.

There were men, dusty, beaten, bloodied men everywhere. Her small staff of nurses would be overwhelmed by the numbers, but that wasn’t what was on her mind now.

“Where is he?” She left the question and Peggy in her wake, running through the clusters of soldiers. Some supported their injured friends, others laid groaning side by side, a few stood in the center, completely fine. They looked the most lost of them all, as if they were asking God why he had chosen to spare them.

Hodge was there, in the center, one of the men surveying the damage around him. He was fine, completely fine.

“Hodge,” She marched up to him with a fury, “Where is Barnes?”

“Barnes? That kid that’s always following you around?”

Hodge had come in with the other Super Soldier Candidates. He hadn’t had the time to learn everyone’s names, not that he ever would have anyway. He was Hodge; Hodge thought he was too good for that sort of thing.

“Where is he?” She demanded again, not intending to repeat herself a third time.

“He was in the flank with his buddies. They’re gone. All of them, gone.”

Hodge had the decency to look sorry that he was giving her the news.

(Y/n) imagined it was the first decent thing he’d done in his life.

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Was she cursed?

She felt like she was. She felt like a ghost walking through life, doomed to haunt everyone she touched.

Her mother left her. Her father was dead. Her brother followed not long after. Erskine died just as she’d come to think of him as family. Steve was forced to tour around the country like some kind of sideshow because of what she’d helped do to him. Lydia was dead almost as soon as (Y/n) arrived. Now, Bucky.

She hadn’t confided in anyone in a long time until she met Bucky. She’d chatted with Lydia, Maria, her fellow nurses, made nice with them. She’d only told Peggy things she was sure the woman had already read in her file; she told Phillips even less. She told Steve bits and pieces, but she tried not to burden his plate more than it already was. She hadn’t needed to tell Erskine anything; the old man could read it for himself in her eyes.

She’d told it all to Bucky.

Whether it was the heat of war, the charm that came to him so effortlessly, that kind smile or those trustworthy eyes, it didn’t matter. She’d told him everything there was to tell, and as quickly as he knew he was gone.

Caring about her. It felt like the kiss of death.

She was a nurse, and her father bled to death on the battlefield. She was a nurse, and her brother died of injuries from a plane crash. She was a nurse, and Erskine died of a gunshot in her arms. She was a nurse. She was supposed to save people; she hadn’t saved them. And now, she couldn’t save Bucky either.

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Steve. She knew those eyes anywhere. Even behind that stupid mask, she knew it was Steve.

She watched the show with blank eyes and a blanker expression. Steve didn’t look much better.

Back in Brooklyn, (Y/n) had been rather a catch. Boys had taken her out many times, and often times, when they wanted to seem smarter and more cultured than they actually were, they would take her to a show. (Y/n) had watched more plays than she could count, and none of them had been nearly as bad as this.

Steve couldn’t fake excitement if he tried, and he was clearly trying.

(Y/n) didn’t care about the show though, bad acting or not. She cared about Steve, and she cared about what he could do.

“Steve,” She barged into the dressing rooms backstage.

The girls, the dancers, squealed and made to hide or cover themselves, but they quickly regained composure when they saw it was another girl.

“Steve!”

Steve looked up from where he was sat in a corner doodling.

“(Y/n)?” He dropped the paper aside and got to his feet, hesitantly, disbelieving that it could really be her.

“Steve,” (Y/n) threw herself at him, hugging him close. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

He held her close. “Sorry? What for?”

“Steve, you have to help,” She pulled back and looked him dead in the eye. “It’s Bucky.”

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(Y/n) didn’t join them on the plane. How could she? Every time one buzzed overhead her brother came rushing back to mind.

She still hadn’t buried him; his body was waiting for her back at home. She was going to bury him beside her father, beside an empty plot she’d reserved for herself, just in case something happened on the front.

She wondered, to herself because Bucky was not there to wonder out loud to like last time, if she couldn’t mourn because he had not been laid to rest. She wondered if she needed the confirmation of seeing his body for herself or the resignation of a coffin and a deep grave.

That hadn’t been true of her father. She’d mourned him the moment the general knocked on her door; she’d wept for losing him. Perhaps, she’d been able to weep because she had more to lose. Perhaps, she wept for her father because with her brother alive she still had a reason to feel. Perhaps, she wept for Erskine because, by the time he left her, she’d found other reasons, a new family.

She wondered if she would ever cry for her brother the way she had her father or Erskine. She wondered, if she started crying for him, if she would ever stop.

Maybe she was just full of it.

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“He should’ve radioed by now.”

She was in the hospital tent, pacing nervously in front of the only cot void of soldiers. Peggy and Maria had sat cross-legged on the flimsy mattress and were watching her with anxious expressions.

Howard Stark stood angrily tapping his foot near the bit of canvas at the head of the bed.

He was the only one who seemed to share (Y/n)’s nerves.

How Peggy was holding it together, (Y/n) had no idea. It wasn’t like she didn’t care. A blind man could see how much she cared about Steve. She had a composure to her though.

(Y/n) envied her that; she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. She wished she were as composed.

“That’s no guarantee that anything happened,” Maria’s voice was a calm guiding hand in the storm. She cared about the missing men, about Steve, but no more than every other soldier. She cared deeply for everyone under her care; it was part of her nature. Their absence didn’t sway her.

“No guarantee,” (Y/n) conceded,”but one hell of a coincidence.”

“Well what can we do?” Howard asked. “Ride into Occupied territory and offer our assistance?”

(Y/n) haulted midstep and looked up at Howard.

“No!” He immediately shot out.

“Yes.”

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She packed a bag of all the essentials: bandages, needle and thread, alcohol, small bottles of antibiotics and medicines she could sneak out of the tent.

The bag was heavy, bulky, but it would fit snugly on the back of one of the motorcycles that that night's messenger had left near the edge of camp.

He wasn’t scheduled to make his next delivery run for three days. She had every intention of being back by then. Either she’d be back or dead.

With all hope, and a little help from Maria, she’d be entirely unnoticed until she rode back into camp. Maria had managed well enough on her own before (Y/n) got there. She could handle a few days.

“Do you even know how to ride one of those things?”

(Y/n) froze. She knew the voice, but she didn’t turn. If she didn’t turn, maybe she could pretend he wasn’t there.

Phillips stepped up to her side. “Is this what Erskine would want for you? A suicide mission?”

“It’s not a suicide mission. What Steve did, that was a suicide mission. I’m just trying to help the odds.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“He’s trying to free hundreds of your men from a Hydra base where they’re being held prisoner. At best, he succeeded, and they’re headed back this way.”

“Unlikely,” Phillips butted in.

“At worst, he failed.” She continued without acknowledging his interruption. “There are a lot of scenarios in between worst and best that involve your men out there, injured and dying.”

“And you think one nurse is going to help?”

“I’m not going to hurt!”

Phillips snorted, “Is this about that boy?”

“What boy?” (Y/n) turned back to securing her bag to the motorcycle. It was a tell. Phillips wasn’t stupid. He knew that. She knew that.

“The one Rogers is friends with. The one you sent him on this fool’s errand after. I thought it was just because they were friends, but the men told me you two were close.”

(Y/n)’s hands clenched around the strap of her bag.

“Is that why you want to go? You’re chasing after some lowly soldier.”

“I want to help!” (Y/n) spat, turning on Phillips with a vengeance. “Who cares if it’s because I’m feeling guilty or because I care about him! They are my friends, and I want to help them.”

Phillips watched with a cool, calculating eye for a long moment as (Y/n)’s chest heaved with anger. She looked as angry as he’d ever seen her, and he’d seen her angry many times at Lehigh.

She cared about Steve. There was no denying that, but whoever this sergeant was he was something else, something special.

Reluctantly, he sighed out in defeat. “Your bag’s going to go flying off the back if you tie it down like that.” He turned and started knotting the ropes for her.

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She was seven miles out when she heard it. Something big and loud and powerful barrelling down on her.

(Y/n) stopped her motorcycle in the street and went silent, listening.

Tanks.

She rolled the bike off the road, muscling it behind some trees. It was clunky, weighty, and she didn’t have the strength to get it properly hidden back in the woods. Still, she found a patch of dirt flat enough to roll the bike off the road and made due with laying it on its side behind a bush.

Whoever it was was coming closer. She found the thickest tree there was and stood straight and tall behind it, sucking herself in to be as narrow a target as possible.

She could hear shouting now, though she couldn’t make out the voices. There was a melody to their tone even though the words were indistinct. They were singing something.

It went on for a verse or two, judging by the pauses, before whoever they were were finally close enough to make out words.

English words. American accents.

“The Star Spangled Man! With a plan!” Horribly out of tune male voices echoed through the tree tops without a care in the world for who heard.

“Steve!” (Y/n) rushed out of the trees.

They were at the end of the road, making their way around a bend a few hundred yards ahead, but she’d recognize that God awful costume from a mile away. It stood out plain as day against the swath of brown and green forest and the drab, colorless look of the men at his side.

“Steve!” (Y/n) raced for him.

Steve realized who it was almost instantly. “(Y/n)!” He jogged forward and met her halfway.

“I thought you were dead!” She choked out.

“Come on, little Brooklyn, you have to know we’re made of tougher stuff than that.”

(Y/n) pulled away, positively beaming to hear that drawl of her nickname. “Bucky!”

Bucky tipped a nonexistent cap her direction. “At your service, Doll.”

He dropped the hat charade just in time to catch her as she flung her arms around his neck.

“One day, Doll,” He mumbled into her ear.

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Frenchie was in the bottom of the tank with a seriously mangled stint strapped to his arm.

“I did the best I could,” Bucky was hunched over (Y/n) as she treated his fallen companion. “I’ve watched you enough times, you think I’d have it down by now.”

“Maybe if you were actually watching her hands you would have,” Jones jabbed an elbow into Barnes ribs.

“Hey now,” Barnes chuckled. “I watched her hands.”

“Sure you did.” (Y/n) bit back a grin. “The stint isn’t pretty, but neither is the break. This will take a while to heal.”

Jones prattled off in French, alarming (Y/n) to no end.

Bucky knelt down next to her and explained. “Frenchie doesn’t speak English. We make Jones translate to earn his keep. Only way he’s been useful so far.”

“Oh,” (Y/n) went back to the arm in question.

“I promise I was watching your hands,” He murmured to her with his usual heart-stopping smile.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, “And I promise you were too busy flirting with my staff to notice what my hands were doing.”

“Not your staff, just you.” He corrected her. They both knew that wasn’t technically true. Bucky Barnes was nothing if not a flirt. That didn’t mean he meant it though. They both knew he meant it with her, and they both knew he didn’t mean it with anyone else.

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“Rogers, I’ve been with these guys on the field for months,” Bucky smacked him on the shoulder and pointed to the table in questions. “They’re all utter morons. Of course they’ll say yes.”

Steve gave his friend a worried look but let Bucky’s smile reassure with enough to take the next step. “Wish my luck,” he patted his friend on the back and marched over to the group of men getting drunker by the moment.

Bucky chuckled to himself and circled around to the far side of the bar to order himself a drink and find a quieter table. He wanted a beer, and he wanted as much distance between himself and that piano as possible. It was giving him such a headache. The beer would help with that.

He wasn’t actually sure that was true. He wasn’t a doctor or a nurse to know, but he was going to tell himself it would. Mostly he just wanted the beer. He’d earned it after the last couple months he’d had, after the last year honestly.

He heard the booming voice of Sergeant Dugan over everything else in the bar and couldn’t help a chuckle. They’d all earned a round.

They’d earn a couple more if they said yes, and as Bucky watched them from over the rim of his glass, he knew they would. They were fighters, like Steve, and like Steve, they wouldn’t back down from that.

Bucky kept his eyes on the men as they all considered Steve’s offer. He could tell the moment the words left Steve’s mouth, the moment they all froze at the proposition. He could tell, one by one, as they all agreed, like he knew they would.

It was written on their faces. It was written on Steve’s face.

He tried not to sound too cocky when Steve came back around to him. “See, told you; they’re all idiots.”

“How ‘bout you?” Steve took up the chair next to Bucky.

Bucky didn’t meet his eye. He knew the question was coming, and he already had his answer.

“You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no,” Bucky sighed with a smile. “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight, I’m following him.”

Steve smiled, relief washing over his features as he took the drink in front of him.

“You’re keeping the outfit right?” Bucky couldn’t help but tease.

“You know what,” Steve looked back at the poster, “It’s kinda growing on me.”

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The singing at the front of the room fell quiet, to almost a murmur.

Bucky and Steve turned to the door, to the woman in the vivid red dress.

“Captain,” she greeted with a formal note to her voice.

She was beautiful. Bucky would’ve been blind not to see it, especially in that shade of red. She looked like one of the girls Bucky used to go dancing with, tight dress hugging her curves, matching lipstick and perfectly styled hair. She was a woman on a mission, and he had a sneaking suspicion that mission was a man, specifically a man named Steve Rogers.

Bucky’s eyes wandered over assessingly. She was way out of Steve’s league, or at least the league he used to be in. He hadn’t been out with Steve since this new transformation; he had no idea what Steve’s league even was anymore. He was taller, stronger; he was famous apparently. But he was still an absolute dork, clueless around women.

It was written all over his darting, nervous eyes.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty,” she observed.

“You don’t like music?” Bucky smiled.

“I might even, when this is all over, go dancing.” Peggy didn’t bother to look in Bucky’s direction for even a moment.

“Then what are we waiting for?” He asked her.

“The right partner,” Her tone was suggestive; her eyes watching Steve expectantly. For the first time in his life, Bucky wasn’t in on the joke.

“0800 Captain,” She said as she whisked herself away.

“I’m invisible,” Bucky turned back to Steve, “I’m turning into you,” he scoffed, “this is a horrible dream.”

Steve smirked as he turned to walk off, “Don’t take it so hard. I hear she has a friend.” Steve motioned over Bucky’s shoulder towards the doorway Peggy had just left.

Steve took up his old seat as Bucky turned away.

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What had possessed her to come here, (Y/n) couldn’t be sure.

She knew what she’d told herself. That Captain America was assembling a team of his own, that his team was leaving for deployment, that she wanted to be on the ship when it did.

She could’ve asked him all of that before he left for the bar, or when he came back. It’s not like he’d be drunk; she knew that couldn’t happen.

Hell, she could’ve asked him the next morning. Steve would’ve made it happen.

But when Peggy told her she was going down to the bar to check on the men, something had possessed her to follow.

Maybe she wanted a drink. Maybe she too wanted to check on the boys. More likely, it was how clearly Peggy’s excuse was a rouse to get dolled up and see Steve, and there (Y/n) was, right by her side getting dolled up too.

Jones had cornered her the moment she’d walked in. Gabe kissed the back of her hand like an old-school gentleman and asked her to dance. She politely declined.

“That’s all right,” Gabe smiled knowingly and pointed in the direction of the room Peggy was leaving. “Sergeant’s right in there.”

(Y/n) followed, anxiously, in Peggy’s retreating footsteps with only an encouraging nod from her friend to bolster her courage.

She’d chosen the purple dress, a more understated shade than Peggy’s red but a far more modern cut. She wasn’t there to grab the attention of the entire bar like Peggy was, but she hoped at least to keep one pair of eyes on her.

Steve spotted her first and immediately smiled. He waved a hand in her direction and retreated back to the tables.

Bucky’s back was to her, but whatever Steve said made him turn.

His face went slack, and a little space opened between his lips, as if his mind had formed words his tongue couldn’t speak.

“Well, now I know what Peggy meant,” He mumbled as she approached him.

“About what?”

“The Right Partner.” Bucky offered her his arm, “Would you like to dance?”

“I’m not very good,” she confessed smoothly.

Bucky smiled. Not his usual cocky grin that swept girls off their feet, or the warm, reassuring smile she’d come to trust. It was gentle, somewhere between kind and loving. “I’ll teach you.”

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Taglist

Forever Taglist:

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse / @geeksareunique / @deathbyarabbit / @spilltheearlgrey / @ryanbarnesrogers / @bloodorangemoonlight

Marvel Taglist:

@the-high-queen / @iamverity / @darktownairspeed / @radicalstars / @hermione-is-my-queen

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #winter soldier fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #avengers fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one shot #avengers one shot

215 notes · View notes

seyaryminamoto · 4 years ago

Note

"So… to answer your earlier question, no, I never stopped to think that maybe one day I'd fall in love with someone, and that I'd REGRET my encounters with those women BY THEN." Now I quoted right. This is a contradiction. There a some contradictions regarding this in your fanfic and answers. The same with having an erotic dream. He regrets it now. Because he didn't think he would fall in love with Azula.

I’ve likely said I’m done answering asks of this nature a thousand times. Hell knows why I’m bothering to do it now, but I really think it’s the last time I’ll bother, despite I ALREADY know that nothing I say will actually register in your head.

You refuse to accept any arguments I’ve presented to you, perhaps because you don’t bother reading my answers to give them actual thought, as you’re stuck in your perception of Sokka as some appalling, disloyal man despite the fact that he’s been 100% devoted to Azula since he first accepted his feelings for her properly (chapter 55). He has been with her, in-story, for about 2 years already, and he has never shown the slightest interest in any women besides Azula throughout those years.

But according to you, he’s the worst because he had one erotic dream about someone else before he had any sort of relationship with Azula, and because of his nightmarish experiences in Hui Yi.

Okay. My bad. You’ve finally convinced me of WHY I shouldn’t have panned over those two years in Hui Yi and jumped right in with the story I wanted to tell. Maybe if I had gone the show-don’t-tell route with that, despite I didn’t particularly want to, I wouldn’t be receiving asks like yours. And boy, I really would like that.

Warning: I’m really at my wits’ end. I thought to tone down my answer. I even did in many ways. But consider my patience tried, tested and broken, and if I sound far more aggressive and outraged than usual, it’s because I am. Please, learn from that, if you won’t learn from anything else.

So, apparently Gladiator’s Sokka must be some sort of terrible person, going by your fixation with this topic, and a bad love interest for Azula, because he doesn’t regret what happened in Hui Yi, in the classic sense of the word, right away. And I suppose you expect me to back down on this and say you’re right, oh no, he totally SHOULD have regretted it all along!

Well, the truth is, Sokka regrets one very specific thing all along: being stuck in a situation where he has no choices, where he has to live by the fucked up rules of someone like Huang Li. THAT is what he regrets. And NO, that is not a contradiction. I’m bluntly stating it. It’s a FACT. It’s something every last one of his recollections about Hui Yi is permeated with.

Why doesn’t he regret what he did with SEVEN, btw, SEVEN girls in Hui Yi? And I specify this because I suspect it was you who sent an ask about how it was ELEVEN? Checking 112, I find Sokka said in the middle of his explanations to Azula that eleven people survived: he’s talking about the GLADIATORS at that point, something that should be obvious by context, but apparently I have to waste hours of my time spelling things out one by one to anons, huh? That comment is NOT about how many people he was with, this is about the gladiators who had survived by the time Azula bought him off Huang Li. He outright told Azula the exact number of girls in the previous chapter, and she reached her own conclusions. That you (or whoever it was) misreads the chapters to this extent just to piss yourselves off further is proving how POINTLESS this entire debate is. You people (or you alone) don’t want to hear reason. You want to poke holes into the story that aren’t even there, to demand retribution from a fictional man who already went through hell on earth, just because he wasn’t 100% pure and untainted when he reached Azula’s bed. I’ve asked you to have empathy for his character before, clearly that you still send asks like these proves my request has gone to waste.

Well, let’s come back to the point: why doesn’t he regret it? BECAUSE OF THE FIRST WOMAN. Because of what happened to the one he outright put a stop to, because this wasn’t what he wanted, and the woman stopped indeed because she didn’t want to have sex with Sokka any more than he wanted it with her, and then they spent hours talking, and he offered her an emotional sort of comfort by being a decent guy who let her relax instead of forcing her to do things she wouldn’t want to...

AND THEN SHE GOT HER HAND CUT OFF FOR IT. AND SHE WAS TREATED AS A LESSER SLAVE AND HUMAN BEING BECAUSE OF IT.

According to you, upon hearing this story from the next girl who went for him, Sokka should’ve been like “Well damn, I do feel sorry for lady #1, the only person I’ve ever bonded with in Hui Yi, she’s been crippled for life and might even die from an infection for all I know, considering how damn hygienic Hui Yi has always been, but you see, lady #2, I must keep my body ~pure~ because one day I’m going to fall in love with someone and she won’t be with me if I was with sex slaves, despite I could ensure no other girls have to go through what lady #1 went through if I actually do sleep with you”. At least, that’s what I’m understanding out of your asks.

Well, great. Then he would’ve condemned this second girl to the exact same fate as the first :)

And the third :)

And however many there might have been :)

According to you, he should regret that he was with them right away, no matter if he actively felt like shit about what was going on, if it was the darkest period of his life: well, HERE is why he doesn’t regret it. Because if he HADN’T done it, those girls would’ve had it WORSE. The fact that I need to spell this out to you, in this way, is frankly ridiculous to me. You really could’ve reached that conclusion on your own if you had just TRIED, which makes me think you’re not trying at all. Anyone who’s old enough to read M-Rated fiction should be capable of connecting such basic, obvious dots. That you refuse to do it only to barge into my inbox demanding for me to explain every writing decision I make that you dislike, really doesn’t speak well of you.

So no, Sokka doesn’t REGRET what happened with those women right away because he was doing what he could to ensure they wouldn’t be tortured or maimed, at worst even KILLED, if it was discovered they hadn’t “fulfilled their duties”. Oh, but he would have been a damn great person if only he had decided to retain his “integrity” instead of saving innocent people’s lives, according to you...! :’D

Well, turns out if he had chosen to retain his integrity above all else, he probably would be dead by now. Because he wouldn’t have ever defeated a single gladiator in Hui Yi, not even the first one he fought, because he would have refused to kill anyone who wasn’t truly his enemy.

And there we go, story over :’) thank you for this glimpse into how short Gladiator would be if Aang was my protagonist. Very nice.

So of course, I suppose you’ll ask now why does he regret having done this years later, if he wasn’t sorry back then and his argument is so solid (not that you’ll think it is, why even imagine you would? Apparently sex slaves deserve to die, as far as I can understand of what you’ve said so far)?

He regrets it now because, with that much distance between himself and what happened in Hui Yi, with that much time spent with someone he grew to love beyond he ever belived possible, he would MUCH RATHER have been a complete novice at everything and discovered everything about sex with her.

“Truth be told, I would have rather not been experienced at all… then again, if I hadn't been, our first time would have been a disaster, but… but it might have been worth all the more to learn all about this together, huh?”

He HATES that he had no choice but to go for it back then. He’s not proud of it in the least. If rejecting them wouldn’t have had such violent, catastrophic results, he would have always pushed them away. But he didn’t do that, AND he owns up to it in those chapters, even though he expects Azula will be as merciless as you appear to be and conclude he’s not worth her time anymore. Curiously, Azula actually understands that Sokka’s actions, especially those from BEFORE they were anything but enemies, back when he absolutely hated her, aren’t representative of who he is NOW. I can’t quite understand how that’s a concept that eludes you so badly, Anon.

Now, about the damn matter of him having an erotic dream about someone other than Azula, BEFORE having any about Azula (in case you didn’t notice, Sokka doesn’t tell June exactly WHEN he had this dream, so if you’re assuming it happened in recent times you’re basically only doing that to further rile up yourself against him? Which is, quite honestly, like shooting yourself in the foot): I take it you’ve never had any dreams in your life, have you, Anon? And I don’t mean erotic ones, I mean ANY dreams, whatsoever: can you control your dreams? Because if you can, boy, you’re pretty darn impressive! I’ve had some really ridiculous dreams, one that comes to mind was that I standing on a tight rope that I was suspended right above a waterfall, and I was about to fall. I was panicking like never before, despite the fact that, in real life, I’m not afraid of heights, I’ve never had any experiences with tight ropes and I think waterfalls are beautiful. And this is just ONE example, one very random example, of how dreams aren’t at all representative of a person’s true self.

Now then, please, tell me why on earth are you trying to hold this fictional man accountable for a completely random dream he had, BEFORE he had anything romantic with his love interest??? Can’t you tell how utterly unreasonable this is? It’s blowing me away that you’re not only clinging to this topic so badly, in this obsession to turn Sokka into some sort of monstrous, inadequate, terrible love interest for Azula, but that you’ve brought up this subject of him dreaming about one other woman in previous asks and submissions (that I didn’t answer because of how hard I facepalmed at them), as if it were ultimate proof of how untrustworthy he is. Normal people CAN’T control their dreams. Azula COULDN’T control her dream about Ursa back in Ember Island’s arc, she also couldn’t control the absolutely ridiculous dream she had in the Northern Air Temple, where she claims she’s carrying a baby for a friend! Are you going to come after her next, demanding that she is held accountable for having claimed she was carrying someone else’s fictional baby instead of proudly owning up to having a kid with the love of her life? Because, if you can tell that dream is just a pile of ridiculousness, I can’t see how you take this one of Sokka’s, which wasn’t even written because it was utterly irrelevant to the story, to mean ANYTHING. ESPECIALLY when said dream is explicitly said to have happened BEFORE he dreamt about Azula, which, once he wakes up, is what triggers his conscious, first real thoughts about Azula as a love interest!

*heavy breathing* Okay. Okay. That’s a lot to say. But I think I’m not done yet. I’m going to take advantage of this ask to quote a few things that have showed up in my inbox, that I didn’t reply to because I didn’t feel like it, plainly:

I wanted to know if Sokka would go the same way he did in the beginning with replacing Azula if she WOULD NOT be a princess?

... Why the hell is this even a question? The ENTIRE problem posed by Sokka and Azula’s relationship is that she IS a Princess and he’s a slave! Azula knows it! Sokka knows it! They both have thought and even outright said it countless times! How the heck does anyone, whether the same Anon as before or another one, if you were different people, read an ENTIRE story predicated on forbidden love between a Princess and a slave and not understand that the two main reasons these two SHOULDN’T want to be together, in the earliest arcs of the story, are:

She is RESPONSIBLE for turning him into a slave, which then caused him to spend 2 years suffering in what I THOUGHT was the worst possible depiction of the Fire Nation’s darkest tendencies but it apparently went over all your anon heads: he spent TWO YEARS holding the worst grudge against her for this, a grudge he still hasn’t completely let go of at chapter 28, hence why he continues to tell himself, back in those days, that he should hate her and why he doesn’t want to fall in love with her...

SHE IS A PRINCESS AND HE IS A SLAVE AND THERE’S NO WAY THEIR LOVE WILL HAVE A HAPPY ENDING UNLESS OZAI DIES, AZULA IS CROWNED AND SHE GETS TO MARRY HIM SO THEY CAN DO WHATEVER THEY WANT.

Seriously. It doesn’t take that much braining. It’s bloody stated constantly through the story. Will you people stop wondering why it’s important that she’s a Princess once we FINALLY reach Part 3 and the obvious consequences of their big romance are known? Or are you going to continue pretending there’s no reasons, whether characterization or world-building reasons, why these two have been keeping their relationship secret, and why the struggled that badly to cope with the feelings they developed for each other when they were in denial about it ages ago?

Anyways, if I really HAVE to answer this question, NO, if Sokka had started having feelings for a non-royal Azula and he didn’t think he’d ruin her life by acting on them, he wouldn’t have tried to flirt with Suki. He wouldn’t have slept with June. He wouldn’t have done any of the things he did in that arc, his reservations towards Azula wouldn’t be as strong as they are BECAUSE she’s a Princess, which means that being with her could outright cause her life to go to hell and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want that for Azula, even before he accepts his feelings for her. If he wouldn’t ruin her life, he probably would have been reluctant anyways due to their unresolved bad blood (point #1 up there?), but he wouldn’t have been so sure they CAN’T be together, so he wouldn’t even have flirted with Suki and this entire plot arc wouldn’t be necessary.

But that’s NOT the story we’re getting. Why? BECAUSE AZULA BEING A PRINCESS IS ESSENTIAL TO THE STORY??? I MEAN??? IS THIS REALLY SOMETHING I HAVE TO EXPLAIN??? SHE IS ONE IN CANON??? SHE IS ONE HERE??? WHY WOULDN’T SHE BE A PRINCESS???

... Dear god, have mercy on me. You really make me feel like I have devoted 7 years of my life to a huge waste of time if I can’t even get the most obvious plot points of the story across to you people.

One girl instance maybe but my shipper heart could never make Sokka get involved with SO MANY girls. 11? Will it keep growing?

This is the one Anon I was talking about earlier. Ha. Fucking HILARIOUS. Not only purposefully misunderstanding that it’s ELEVEN GIRLS, but asking if the number of girls Sokka will get involved with will increase beyond an already false number? Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?

What does commitment mean to you, goddammit. What do you even think the word stands for? Seriously, if you were to fall in love with someone, and then it doesn’t work out, but you find a second person later who seems perfectly nice and everything you DO need... would you say “Oh no but I already soiled myself by loving someone else, I AM UNWORTHY OF YOU!!”, because you made a commitment in the past that didn’t pay off, which, for some fucked up reason beyond my understanding, means you can’t commit to someone new?

This is Disney Romance logic. Hell, Disney Romances are more complex than your thinking, actually! Anna from Frozen is ready to marry Hans, ends up realizing Hans was an asshole at the worst possible timing and goes for Kristoff later instead: are we going to stone her for not realizing Hans was the worst right away? How on EARTH could she commit to Kristoff now, when she had been ready to be with another guy BEFORE she even met him?!?!

Another example: Meg from Hercules! She falls for a guy, literally SELLS her soul to Hades for him, and the douchebag ditches her for another girl. At this point, Hercules (at least, film-wise) has been a perfectly pure virginal boy and he falls for Meg dorkily: IS MEG THE WORST WOMAN EVER, UNWORTHY OF HERCULES AND ALL HIS HARD WORK FOR HER, BECAUSE SHE ALREADY HAD LOVED ANOTHER GUY BEFORE HIM AND HERCULES DOESN’T HAVE AS MANY EXPERIENCES WITH LOVE AS SHE DOES???

Sounds extreme? Well, that is literally what that question sounds like to me, Anon.

People in this world get into as many relationships as they want to. People don’t always find love right away. People can fall in and out of love. People can have meaningless encounters with others just because they feel like it.

And even then, there’s a chance any of those people will eventually find someone they will be happy with, for good, for the rest of their lives! Why the HELL would their past have anything to do with their ability to commit to the “right” partner in the future? Commitment ISN’T about having no romances or relationships with anyone else until you found the right person: commitment is about THE RIGHT PERSON. It’s about CHOOSING that person, for good, for the rest of your life if that’s how you want it! If you’re “committed” to someone but all you ever do is look at how many people they were with before you, or thinking “he’s gonna cheat on me as soon as I tear my eyes off him”, YOU HAVE A PROBLEM. IT’S NOT YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER, IT’S YOU.

Because you don’t trust the guy! Because you refuse to believe his commitment to you is real! And hell, in some cases, maybe it’s not real! Maybe the person in question is going to cheat on you! But in some cases it is, and how the FUCK would you feel if you were in a relationship with someone who keeps assuming your love for them isn’t real? Someone who thinks your commitment to them is false because as soon as you find a better offer, you’ll go running and ditch them, no matter if you have said and proven you love them a thousand times? If that person kept trying to control who you’re friends with, who you talk to, if you’re close to anyone you COULD MAYBE HAVE any romantic history or attachment to? That’s fucking TOXIC. And that’s a thousand times worse than ANYTHING I’ve written between Azula and Sokka, just an FYI. I honestly despise how this shit has been romanticized often by newer generations, such as boyfriends or girlfriends going through their partner’s messages with other people to make sure they’re not being cheated on: this is sick. It’s stupid to be with someone if you’re CONSTANTLY SECOND-GUESSING YOUR RELATIONSHIP. FOR THAT MATTER, DON’T BE IN A RELATIONSHIP AT ALL.

And see, Azula hasn’t second-guessed Sokka in ages. She really hasn’t. After that conversation in 112, Azula UNDERSTOOD what I’ve been trying to tell you all along: Sokka’s past doesn’t determine his future. He often made mistakes, bad decisions, mostly making them as a consequence of the pain he has endured, but he’s making a constant effort to make the right decisions by Azula since AGES before they have this conversation. After June he has no other one-night-stands. He shows no real interest in any other girls. He outright begged Azula to help him get rid of his goddamn stalker, who HARASSED him and left her goddamn underwear in his bed (he bloody CHANGED the entire bed due to how disgusted he was by this behavior).

Please, explain: how the fuck you see a guy who has spent about 125 chapters conscisouly growing, developing and fully commiting himself to a girl as a guy who will cheat on her and have more relationships and find more girls?

Want me to come out with something you won’t see coming, dear Anon?

AZULA IS GOING TO HAVE AN EXPERIENCE WITH SOMEONE OTHER THAN SOKKA IN THE FUTURE, EVEN AFTER HAVING COMMITTED FULLY TO HIM IN EVERY SENSE THAT COUNTS. THE CRIME YOU’RE SO DAMN AFRAID SOKKA WILL COMMIT? IT’LL BE AZULA COMMITTING IT, NOT HIM.

And in the mean time, Sokka won’t ever be with anyone but Azula until the time he dies :’) something I’ve ALREADY answered in many asks in the past.

Wow. Spoilers much? Well, you fucking asked for it. I’m so damn tired of this, Anon. I’m seriously, SERIOUSLY, tired of this. But I HAVE to keep going :’) because if I don’t? You’ll come back. And I really don’t want you to.

Why did you absolutely want to make Sokka sleep with someone different that day? From my get Sokka was already angry at Azula and the things would've been not any different if he wouldn't have done it. So why did you have the need to make him sleep with someone that badly when things wouldnt be any different. Only the falling into forest wouldve been a bit different. I can't see why this sleeping with someone was so neccessary. Why was it important for you?

Why did I absolutely want it? I didn’t. I actually didn’t.

Here’s a funny secret: my beta at the time was the one to suggest Sokka could do this. I wasn’t exactly big on the idea, until the character of June popped in my head and I realized that actually might work within the story: she’s not only physically similar enough to Azula that I could get away with basically writing it as a Sokkla hate-sex scene until Sokka realizes it’s not her, but June is also a completely free-spirited character whose entire priorities in the world are money and her shirshu. That’s literally it. With a character like June? There was no need to worry about the unpleasant twists I often see in fics where the main couple aren’t together yet, and either one or both members of the couple go for other people until they finally choose to be together: June WASN’T going to fall in love with Sokka. She doesn’t give a flying fuck about him. She’s amused by the situation until she’s annoyed by him. Then she’s amused again when she connects the dots once she sees Azula and Sokka at the nasty town where they bump into each other. And she ONLY grows fond of Sokka at the same time as she grows fond of Azula: IN JEONG JEONG’S ARC :’) Before that? These two probably don’t even cross her mind outside of hearing occasional rumors about Azula, and then she probably just used to go “lol I wonder if she finally had the guts to make a move on him”.

Hence, June was my ideal choice. She didn’t care. She doesn’t give a single fuck in 28. She’s just in it for her own amusement, for her own satisfaction. Anyone else? An OC, Suki, anyone else who could’ve crossed my mind? They might have actually developed feelings for Sokka. And I didn’t want THAT. Hence, I didn’t do that. I chose June because I wanted this to be a bad moment that would stay in the past with no chances of rekindling in the future.

Now, why did I follow suit with my beta’s suggestion? Because she was right about one thing, at the time: Sokka isn’t committed to Azula at this point. Sokka is furious upon thinking he’s fallen into Azula’s web and he refuses to play her game. That he ends up sleeping with someone else, and going to her that night, and shouting all the things he does, was Sokka’s attempt to defy Azula’s eagerness to control his life, which, yes, she is attempting to do just that. She’s developing feelings for him, sure, but she doesn’t want him to be free to choose because she’s SURE he won’t ever choose her. A main element in Azula’s Part 1 character development was meant to be about teaching Azula that upon building a real, honest bond with Sokka, he’d end up choosing her above everything else, WHICH, BY THE TIME SHE’S LEARNED TO GIVE HIM SUCH FREEDOM, HE DOES.

Sokka isn’t a perfect romance lead. I never planned for him to be that. I have written perfect romance leads! Fact is, Rui Shi is basically that, isn’t he? So I don’t even have to dig around to find an example. Sokka was NEVER meant to be perfect. And his starting point with Azula is DREADFUL. He is absolutely attracted to her physically, but his constant resisting of their attraction results in him making terrible mistakes that he has to own up to, AND HE DOES :’) Constantly. He doesn’t EVER force Azula to think she must be committed to him, because he doesn’t even feel worthy of her most the damn time! All of it, due to those mistakes he made! Azula outright has to tell him to forgive himself because he just won’t do it! :’D He’s even worse about this than you are, Anon, fancy that!

And why isn’t Sokka a perfect romance lead, even if I’ve done my very best in recent arcs to make him as romantic and caring and giving towards Azula as he possibly can be? Because I don’t care for writing a static, boring, simplistic story. I just don’t. There’s too much baggage, too much drama, too many things Sokka and Azula HAD to resolve before their relationship reached the heights it has.

So, sure, let’s imagine Sokka doesn’t sleep with June. Then, Azula doesn’t know he’s ever been with someone else, because he’s ashamed of what he HAD TO DO in Hui Yi and doesn’t want her to know about it anyhow: once she finds out about it, she’ll feel a thousand times more betrayed than she already did because she would have wrongfully assumed he was every bit as pure as she was. How NICE it would be if he hadn’t been with anyone that night! :’)

But let’s focus on the plot for a sec, will we? Forget about Xin Long: if Sokka hadn’t met June beforehand, and she doesn’t understand what’s up with Sokka and Azula, June won’t give a single crap about Azula’s plight and won’t tell her where the Rough Rhinos went :’) then, chances are the Rough Rhinos escape. And if the Rough Rhinos escape, Azula’s first big successful mission is a failure. She doesn’t get lost with Sokka in the forest, she doesn’t find her dragon, she fails her father and she probably won’t have many other opportunities to prove herself in the future. Iroh gets away with proving Azula can’t fulfill Ozai’s expectations, and probably uses this as leverage to convince more of Ozai’s court that Zuko is a better candidate for the throne, considering he’s already the firstborn child :’)

LOVELY, ISN’T IT??? :’)

Sokka wasn’t that angry until he does sleep with June, because by then he confirms what he already suspects: he can’t get Azula out of his mind, no matter what. His ENTIRE plan with June (and Suki) was to get involved with any other woman so he could get rid of his feelings for Azula by basically transferring them to someone else. To break free from Azula’s influence on him. Why?

BECAUSE HE DOESN’T WANT TO LOVE THE WOMAN WHO, EVEN IF INDIRECTLY, PUT HIM THROUGH THE HELL OF HUI YI.

THE WOMAN WHO DRAGGED HIM AWAY FROM HOME.

THE WOMAN WHO HOLDS HERSELF RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERYTHING THAT WENT WRONG IN SOKKA’S LIFE, EVEN IF SOKKA HIMSELF WON’T HOLD HER ACCOUNTABLE FOR MOST OF THESE THINGS ANYMORE.

No, I don’t think it’s unreasonable for him to feel this way about Azula. They had been getting to know each other for a few months, sure! But half that process had been arguments and spats, clashes and problems that sometimes had terrible outcomes. Remember Azula was outright ready to ditch Sokka as her gladiator after his second fight? She was DETERMINED to do that, until she received a challenge by the Blind Bandit, and she took advantage of this challenge to TEST SOKKA. TO SEE IF HE HAD LEARNED HIS LESSON, ONLY FOR HIM TO END UP HALF-DEAD AS A RESULT.

Can’t you tell both of them made a thousand mistakes, ESPECIALLY at the start of the story?

IT’S NOT AN ACCIDENT. IT’S DELIBERATE. I WANTED THEM TO MAKE THOSE MISTAKES! BECAUSE CHARACTERS WHO MAKE MISTAKES LEND THEMSELVES FOR BETTER STORIES!

I am sick to my core of the Internet’s purity bullshit of the past years. It’s disgusting to me. The fact that I’ve read there are writers out there who are outright whitewashing their own characters’s worst traits in major media content instead of working them out narratively? It makes me want to hurl. This is NOT quality storytelling. If you, as a writer, choose a setting with specific strife and difficult themes, you don’t get away with shirking off those themes and pretending they’re not there because “oh no, someone will be uncomfortable and I can’t possibly risk that!” You don’t write a character as racist on one season only to downplay the racism in later seasons, with no development needed, so that people won’t hate that character as much as they used to (that link is a specific, direct example of what I’m referring to, one that hopefully will explain why, when my characters fuck up, I do my best to make them 1. own up to it 2. learn from it 3. never make the same mistakes again :’) but I don’t even know if you’ll bother watching five minutes of an explanation, considering you’ll probably stopped reading my reply about 5K words ago).

Hence, I wrote Sokka making the mistakes he made DELIBERATELY. 100% KNOWINGLY. I knew there would be people uncomfortable with it: I’M UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT! I don’t like this particular element of my story! But do I think it was necessary? YES. Because with the conflict triggered by BOTH Azula and Sokka’s mistakes during the earliest arcs of the story, their characters DEVELOP. They GROW. They CHANGE. Without such development, there’s NO WAY the story would be where it is now. And maybe you’d be fine with that, but I sure as fuck am not. Gladiator isn’t exempt of flaws, of course it’s not, and I have no delusions of the opposite, but what you’re so obsessed with isn’t necessarily a flaw, it’s merely something you personally disliked and that you can’t seem to get over!

Which... begs the question. It really does.

WHY ARE YOU READING A STORY THAT MAKES YOU SO UNCOMFORTABLE?

I thought making Sokka work for Azula’s forgiveness to such humiliating extent (she literally walks over him at one point? He keeps shrinking and wincing and being completely mild and meek around her because he’s that sorry for what he did? He virtually STARVES himself in the forest so Azula can eat because she’s the one that matters, not himself?) would somehow make people like you, and as far as I know, many others, realize that Sokka was genuinely sorry. That Sokka had finally understood where he’d gone wrong, and that he would never misunderstand Azula’s feelings and intentions that way again.

Clearly, I was the one who was wrong. Because yep, it’s not just you, there’s a ton of people out there who can’t seem to get over what Sokka did in those chapters, or what he did in Hui Yi. And you know, I really think it’s unfair? Both on the characters, and on me as the writer? Because it’s not like I swept things under a rug, like in that link I gave you up there: I put Sokka through the wringer constantly, in fact, to the point where I even have thought it was too much! And beyond that... Sokka meant to stay by Azula’s side as her gladiator and nothing more, at first. Once they finally talk things through, that’s what they’re determined to be: there’s still lingering feelings, but their plan is to NOT act on them. And yes, it’s true, Sokka has one slip-up when Azula helps him cope with his feelings in chapter 50! But that’s what it’s framed as: a slip-up. He was impulsive, unable to hold back the emotions that led him to kiss her, and she kisses him back until they both realized this WASN’T supposed to happen between them ever again. Then, Sokka looks after Azula while she’s sick, and all his protective instincts are triggered... to the point where he realizes he outright LOVES Azula.

And even then, Sokka doesn’t act on his feelings again until Ember Island, point at which he only acts on them to show Azula she is NOT the monster she thinks she is. He does it FOR HER. He outright refrains from taking their exchanges as far as he deeply wanted them to go, because this is NOT ABOUT HIM. He wanted to make sure Azula would feel better, that she would understand she’s only human, and that her worst sides don’t make her any less human than anyone else.

My point is: I didn’t make Sokka work as hard as he did because he thought he’d get it on with Azula if he earned her forgiveness. I didn’t make Sokka fall in love with Azula while thinking only of himself, his feelings, his needs, above hers: IT’S THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF THAT. This guy is so in love with her he forgets himself with her, he’d die for her, hell, he’d even KILL for her, when one of Sokka’s biggest traumas EVER is about having to kill people. He doesn’t want to do that EVER AGAIN. And yet, if it’s for Azula’s sake, he will sacrifice his soul as many times as he must to keep her safe.

But the biggest thing I have to stress here? Sokka would have been willing to do every single one of those things for her even if Azula hadn’t wanted anything romantic to happen between them ever again.

If Azula had rejected him, kept him at bay, and the story had turned into an unbearable pining soap opera forevermore, Sokka would STILL do everything he has done for Azula. He wouldn’t expect her to love him back. He wouldn’t make demads of her in those regards. He would only love her as he does, because that’s what love is for this man. That’s what I developed him for. And if you don’t care to see it, Anon, that’s 100% on you, because I KNOW that’s what is there. You can’t simply take two instances of Sokka saying two stupid things and annul 188 chapters of Sokka developing into a man who would outright choose Azula OVER HIS OWN FAMILY. If you can’t understand the magnitude of this decision, how much it means for Sokka, SOKKA, to choose someone above his family? Above his people? Then you’ve got a real serious problem with grasping Sokka’s character. A very, very serious one. Probably since canon.

So... to finish off this particular subject: IT’S IMPORTANT FOR ME BECAUSE I WANT MY CHARACTERS TO GROW, CHANGE AND DEVELOP. AND THAT’S WHY I TOOK MY BETA UP ON THAT SUGGESTION AS I DID. I DON’T WANT MY CHARACTERS TO BE PERFECT RIGHT OFF THE BAT BECAUSE IT’S WRONG, IT’S BORING, IT’S NOT EVEN IC. IT MAKES NO SENSE TO ME, AS A WRITER, TO WRITE ABOUT CHARACTERS WHO CAN DO NO WRONG AND WHO NEVER HAVE TO CHANGE THEIR WAYS. BOTH AZULA AND SOKKA HAVE HAD TO GROW A TON THROUGHOUT GLADIATOR, AND IF YOU CAN’T SEE SOKKA’S GROWTH FOR YOURSELF, I’M PRETTY DAMN SURE IT’S BECAUSE YOU DON’T WANT TO SEE IT.

Sooo sick of people stories ALWAYS let men fuck be the lucky one and get the perfect woman who gives herself COMPLETELY to him. Then man says „its in the past I love you only" wtf? Sleep with others use it on Azula his 9th on the list. I respect you for being so strong and writing this as a girl. I get the crisis, so tired. Kudos Azula for letting herself in his arms so comfortably. I REALLY wish I could do this too. At least Suki and Song are lucky. Sorry for venting I'm just broken and stupid

I have no idea if this is you too. Maybe it is. But if not, I’m quoting it too, because why the fuck not. Why the fuck not.

I suppose I can at least commend this one for knowing Azula is the 9th rather than the 12th, huh? At least they read that much right.

To this Anon: please, stop venting about this to the writer who apparently disappointed you that badly for making a decision that is consistent with the situation the characters are in.

Frankly, I’m absolutely grossed out by the people who seem to think Azula, Princess Azula unto whom I’ve forced horrible purity societal pressures that ARE UNFAIR AND MAKE NO SENSE, AND SHE CONSTANTLY SAYS SO THROUGH THE STORY, should have had as many experiences as Sokka so that “they’re even”. The bloody audacity to look at what Sokka went through in Hui Yi and think “WELL BUT IT’S SEX SO AZULA SHOULD HAVE LOTS OF GUYS TOO!” completely BAFFLES me.

Literally, Azula’s ONLY experience before Sokka, AKA, CHAN, is a thousand times healthier and more genuine than ANYTHING Sokka ever went through. And nobody is fucking throwing a fit about that.

Why do I say this? :D

NOBODY WAS FORCING AZULA TO KISS CHAN. NOT IN CANON. NOT IN GLADIATOR

AZULA LIKED CHAN AND DELIBERATELY CHOSE TO GO FOR HIM BECAUSE SHE FELT LIKE IT. NO ONE WAS MAKING THIS CHOICE FOR HER.

AZULA WASN’T PRETENDING CHAN WAS SOMEONE ELSE WHILE SHE KISSED HIM. SHE WAS PERFECTLY FULFILLED BY KISSING A GUY FOR THE FIRST TIME BECAUSE THAT’S LITERALLY WHAT SHE WAS LOOKING FOR.

Meanwhile: Sokka is FORCED to be with the women in Hui Yi. Someone is going to outright either hurt or kill them if he doesn’t do it.

Meanwhile: Sokka didn’t necessarily like any of the women he was with, not the Hui Yi ones, not June. June merely wants mindless fucking, Sokka tells her from the start he doesn’t think it will work at all: IT DOESN’T. It’s JUNE being forward. At worst, Sokka can be blamed for not putting a harsh stop to June before anything happened. But he wasn’t even the one with the initiative: JUNE WAS. In Hui Yi, goes without saying, he didn’t get to choose, they basically would just go to him and he’d do what he had to do. The fucking end.

Meanwhile: Sokka was dead-like with June up until he lets himself imagine she’s Azula, the only way for him to actually go forward with what’s going on. Afterwards, HE’S APPALLED WITH HIMSELF. HE’S MISERABLE. HE’S UNHAPPY.

Azula had the normal, nice, socially acceptable teenage experience of having a brief crush on a guy and trying to see if something would come from it: SOKKA HAS BEEN A SLAVE EVER SINCE CHAPTER 2. Their social positions are MILES apart. And, as free as Sokka is to fuck whoever he wants: HE DOESN’T CHOOSE, DELIBERATELY, TO DO SO. He only does it in Hui Yi and with June, and after realizing with June that this just won’t work because he won’t get Azula off his mind, HE DOESN’T SLEEP WITH ANYONE ELSE UNTIL HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH AZULA BEGINS.

You’re basically pretending that a slave, in the lowest of levels in society, lives his life freely without restraint, just as a girl at the top of the world can. They both have very specific problems: Azula is forced NOT to be with anyone until marriage, whether she wants someone or not, whereas Sokka ends up getting sex FORCED ON HIM. Completely, radically opposite sides of a spectrum that I’ve done my damnedest to build up believably and understandably. But all this just goes over your head, right? You’d much rather ignore and annul my entire fucking worldbuilding, just because it tickles you poorly that the guy in this story has more experience in sex than the girl. You’re throwing major themes in Gladiator out the window (Azula outright fighting to demand actual equality instead of the subtle, constant, undermining sexism the Fire Nation is permeated with), because it makes you personally uncomfortable for a girl to be a virgin and a guy not to be (despite, in this day and age, there’s A LOT of content in the world where characters involved are either perfectly virginal or equally promiscuous, and you could be enjoying that instead of reading Gladiator).

Newsflash: you’re just as bad as the people who demand virginity and purity from women if you demand it from men.

Nobody is LESS or MORE of a person because of how many people they sleep with. NOBODY. This shouldn’t even have to be said. I can’t even believe that it NEEDS to be, but I’m saying it anyways. It’s absolutely STUPID to me that there’s readers out here that weigh everything in regards of how many people someone has been with. What sort of backwards mentality is this?

By far, Gladiator-wise, NO ONE has slept with as many people as Ty Lee has.

NO ONE.

Where’s the goddamn shitfest at Ty Lee for this? Haru had a few experiences before being with her, sure! But they were NOTHING compared to the amount Ty Lee had. Ty Lee did whatever the hell she wanted since her teenage years, with whoever she wanted, and she got away with it until she was caught. Then, Azula stepped in to help her avoid total social annihilation! :’D why?

BECAUSE IT SHOULDN’T MATTER HOW MANY PEOPLE TY LEE HAS BEEN WITH. BECAUSE AZULA KNOWS TY LEE’S WORTH AS A HUMAN BEING HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HOW “PURE” SHE MAY BE BEFORE MARRIAGE.

JUST AS AZULA’S OWN WORTH IS FAR AND BEYOND AND ABOVE THAT SHIT :’)

And god, it’s just so ridiculous! Soooo ridiculous! That I’m out here, writing a huge story that’s meant to feature, eventually, the big fallout resulting of the discovery of Azula’s long-gone purity, a fallout that Azula will be fighting against with all her might, trying to defend her right to live her life, to love whoever she wants, to defend her worth and value as a person and resist the traditionalistic oppressive tyranny of her own FATHER...!

And you’re out here, fucking shitting yourself in rage, because Sokka has had more sexual partners and experiences than Azula.

It’s fascinating for the whole POINT of the story to soar so far over your head that you just can’t even see it anymore. For you to be so hung up on stuff Sokka did between chapters 2-3 and in chapter 28, AND NOTHING MORE, as if THAT is what determines Sokka’s worth as a human being and as Azula’s partner. And damn, try as I might, I can’t make someone learn better if they’re stuck with this mentality because they truly believe that if you’ve had more partners you’re somehow worse than by having less. I can’t. It’s up to you people to get over this attitude, because I can’t do more to teach you human nuance and complexity than I already have. I’m too tired to try anymore.

And of course, writers shouldn’t have to defend their work as I’m defending mine now. I should probably just lie down and take the criticism I’m tossed without complaint, shouldn’t I? I mean, haha, I also got this Anon, so very considerately, saying:

Hello I am that anon who asked you the Sokka sleeping with someone question. I think you shouldn't stress or get angry and hurt when you get question about this matter. It is a big and questiniongly part of your story. No one can judge your talent or you but people can ask questions about this or can't they? Its just that it was not neccessary for some readers seems like.

Which, I think, is probably the first person all over again.

I SHOULDN’T get stressed or angry or hurt? Oh, wow. So, on top of everything, I can’t even have feelings. I’m supposed to be a fucking doormat :’) beautiful. I love it.

Have you taken notice of how many asks I’ve already quoted in this answer? That’s not even half of what I’ve had in my inbox pertaining this subject, whether from you or someone else. Back when the story was starting? I got asks about this VERY OFTEN, by someone who eventually came back and apologized (and boy, do I hope that none of the asks I’ve quoted were sent by that person, I seriously hope they didn’t backtrack on their apparent understanding of what I was doing with the story), and I don’t even know how many others too. It was people, just like you, who would read over my answers and just cherrypick the story trying to find any excuses to villify Sokka and paint him as undeserving and ungrateful and I don’t even know what else regarding Azula and their bond. Whether because he slept with a “ton” of people or because he made her cry or because of whatever reason you want to choose.

... When Azula can be fucking held responsible for literally making Sokka suicidal.

Fucking grapple with that for a sec, can you? :’) Imagine what it’s like falling in love with someone who once hurt you so badly you thought you wanted your life to be over. Do tell me how easily you’d get over your reservations, LONG before this person even SAYS SHE’S SORRY. BECAUSE. HAHA. AZULA DIDN’T EVEN APOLOGIZE FOR IT FOR FIFTY-FIVE CHAPTERS. JUST AN FYI. AND NONE OF YOU. NOOOONE OF YOU. GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THAT DETAIL. IT’D BE HILARIOUS IF IT WEREN’T SO OUTRAGEOUS.

Anyways. Getting back on track: people HAVE asked questions about this. Constantly. Consistently. Without restraint, ever since I first wrote it. Without bloody bothering to go through my blog first and find out if maaaaybe I’ve already addressed their concerns. And the worst part? I’ve actually had many askers, countless anons, lots of people talking to me about many things. Yes, I’ve had a million arguments on Tumblr, and not everything ended well.

But pal. Pal. Guess what’s the only subject that KEEPS ON COMING RIGHT BACK, NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I DEAL WITH IT, AND IT’S ALWAYS, ALWAYS, WITH THE SAME SPECIFIC “SOKKA IS THE WORST” FOCUS???? :’)

Think about something you did seven years ago. Be it something you were proud of, or something you’re sad about, or just something that you really don’t think much of anymore, because you’ve moved on from that since ages ago.

And then imagine spending seven years. Receiving questions. Constantly. Whether rude or not. Whether thoughtful or not (usually the latter, tbh). Whether necessary or not. Whether already answered or not. About that very thing you’ve been over. That very specific thing from SEVEN YEARS AGO.

I’m tired, Anon, of dealing with this specific subject, because everyone who has come to me with this BS has been a pain in the ass: THEY KEEP COMING BACK. YOU’RE NOT THE FIRST ONE WHO DOES. IT’S INCREDIBLE. I’ve answered a thousand asks, and I do get follow-up questions sometimes, but NEVER as many or as frequently as THIS! And the part that I just can’t believe is that there’s people who write stuff that are thousands of times more complicated than what I did here (in terms of giving the characters even MORE love interests, like, genuine love triangles and actual love involved rather than a mere quick thing), and I don’t see anyone giving them a single hint of grief for that. Not even a smidge, not even if they leave the subject up in the air or unresolved later on. I’ve read stories that feature pairings I’m absolutely uncomfortable with, actual pairings that have a longer lasting relationship in the story than the pairing I was reading for! There’s literally a story in another fandom where the main relationship lasts, what, 6 months? Maybe? And then they break up. And then the guy goes on to have a fuckbuddy for YEARS. Meaning, the relationship with the fuckbuddy is longer and more stable than the ship the story is actually marked for.

And I didn’t give the writer even the SLIGHTEST grief for it.

Why the hell do you (and everyone else who has been so hung up about this subject) feel the need, or the entitlement, to determine that I need to put up with these questions? That I somehow earned them and need to answer them every time? Because, heh, I outright stopped answering for a long time because I didn’t want to. Because I was TIRED. Because I hoped, fruitlessly, that if I didn’t give you guys the attention you were so desperate for, you’d eventually get bored or realize that I DON’T CARE FOR THIS SUBJECT ANYMORE. I AM OVER IT. I HAVE BEEN OVER IT FOR AGES.

But SOMEHOW, getting me to the point where I’d be stressed, upset, outraged and annoyed was absolutely worth it for you guys. Seriously, what the hell do you think I am? A big monolith that just spews words and has zero emotions whatsoever? I’ve given SEVEN YEARS of my life to this story. Have you ever done this for ANYTHING in your life? Have you ever devoted yourself to a project to this extent? No? Then you don’t get to dictate whether I should be annoyed, upset, angry, irritated or whatever the fuck I feel when I get asks as persistent, thoughtless and devoid of proper reflection as the ones I CONSTANTLY get over 28 and everything related to Sokka’s past with named and nameless women alike.

And hey, just so you know, someone recently said they thought it wasn’t necessary for Whaletail Island’s arc to end as it did. That there shouldn’t be a 1-year interval until Sokka can meet his family, his FATHER, again. That Katara, Aang, Zuko and Kino totally should have stayed outside the South Pole and helped fight against Ozai merely because the Gaang was FINALLY together!!!

... Conveniently forgetting the ENTIRE purpose for the South Pole group’s trip to Whaletail Island was for them to find food with which they could help a starving, dying village.

So excuse me if some people “questioning” my story doesn’t make me question my choices the way you guys apparently expect me to. Because at this point, the “questioning” I’m receiving is honestly so thoughtless, so poorly conceived, just done for YOUR SUBJECTIVE CONVENIENCE, without taking the full picture into account, even in situations like this one, where it’s bloody obvious Zuko won’t go fight the Fire Nation when his wife and child could be the next ones to bite the dust and that’s the whole reason he even left??? I’m not even talking about the bigger picture that I get to see as a writer, I mean the bigger picture in regards of character feelings and motivations... you people do see that. You have it, explained outright, perhaps too explained! Hell, if my literature teachers read Gladiator they’d likely cringe at how often I SPELL EVERYTHING OUT instead of leaving a few things for the reader to fill the gaps! Oh, but naaaaah, I have to come here, spend HOURS of my day answering asks about why Sokka got to sleep with people when Azula didn’t, and why do I think he’s loyal to her if he did that before he was committed to Azula, and if he’s going to sleep with more people because of COURSE, if he was with anyone else before her it means he will be again in the future...!

When I could be using all this time to actually work on stuff that I DO want to work on. Namely, building up the story further. With some very dark, serious, difficult developments that I’m trying to be in the right place to write.

And asks like these? They sure as fuck don’t help. Not only do they distract me, they have NOTHING to do with what I’m working on right now. I’ve considered the subject of Sokka’s past experiences as closed and DONE since chapter 112, and I don’t need you, or anyone else, to come to me and beg for more explanations than the pretty damn extensive ones you already got in a PRETTY DAMN EXTENSIVE STORY.

If you still read Gladiator at this point. If you reach chapter 187 and see a Sokka who hugs Azula, twirls her in midair, damn near crying of bliss because she said she loved him in public, in front of their siblings, a Sokka who is choosing to stay with her, without a shred of a doubt, with his heart COMPLETELY set on HER, instead of going back to a family who used to be THE ONLY THING he cared about in life, and you somehow conclude “this guy would totally cheat on Azula if he had the chance”... then I’m sorry but I HAVE every right to be angry. I have every right to be completely beside myself as I am.

Because you’re basically saying that I spent SEVEN YEARS developing this character, this relationship, this story, and it went to waste. Because you refuse to believe, for personal reasons, that Sokka is in any way deserving of his bond with Azula. Because somehow you think this is CONTRADICTORY, when merely looking at things with a slightly more open mind, reveals that this isn’t contradiction: IT’S NUANCE. It’s COMPLEXITY. It’s the fact that a character can change their mind about certain things, they can deplore certain mistakes they made, they can regret their actions in retrospect, and my characters? They sure do that. All the bloody time. Azula does it constantly, and for good reason. But it just goes right over your head, and it’s because you want it to. I refuse to believe you can’t understand what I’ve explained before, and what I’m explaining now: you don’t want to understand it, which is different. You want to condemn Sokka, and you want to feel validated in your discomfort about one specific, long-resolved plot point of the story, demanding for explanations of why it was necessary when you really don’t care for the explanations: you just wish it hadn’t happened at all.

And great! You can wish that all you like! Why the hell not? But you don’t get to pelt me day after day with criticism that falls apart easier than a card castle as soon as I take a look at what I wrote in the story, only to then pick ANOTHER quote, OUT OF CONTEXT, to once again present your case of why this is just wrong and bad and not written the way you want it to be.

I’ve received legitimate, valid criticism of many aspects of Gladiator. I always ended up feeling pretty bad after, but the valid ones? I realized, even if it hurt, that they were true. That some of that made sense. That, if I got to write this story all over again, I probably should fix those details and not get overwhelmed by my excitement to get to the meat of the story, which is why some developments of the introduction arc are so rushed compared to everything else. It was my inexperience, my mistake. I’ve made mistakes later on too, and I’ve taken note of them as well, despite I’m doing my best to incorporate them into the story as seamlessly as possible so that they even tie in with canon fairly well. In short, I don’t believe Gladiator is perfect, and sometimes when people tell me as much? I know they’re right. I take what I can from that, and learn from it, if possible.

But this? The criticism I’ve received for 28, and for Sokka’s past, is 100% subjective, CONSTANTLY. I’ve never read any that genuinely makes me go “oh well that’s a good point, maybe it’s OOC or maybe I could’ve done it differently to the exact same results without the same elements”. It’s always, to varying degrees, “I hate that you’re writing for one specific ship but allowed one member of the ship to have experiences with other people before he really got together with his one true love and I’m going to pester you about it until I finally get bored of making you rant and ramble for hours to no avail because I won’t listen to anything you say”.

So, yes. I feel justified in lashing right back at you for the backlash. Because this isn’t just you, it’s a lot of people, like you said! And you’re ALL free to hate what happened, I’ve never said you have to like it and I never will. But if you’re going to criticize? You’re open for criticism too. Fact is, if you wanted to actually talk about this properly? You’d get off anon and we’d have (I hope) a decent conversation via messaging about ALL that bothers you about this story. I’d even be a thousand times more civil than I have been so far! And why would I act so differently? Because you’re an anon. Because you’re HIDING. And from the shadows, you toss all this criticism at me and then whine because I don’t like it. Well, own up to your own shit too, Anon. If you wanted a real debate, if you had the ARGUMENTS for a real debate, we could have one just fine. But you don’t. And if you get the privilege of anonymity, I get the privilege of speaking my mind with zero regard of your feelings, because that’s basically how you, and all the anons I’ve quoted (whether they’re you or anyone else) have behaved as so far.

Yes, I write, and I post what I write online, which leaves the gateway open for criticism for sure.

It doesn’t give you the right to be this persistent of an asshole to the point of saying I have no right to be annoyed by your questions. You don’t have the slightest idea of how much work I’ve put into Gladiator for the past seven years. You don’t have the slightest grasp of character development if you don’t understand THAT is what’s been happening with Sokka all along. And you don’t get to decide how I feel about your asks, or anyone else’s.

You can send another ask about ANYTHING regarding this subject, be it my inability to handle “criticism”, or chapter 28, or chapters 111-112 and their respective revelations about Sokka’s past, or your presumed belief that Sokka will be with a thousand women despite he’s completely committed to Azula by now... but this time I mean it: YOU’RE NOT GETTING ANOTHER ANSWER OUT OF ME. I’ve had it. This is the last straw. I’m done discussing this subject, and I’ll outright change my askbox’s message for you to remember that if you try to pull this again.

Now then. Can I finally go back to working on my story, or must I continue to invest HOURS of my day spelling out all the writing decisions I’ve made that you can’t make your peace with?

Please, Anon: get over it. If you can’t, stop reading. You’ll be happier that way. And so will I. I’m in no place, emotionally, for this kind of BS on my inbox all the damn time. Give me a goddamn break if you truly have any respect for what I do.

#anon #gladiator chapter 28 #gladiator chapter 112 #I've had enough #this fucking answer is so long #and I know it won't serve any purpose #I mean if you've read enough to reach chapter 112 and still can't SEE the shit I'm spelling out for you #obviously an ask isn't going to fix anything either #but maybe?#maybe you'll understand how done I am with this #if nothing else #enough is enough

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eirian-houpe · 4 years ago

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Disparate Pathway - Chapter 19

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 19 - Grace

Jefferson had the cab drop him a block and a half away from his sister-in-law’s house. He didn’t think he’d been followed, but he’d learned the hard way that you could never be too careful where that kind of thing was concerned. No matter how pissed he was, the last thing he wanted to do was to bring danger to Rebecca’s door.

He took an indirect route, ducking through alley ways and across the community garden, before coming back out onto the street a few houses down. Once he reached the sidewalk he knelt down under the pretext of tying a shoelace, and took the time to have a good look around himself. Only when he was satisfied that the street was empty did he get up and finally make his way to the house and rang the bell.

It was late, and he knew it would take someone a while to get to the door, so he tried to resist the urge to push the bell again, or worse, to lean on the doorbell until someone pulled open the door to spit a whole load of invectives into his face. He was trembling, just a little, as the lights in the hallway snapped on and the silhouette of a figure approached the thick, frosted glass.

He heard the jingle of keys and locks, and the rattle of a chain before the door began to open just a crack.

“Rebecca, it’s me,” he said to forestall the necessity of too much opening and closing of the door, which might bring too much attention to what was going on. Attention, apparently, was not something from which Rebecca intended to shy away.

The door slammed shut, and then opened again with the velocity of a forced entry, until the doorway was blocked by a back-lit figure that involuntarily made his heart lurch, even though he knew it was not Priscilla, but her sister. She had her hands on her hips, and it didn’t take an investigative genius to know that she was unhappy with him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she spat.

In better circumstances he might have made a joke, nice to see you too, Rebecca. How the hell are you? It’s been a while, but these were not better circumstances and he didn’t have time to put up with her being a dick.

“I need my car,” he said, trying - and failing - not to match her tone at least a little and took a step toward her. “I went to storage and it’s not there. Where is it?”

“Whoa, back up buster,” her tone, if possible, was even more frosty than it had been when she opened the door, “We agreed that you wouldn’t come around here without at least a call—”

“You decided.” He talked over her.

“—twenty-four hours in advance.”

“There wasn’t time,” he protested, hackles rising despite not having the energy for the fight that it seemed she was intent on having anyway, “and if you’d left the car where it was supposed to be we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“Conversation?!” she snapped. “This is what you call a conversation? You show up here, yelling at me on my own doorstep and—”

“Fuck you, Rebecca, you’ve never even heard me yelling,” he growled, and paced away from the door barely a step, running his hand through his hair before he turned back and repeated, “I don’t have time for this - Where’s my fucking car?”

“You’re not hearing me, Jefferson,” she said. “You don’t get to come around here demanding, aggressive, unreasonable and not to mention delinquent, and expect me to—”

“Excuse me?!” the shudder of incredulity burst out of him in the form of words. “Delinquent?” He moved to take a step forward, but she barred his way by closing the door on him just a little, but he pushed it open. “In what universe have I ever been delinquent?”

“The storage company—”

“Comes right out of my account. What’s going on, Rebecca?” Flared temper mingled with the worry of a million possibilities, and it made him even more demanding of answers. “Is there something I should know about!”

“Hey, hey, guys,” another calmer voice - Andy, his sister-in-law’s husband - interrupted their mutually rising tirade. “How would it be if you continue this inside, hmm, before the neighbors start calling the cops?”

The words made Jefferson look around, and he saw that several porch lights had been turned on, and there were the outlines of people in doorways and in windows.

“Fine,” Rebecca said, proving to him by her tone that it was anything other than fine, as she opened the door wider, and let him step inside.

It was Andy that closed the door behind him to Jefferson’s quiet, “Thanks, man.”

Andy shrugged, and then nodded toward Rebecca, before he said, “I’ll make tea.”

Jefferson tried to stay as calm as Andy’s intervention had afforded him the chance to achieve, and took a breath before he asked softly, “Now, what about the storage company?”

“They called a few months ago, and every month since. They said it was a personal matter and then would only speak with you,” she said, his affected calm quieting her. “Which is accounts-speak for you owing them money.”

“What did you tell them?” he asked, switching instantly back from being an ‘on the offensive brother-in-law,’ to being an undercover FBI agent. Either paranoid, or overcautious, or God-forbid, right, there was something suspect about all of this.

“Exactly what you told me to say,” she answered.

“And you called Rab?” he asked, frowning as she nodded.

“He said he’d take care of it,” she said in confirmation, “but the calls keep happening.”

“Someone’s fishing,” he said half to himself and half to Rebecca. “If they call again, write down the number and hang up, then give the number to Rab, tell him I think someone is trying to find out if I’ve been in contact with you.”

She nodded, and swallowed, then said, “Besides that,” she paused for a second before continuing, “Paige had to—”

“Grace,” he corrected, his temper rising again. “Her name is Grace.”

“She had to have dental work, Jefferson, and we—”

“I’ll see to it you get the money, Rebecca. When have I ever let you down with anything like that?”

She shook her head, “You haven’t just…” she sighed, and didn’t finish the sentence.

He reached out slowly, reaching past the fading red mist, to put a hand onto her shoulder. “I get it, it’s unsettling, but I promise you, everything will be fine.” He hated himself for the possibility he was lying. He took his own breath and asked softly, “Can I… can I see her?”

She made a face and he knew she was about to refuse. He tried to think rationally, not to let the fact that she was about to deny him a moment with his daughter, derail him again. It wasn’t right. He was here and he had this moment, and maybe it would be his only moment. He shivered… thinking like that…

“It’s late, Jeff,” Rebecca said at last, “and it’s a school night, so—”

“Papa!”

The cry came from the top of the stairs, and throwing Rebecca a helpless expression, Jefferson took the stairs two at a time, barely making it to the landing to catch Grace as she launched herself against him, and with her in his arms, sank down to the floor, holding her tightly.

The press of every missed moment warred with the very real feeling of having her in his arms. He breathed in her scent. Squeezed her tighter, and felt that she had lost weight and felt waif-like against him, and he squeezed his eyes closed to keep his tears at bay. He eased his hold on her after a moment ready to draw back and take in the sight of her, but she tightened her arms around his neck.

“I miss you,” she whispered against his shoulder.

“Oh, Grace,” he forced the words past the knot in his throat, “I miss you too, sweetie.” He turned his head to plant a gentle kiss on the side of her head, finally managing to ease her away; to look at her, then reached out to wipe at the wetness on her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. His voice was hoarse when he spoke again. “You look good. You had a hair cut.”

“Just the ends,” she said, and then she released him enough that he could take her in properly, and he felt her little hand tugging his hair, before she told him, “You need one”

He let his head hang down playfully for a moment as he confessed, “I do. I really do.” Then he looked up at her and offered her a smile. “How about you show me your room. A little bird told me you’ve decorated in there.”

Grace giggled a little bit. “You won’t like it,” she said.

“Oh, I won’t?”

She shook her head, but took his hand and tugged until he climbed to his feet. His legs, inexplicably, felt like jello underneath him and his head felt light, and he wasn’t sure whether it was the lack of sleep, the physical beating he’d taken, or the overwhelming emotion he felt at holding his baby girl in his arms, even for such a short time.

She led him to her room. He’d been in there before, but it had been a while ago, and then it was decorated with faux wood panels in the lower half of the room, with almost a chintz paper above. He had hated it, but it gave him a kind of comfort, because it matched the rest of the house and that made it seem somehow impermanent - like the arrangement of Grace living with Rebecca and Andy was just a temporary thing.

When he walked in behind her this time, every sense screamed at him to get her out, to bring her with him; that he shouldn’t leave her there. Something was coming, and she was right - he wouldn’t like it, but it wasn’t the room. The room, he quite liked; reflected everything Grace loved.

The bed was new, and the wood panels had been replaced with a mural showing the inside of a country cottage, complete with a painted fireplace, with cooking utensils that ‘hung’ to the side of it on a mock hearth, built from what looked like corrugated cardboard painted to look like red bricks. On the ceiling the suggestion of wooden beams had been created in paint and cardboard, with yellow construction straws in the corners representing thatch.

He cleared his throat before he spoke. It felt like far too much work had gone into the room for it to be anything other than a lasting arrangement.

“You always did want to live in the country,” he said.

“Forest, Papa,” Grace corrected him. “Look.”

She drew back the heavy curtains that were pulled across the windows, and even in the darkness he could see that the glass had been painted across with trees, and bluebells, and even a little well.

“Nice,” he said softly, and kissed her hand as he took it from the drapes and covered up the windows and the light that came through the ‘forest’ from the city beyond. “I remember now, you always said you wanted to live in the forest.”

She looked up at him and then threw her arms around his waist, and he held her close, without moving from where they were. “I always want to live with you, Papa. I don’t care where.”

He leaned down to pick her up, resting her head against his shoulder, as he carried her across to her bed, so that she wouldn’t see the expression of pain that flashed across his eyes. “I know, sweetie, I know.” He wanted that too - desperately.

He sat them both down on the edge of the bed, and she squeezed him tightly, her arm catching the graze on the top of his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but wince. She pulled away at once, staring at him as though he had slapped her.

“Papa, you’re hurt,” she gasped. She started to wriggle in his lap to get down, “I have a band aid.”

He caught her wrist gently as she started toward the dresser. “It’s just a scratch,” he told her. “I’m good, I promise.”

She turned and looked at him then, as if taking him in properly for the first time, and he had to force himself to be still; not to hide himself from her. He’d promised himself he would never do that.

“But Papa, your scarf!” she said at last, “It’s torn.”

She pulled on his grasp until he let go so that she could cross the distance to the dresser, and reach inside. He watched as she took out a paisley patterned, silk scarf, and brought it back with her when she came to kneel on the bed beside him.

He swallowed as she reached out to unfasten the hurried knot he’d tied in his ruined scarf to fix it - it seemed a lifetime ago now - when it had torn in his struggle with Belle as she tried to run away.

“You can have this one of mine,” she told him as she finally freed the knot, and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard as she slipped it free, and then tenderly arranged the long, silk scarf around his neck, careful to cover his scars, before tying it at the back of his neck. “There.”

He ran his fingertips over its softness before he wrapped his arms around Grace, and held her again. “Thank you, baby,” he whispered, wiping away a tear that escaped onto his cheek in spite of his effort to keep them inside.

“I love you.”

“And I love you, Grace - so much.” He held her tightly, and then reached past her to pull back the covers of her bed. “Scooch down now. It’s late, and your aunt is worried about you being up on a school night.”

Reluctant, but obedient, Grace settled into bed, and Jefferson pulled the covers up to her chin, kneeling beside the bed as he did. He smoothed his fingers over her hair, committing her features to memory, and the feel of her hair beneath his fingertips, everything.

She sighed softly, calmed by his touch, he could feel her relax with each pass of his fingers through her hair.

“Promise me something,” he said quietly, and he smiled sadly as she turned her sleepy eyes his way. “Promise me that no matter what happens, no matter what you hear, or what people tell you, you’ll always remember that.

“I promise, Papa,” she whispered, her eyes closing as sleep reached up to claim her.

For a long time, Jefferson didn’t move; couldn’t, as he forced back the emotion that was threatening to spill over like a boiling kettle. He couldn’t - wouldn’t - let Rebecca see him breaking and vulnerable.

When he was sure Grace wouldn’t wake he pulled himself to his feet, leaned down and softly kissed her brow, whispering an almost inaudible, “Goodbye, my sweet Grace,” before turning and leaving the room.

To Jefferson the quiet click of the door catching closed sounded as loud as gunfire in the dim lit hallway, and the white hot pain, just as surely felt like the kiss of a bullet.

He took his time descending the stairs, using the repetitive motion to wrap the steel bands around himself, shoring himself up; confining himself to the present moment only. Andy met him at the foot of the stairs.

“N-ice,” Jefferson forced the words past the catch as he reached the last stair, “decorations you’ve done there.”

“Rebecca,” Andy said, confirming what Jefferson already suspected.

“She always did have a flair for art,” he answered.

Andy nodded, and then said, “Come with me.”

Jefferson followed Andy through to the garage, noticing as Andy picked up a travel mug on their way through the kitchen. His brother-in-law flicked on the light as they descended the few steps to the concrete floor, and then turned and handed the cup to Jefferson.

“I made your tea to go,” Andy said. “I’ll be honest with you, Jefferson, Becca really doesn’t want to talk to you any more.”

“…the fuck, Andy!”

Andy held up his hand in a gesture obviously meant to placate him. “I know, I know,” he said, “Just… give her time.”

“Time?” Jefferson ran his fingers through his hair, “How much more time! It’s been nine fucking years, almost ten.”

Again, Andy held up his hand. “She was her sister, Jeff.”

“And she was me wife!” he growled, “Grace’s mother. Do you think I don’t feel her loss every goddamn day? Feel like I failed her, and I’m still failing.”

He felt himself trembling beneath the hand that Andy placed on his shoulder; squeezed supportively. “It wasn’t you, and it’s not your fault,” Andy said, then added, “But Becca’s my wife, and I have to do what’s best for her, and for our family. So… I’m going to tell you something, and then you’re going to get in your car,” he nodded to the vehicle beside them as he reached out and pulled the tarp from covering it, “drive away, and finish this thing - whatever it is you’re involved in.” He held out the keys for Jefferson to take.

“Rebecca’s not going to put up with this arrangement much longer, and I’m not sure she’s thinking things through rationally.” Jefferson took the keys into his hand, but Andy didn’t let go and stepped in closer to catch the crook of Jefferson's other arm. “She means well, and I hope you can remember that, because when the shit hits the fan, it’s not going to be pretty.”

Jefferson was about to ask what the fuck he meant, when Rebecca appeared at the top of the steps to the kitchen, and he didn’t miss the warning Andy held in his eyes. He gave the barest of nods, and murmured his thanks as Andy let go of the car keys, and his arm.

“Don’t come around here any more, Jefferson,” Rebecca said, almost calmly, from the top of the stairs. “I really don’t want to see you again.”

Jefferson didn’t answer, just unlocked the car and opened the door. Andy caught him by the arm again before he could climb in, then he pulled an envelope from his pocket. He held it out to Jefferson.

“So you can stay off the radar for a little while longer,” he said.

Jefferson first clasped his hand, and allowed Andy to pull him in for a brief hug, truly appreciating the supportive slap on the back his brother-in-law offered. Then he took the envelope with a grateful nod, and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.

Andy opened up the garage door as Jefferson started up the engine, feeling even more indebted to the man for taking such good care of his car that it started right away, then he backed out onto the driveway, and then onto the street.

He drove away as calmly as he could; one block… two, before turning on to the back country road that would take him out of town and toward the highway. Farmland soon rolled in on his left and right, and then a short stretch of wooded road, like the tiny forest he had seen on Grace’s window.

Suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in any more, and barely managed to pull in to the side of the road and put the car in park. He slapped the palm of his hand onto the padded steering wheel. It wasn’t enough. It needed both hands… again and again he hit the steering wheel with both hands, feeling, then hearing the whine gather in his throat before he opened his mouth and let it out, no longer hitting the wheel, but now gripping it tightly with both hands, as though it were a life preserver and he was drowning. Drowning he might have been, because he couldn’t breathe and his body shook, as his eyes flooded, and spilled over with hot and bitter tears.

#rumbelle #graphic violence #implied non-con #implied torture #implied drug use #angst #hurt/comfort #eventual smut #first time #major character death #disparate pathways #i will always write jefferson

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foxrp · 4 years ago

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member groups

our site’s member groups include seven character groups that are based on goals, allegiances, and where the character best fits in the political grand scheme of our plot. this is what they support, what they think, where their thoughts lie. they do not have to be members of that group - which is to say, they can be a coalition supporter and not be in the coalition, and same goes for death eaters and the order and every where else. or, they could be a civilian. where they fall, it's all based on the political grand scheme. please keep this in mind!

( under the cut, all of our information is laid out as needed. but... want a sneak peek of our guidebook? check out this screenshot of our groups page! )

additional notes

please remember our member groups are what their political alignment is. our member groups are based on the political grand scheme, with the different sects pulling the world in all different directions. where your character aligns, and why, is entirely up to you.

maybe they just support the coalition's efforts to fix the ministry after watching them struggle to keep control for so long, or maybe your character is a full blown high ranking member of the order, or maybe they just agree with the movement the rebellion is starting - whatever that may be, that is your choice. and that is where they would fall, member group wise. they do not have to fully be a member to be included, we leave this decision up to you as you know your character best, and we trust you to choose the best route.

now, for characters that may be playing the role of spy within groups, we do ask that you keep in mind that the chosen group should show as what they would appear most as in an outward fashion, i.e. peter pettigrew as order of the phoenix or severus snape as a death eater in canon. thank you!

Nº1 CIVILIAN

the civilians, caught between each of these groups and being pulled this way, that, the other until surely they just might rip apart, until surely they will be forced to pick a side, pick a side and pray you made the right choice.

the civilians member group works as a catch all - those who haven't yet aligned themselves, or who haven't yet fully aligned themselves. they are sure to lean in different directions, have pulls in different directions, but they haven't formally joined the fight just yet. our civilians are those in the in between, those caught between all the lines in the web that has been woven, and those who have not quite yet for whatever reason chosen a side to truly stand on. be that because they are waiting to see where pieces fall or just unsure they want to be involved or any other reason, they're caught dead in the middle and the clock is ticking as it begs the question 'if you stand for nothing, what will you fall for?'.

Nº2 COALITION

the coalition, an international group put in place to watch and to rectify and to ultimately do what the ministry cannot and finding that list to grow each day as what they deem as anarchy and other deem as revolution grows in numbers, all while their need to take control matches that growth over and over.

they waited and watched as people died, as the dark lord grew in power, as a rebellion was started that threatened to shake the way of the outreaching world as they knew it, and the ineffective ministry did nothing. eventually, the world could watch no more and the coalition stepped in. the coalition are an international body who have been tasked with restoring peace, headed up in britain by their liaison, robards, they are working to mediate, provide safety, and restore infrastructure to the ailing country. but at what point does assistance become a takeover? the stubborn british ministry is almost as much of a problem as the squabbling factions and anarchists, revolutionaries and monsters run rampant in the streets. sometimes tact and diplomacy is no longer enough, and there are those who see this and support their appointment readily, so long as something is finally done.

Nº3 DEATH EATER

the order of the phoenix and the death eaters, facing off in a war that is about to come to a head as the world around them grows ever darker, ready to descend fully into the madness they had all begun to unravel, to dip their toes into the insanity like a tidepool, unknowing the tidal wave that awaited them.

led by lord voldemort, the death eaters (and those who align with them, who could be found here as unmarked death eaters or simply death eater aligned characters) have a focus on blood purity and/or the dark arts. a mixture of the weak, the ambitious, and those who simply enjoy inflicting hurt and causing suffering, they are radicals with no regard for the law, order, or morals that tie wizarding society together. they are the disillusioned aristocracy, the fearful scared of their tenuous grip on power, those who wreak violence in your community, the ambitious lesser clutching at strength, respect, fear by any means, romanticizing their ‘clean’ bloodlines and ardent in their belief that magic is might and anything muggle is mud.

Nº4 ETHER

the ether, printing hard truths that no one wants uncovered and calling out any that stands in their way, a media insurrection that is asking for transparency the likes of which their world has never known.

the world has been murky for so long, the water constantly stirred up by those factions hiding in the shadows, afraid to come out and be seen in the light of the day. the ether advocates for transparency, tired of how groups like the order and the death eaters have been allowed to run amuck seemingly without any kind of resistance. they are those working to uncover the truth, no matter its ugliness. they are the radio hosts sorting out facts from fiction, they are the brave sources risking all to expose the ministry’s corruption, they are in and out of the media themselves but using that resource to tell stories that need to be told. they’ve had enough of the years of no accountability, of the people suffering for the egos of a few. war is not only fought on battlegrounds. it’s fought in the pages and on the airwaves too.

Nº5 MINISTRY OF MAGIC

the ministry of magic, faking control over a situation that has long since gotten out of hand and grappling with how to take the power back now that so many eyes are upon them.

for as long as anyone can remember, the ministry has been there. people come and go and times change, but the foundations endure. except what happens when there are cracks in those foundations? when papering over them no longer hides the problems and the situation is spiraling? the ministry is the government and all the employees and supporters that fall under its shadow, the all-powerful authority, and what they say goes… right? except the coalition is here now, undermining the little power the british ministry has managed to hold onto. and every day it seems there’s a new faction complicating matters. and how long, really, can they retain support and the waning semblance of control? and what happens should they lose it?

Nº6 ORDER OF THE PHOENIX

led by albus dumbledore, the order of the phoenix was formed to directly oppose the death eaters. they are the tragic heroes, the light in the dark that can’t be snuffed out. they’ve lost so much, so many, and still they refuse to be moved. how much can you lose before it changes you irreparably? before it makes you into something worse? the order are our ragtag lovable group of do-gooders, or so they believe themselves. at times, they are all that stands between life as you know it and the death eaters gaining control. vigilantes to some, rebels to others, they are your teachers, your daughters, your sons, the people you pass in the street and think nothing of. all walks of life and all fighting for the greater good as they believe it. but who is to say they are right? and with secrets being uncovered and new groups making waves, how long will that belief remain unshaken?

Nº7 REBELLION

the rebellion, an uprising some would call it, a godsend others would cry, making waves even as they just begin and calling for change in the treatment of those seen less than human.

kindness is not something often shown when you’re different. whether you be a werewolf or a vampire, a half-creature, anything less than human - you are seen as lacking, as lesser. and some have had enough of being belittled, being treated so poorly by the society that shuns them, of being persecuted for things they cannot help and cannot change. maybe they’re wizards themselves, who’ve grown weary of watching creatures suffer under the current regime, of watching people who mostly look like them be treated with disdain and prejudices they know they did not earn. they want more, want rights, want safety, and they are angry that they’ve yet to get it. they're angry that they have to fight for it at all, that at every turn they’ve been told no. it’s burnt for so long in their chests and now they howl for change, baying for a revolt, an insurrection. a rebellion. there is no clear hierarchy. yet. only whispers and ripples and more and more realizing that if they want change, they’ll have to take it. by force, if necessary.

#foxrp #mg #updates #previews

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stone-man-warrior · 4 years ago

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September 24, 2020: 3:41 pm:

Centurylink Internet Service Terror: A model used for nationwide terror. In Oregon throughout Josephine County, the phone lines in the ground do not attach to the homes and businesses they are mapped to be attached to at the Centurylink offices.

The system, all of it, has been changed inside of the service terminal access boxes that compose the connectivity to residential and commercial buildings where phone and internet service is used.

The Centurylink phone system is connected by virtue of underground buried cable. Some of the cable is newer, fiber optic cable, and most of that is nearby the Interstate freeways. Those main fiber optic lines, are connected to older buried cable, often called “Two-Pair”, “Four-Pair”, or “Six-Pair”, etc. phone cable.

“Two-Pair” is capable of delivering two phone numbers to a location.

“Four-Pair” is capable of providing four phone numbers to a location.

“Six-Pair” phone cable will bring six phone numbers.

Where I live, the residential housing was all provided “Two-Pair” at each physical address where at least one house was built.

The Address, is what is considered when determining if phone service will be attached to the home. One set of “Two-Pair” goes to each physical address.

My property has two physical addresses. My property is only one single “Tax Lot”. Each of the two addresses was provided with one “Two-Pair” buried cable, and thus each of the two addresses was provided with access to two unique phone numbers.

My property was provided with access to four unique phone numbers total. Two at each physical address.

There are other ways to describe this. One internet access, is the same as one phone number. So, you could also say that each address is equipped for one land-line phone, and one internet access. That combination uses up the “Two-Pair” buried cable the same way that having two unique land-line phone numbers do.

On all of the residential streets, is a service access box, in front of almost each physical address. Some are in close proximity to others, and don’t require a separate access box.

The access terminal boxes are places where the underground buried “Two-Pair” cables come up out of the ground, and into the service terminal access boxes. The access boxes are all in a line, distributed along the residential streets in front of the addresses they serve. They are on top of the lines of buried cables protruding vertically from the ground for access to the cables, and access to the terminals inside the boxes, where connectivity is made to the individual addresses. Other buried cables are distributed from the access terminal boxes, and those are the ones that are attached at each physical address. From those access terminal boxes, comes the “Two-Pair” to each physical address on the street.

Inside those access terminal boxes, there are terminal studs, a screw, with a nut. The wire is attached to the screw, wrapped around it, and the nut secures the wire in place on the stud terminal.

Centurylink terror operatives, have gone around, and opened all of the access terminal boxes, taken the wires off of the terminal studs, and attached the wires to other studs inside of the access boxes. For instance, the phone lines that are mapped to serve the address at 600 Jackpine, actually serve 507 Jackpine. (That is only a demonstration, I don’t have specific information about how the switch was made between each address, and where the service actually goes, verses where it is mapped to go.)

There are other service access terminal boxes. The ones that connect the main fiber optic cable that leads into the neighborhoods is one of the kind I am referring to here. There is such a main terminal access box at the corner of Monument Drive and Three Pines Road. There is another main service terminal box at the corner of Russell Road and Pleasant Valley Road. Those main access boxes are much bigger than the individual access boxes that serve each address. Those main terminal access boxes branch out a grid of buried cables that composes the individual ones on each street.

Like your spinal cord comes from your brain, is big, and branches out to your arms, and your legs, from your arms, and legs, there are other places that further branch out to your fingers and toes.

The phone systems are like that, are buried in the ground, and branch off to smaller lines, from bigger, main ones.

The reason I mentioned that I have two addresses, and each one was equipped with it’s own set of “Two-Pair”, is because in addition to those phone lines all attached at the wrong terminal stud inside of the service boxes, one of the “Two-Pair” that serves my property, was stolen completely. Centurylink terror operatives disconnected one “Two-Pair” from the access terminal box in front of my house, and attached it to someone else's house.

“We need the phone line more than you do” they said.

They took it, they told me they were taking it, they were not apologetic for having stolen my phone line, and blatantly told me that they needed it.

I have called Centurylink many times, demanding that they put it back.

“You are at the end of the line” they say every time. They refuse to put the stolen phone line back where it goes, on the terminal that serves my physical address, on my property. As a result of all of that intentional manipulation, public safety personnel, FBI, National Security personnel, cannot trace from where a conversation is taking place on a land line call, nor can they trace internet usage of any individual in the entire county.

The result of a phone line trace leads to a map at Centurylink HQ Corporate Offices. That map shows the place where the phone line of interest is supposed to be, while the reality is that the one that security people have traced is in some other neighborhood then the one where Centurylink says it is.

Public Safety officers are led into traps, with internet and phone activity that was played out as an act, in order to bait them. They take the bait, and go where Centurylink advised, the place on the map where the interesting activity is said to have come from.

Officers are killed that way.

Many are led into traps at the Monroe terror cell at 434 Jackpine. Others are led into traps at 376 Jackpine. I make cries for help every day, no help ever reaches me. I never have had opportunity to explain more detail about the terror takeover of Oregon, or what I know about the same thing in California, or to provide further information about the day that Boeing in Seattle was hijacked by men with machine guns who shot all of the office workers right there in front of me and my family while we were touring Boeing Seattle.

And so much more information.

No one can reach me.

They are led to the wrong place when they trace my internet use.

There is more phone manipulation. I have explained all of this before here on this account, and I am explaining it all again, to spell it out that you CANNOT TRUST THE LOCAL OREGON AUTHORITIES! They are the ones that make sure the set-ups to kill the Federal officers happens smooth, and they are the ones who arrange all of the cleanup and cover up afterwords.

There is Stingray Surveillance Equipment in the hands of the local authorities, and in the hands of other terror cells who were issued Stingray equipment by the local authorities. There are Kingfish surveillance equipment also.

Those units, and other Hong Kong Huawei Knock Off versions that have more features then the real ones, are used in conjunction to the buried phone lines that are connected to the wrong terminals.

There is a number of old PBX Switchboards in the area. They are used in connection with a Stingray. A phone call happening on a Cellular Phone can be transferred with the Stingray to a land line that is on the wrong terminal in the access box. The signal from the Cellular phone conversation is routed to a location where there is a old style analog PBX switchboard. The call from there, can be routed to any other place. Tracing that is not possible. The terror bastards have created a system of communication that is impossible to trace the origins of, and is designed to lure national security to the wrong places where traps are set to kill them. The traps include spring loaded snares inside and outside of the houses around here.

There is a PBX Switchboard at least some of the time at Fran Taylor terror cell at 600 Jackpine. There is one at least some of the time at Manning terror cell at 598, and one at Freeberg 535 Jackpine, and one at Cyde Baum terror cell at 333 Jackpine. It might be the same switchboard just moved around from time to time.

The locals on Jackpine call the Switchboard “Medusa”. They named it.

So, there is these things to repair before any security work can be done.

The spaghetti phone lines of Centurylink, in the neighborhoods, and at the main fiber optic access terminals.

The Stingray’s in the hands of the terror army.

Eliminate the PBX Switchboard the system is attached to.

And put back the phone line to my address from where it was stolen. (My property is the only property on Jackpine that has two, real, physical address numbers. There are others that claim to be “A” and “B” units, but they don’t have real physical address numbers, which are required for having a phone line access in the terminal boxes.)

End terror report: 5:04 pm.

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theravenclawmonster · 4 years ago

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I thought getting diagnosed would be able to get me help...(post 2 of dunno how many)

The previous post of this series of posts can be found in this link post 1

Trigger warning: This post (and the later continuation posts after it titled the same) may contain mentions of abuse, mental illness, suicidal thoughts and many more things which i will try to edit in it after writing the post(s) (hopefully i’ll remember to) [yes, this is the same in all posts in series]

Disclaimer: this is just a written account of events that happened in my life in the past few weeks and my emotional/ physical response to those events. I am writing this here so that it stays here as help for people to read and maybe see what certain things feel like, and as proof or diary for when i forget what really happened and start to believe her words. Also, this is going to be a long post... a very long post.

Okay, where was i? The first visit to the doctor. I had my tests done and bought the acidity medicine and the vitamins he suggested (i had already started to take vitamins again since a couple of weeks before, he just added folic acid to that. I also have a bit of an issue with vitamins and people telling me to eat them indicating that all will be well after that; but more about that later). in the pharmacy, my mother was pretty upset with me cuz i kicked her out of the room and told me some stuff i don’t want to remember right now. ummm... basically she said “ why did you ask me to leave, what secret were you going to tell the doctor? what did you tell him we did to you? i know what you think about me. you could have just said it all in front of me. what was with all the secrecy” [funnily enough, although i did ask her to leave, my reason was cuz i can’t really speak in front of her (she interrupts a lot too) and i was worried that i’d cry and didn’t want to hear about it for another 6 months. there was no secret or i didn’t even think about mentioning the abuse, cuz how do you just go to a stranger and say “ hi i am in pain and my parents abuse me”. even asking for help for my pain was demanding enough for me.] . she also “informed” me very angrily that the it wasn’t allowed for a woman to be alone with a male doc, a nurse must be present (which was not present) and that is probably why doc didn’t do the proper physical checkup. Well! he should have (if he thought an extensive one was necessary; he did check my breathing and stomach softness), called a nurse in or my mother in. i didn’t have any issues with him doing my physical checkup alone too. and he didn’t mention anything about that to me at all.

Anyway, I went back thinking God knows how long was this process was going to take and if i had the energy to fight for myself and make people believe that i was actually in a lot of pain. the reports came back fine (the expensive test one too, to much displeasure of my father “but this came back fine, so expensive for no use. why did he even write that test?” as if it would have been somehow better to get a positive test back for a disease?! I really don’t know how his mind works. By the time all reports were in, it was time for my appointment at the psychiatrist and it was decided to go to her first, then on our way back show the reports to our primary doc. that way we could also talk to him about what she said.

Oh wait, i forgot to mention in my last post. the doctor only suggested the psychiatrist and later sent me her number saying that i have told her about you please take an appointment. i had to call her and i asked about her fees which she very nicely said would be discounted and that helping me and understanding what was stressing me was more important. I felt so weird then, i don’t really hear these type of things very often.... or almost ever.

going to the clinic was easy enough, of course my mother and father accompanied me. and my mother did follow in. [let me just add that i only remember about half of what happened so...] the doctor ( hereby referred to as Psy lady) asked me “so, how are you?” and i said “ i’m good *smiled awkwardly as she realised that was not what she meant to ask*. she was like okay, how do you feel and what do you want to discuss me with. so i just sat there like a dumbass. then i asked her how much the other doc told her about me. she said it was just that you are his patient and needs psychiatric help in his opinion.

I am just going to make a dialogue format written account for that and the next doctor’s visit as this seems way too confusing.

At that time (not sure) my mother interrupted;

Mother: *turned to me* “if you don’t mind may i tell her the history etc” *in pointed politeness*

Me: “ok.”

Mother: *launched from how i was such a brilliant smiling child and wanted to take this scholarship abroad but she said no* *went off a long tangent about how she was just being a nice worried parent in controlling my life and now feels guilty cuz i can’t let it go* *finished by saying* “Dr., she just can’t forget that, she is stressed no job plus the lock down etc you know how it is. then she found out she has scoliosis in january and i think she has taken it to heart, like really it is completely asymptomatic and i have asked the doc she won’t have any problems cuz of it in the future” (i am guessing she meant having babies but really who knows) “she has just taken stress over that”.

Psy lady : *scribbled something on her paper* “My i have some time alone with her?”

Mother: “yes yes sure” *left*

Psy lady : “so tell me a bit about yourself.”

Me: *was still fuming and recoiling and shaking in my seat cuz i just don’t understand until how long is my mother going to throw that in my face. it has been years and i wasn’t even that upset about it (at least i just quietly internalized it) but she refused, controlled my life (since birth btw and still does now) and not even let me do anything else i want to do, nor find a job, then proceeded to throw her ‘oh i feel so guilty, i am such a good parent. i have commited a crime by being caring and now i must be punished oh!’ at me. Like where am i in all that? you say no, you control, your guilt, your love, your care, your image as a parent that must never be broken. where am i in all that? ALSO you never listen to my complains about pain so shut up*

Psy lady: ...

Me: “umm... hi... i umm never had a dream, but then i found this thing in my mid-twenties and i loved it, but they didn’t let me pursue it, then didn’t let me do anything. and now they act like i am a burden on them. now i have nothing to do or like, and i can’t even find a job or have anywhere to go. i don’t even really wanna die, i am just tired” *burst into tears yet again as i realized i had no idea why i was telling her all that and it felt so fake and story like at the same time* “... i can’t even breathe and i am in so much pain all the time that i feel like detached from my body cuz every time i try to be in it it fucking hurts.”

Psy lady: “are your parents always this much controlling” *pointed to the door indicating my mother*

Me: “they are emotionally abusive”

Psy lady: *had been looking into my eyes but looked away at the word abusive and didn’t say anything*

Me: *continued after a little shock that i actually said it out loud* “I can’t walk, my knees hurt” *tried to repeat almost all that was possible from the previous doc* *also told her about feeling dissociative and explained a bit how that feels for me* * told her all about how i was fine in dragging me through life but now that my body has suddenly collapsed (where as before it was just emotional pain and numbness and occasional body pains in back and stuff nothing too overwhelming or maybe i was mentally strong to ignore it) i feel very scared and lost. I was dealing with everything fine on my own even when i felt like dying but now i cant handle anything, i can’t even act in front of others; something i am exceptionally good at* *talked about lowered brain function, slowness, low blood pressure, no energy suddenly, not being able to retain information or remember anything, not having a concept of time and memory*

Psy lady: *explained about DPDR disorder and asked me about sleep eating etc.*

Me: *repeated the same: loved sleep can’t now, loved eating can’t now*

After some time of explaining asking and answering, she said that i have depression and what happens is that our brain stops making certain chemicals and to get it to make them again we have 2 options. one is medicine; the other is motivation and exercises. it seems like the latter would be hard for me (and i confirmed that i infact cannot walk or do almost anything and exercise is too painful cuz pain everywhere) she said that the best route in my situation is to start the medicine for some weeks (she said she’d not give them for more than 4 months; whole course including tapering them out) and explained that the medicines were very safe and answered all my queries about dependency on them or side effects etc. I said if that is what she thinks would be best and if taking them means i could feel alive again and my brain function would return to normal.

she then asked me to bring my mother back in. she explained the medicines to her and said i have diagnosed her with MDD. My mother asked what is that. She said Moderate Depressive disorder. my mother asked if the medicine was necessary. she said yes, and to not worry as these were safe and she’s only giving to get me started and pull me out of this extreme state, only for a short time. she also said that come back after 10 days of eating these, so we can see the effect and the side effects if any, and that day she’d also get me an appointment for a psychologist who worked in the same clinic as she thinks it would help me immensely. we agreed. took the medicine and left for the doc no. 1′s clinic. My mother didn’t say anything.

we reached his office and throughout the short car ride and while sitting there waiting for my turn, i was feeling very... accomplished? enthusiastic? Dunno... I was just trying not to cry cuz i finally had it written on paper, i was finally diagnosed, i had finally gotten help. yes, it was only a start and i don’t know much about how doctors work diagnosis and how much more can be added in future visits but it was a start. i finally did something to actually help me.

Finally, our turn came. we showed him the reports and told him what she said and prescribed. My mother asked him if the meds were necessary.

doc: “yeah they really believe in starting meds right away.”

mother: “I don’t want her to take them, it’s like giving up. she can use her will power and get better right?” [she also added something very weird like ‘these stamps (mental disorders diagnosed on paper) are not good for a woman’ or something along this line]

Doc: “yes she can. i too would suggest she do that.”

Mother: *went off on a long tangent about how when she was my age she had depression after having my older sister. but she will-powered through it and didn’t take the meds etc*

doc: “yes i agree, but it really depends on her is she willing to do it” *in a tone that suggested that i should say yes immediately and will-power though life*

Me: * realizing no one is listening to me* “doctor, can you please talk with the Psy lady and ask her if they are necessary in her opinion cuz i have no will left to power though with.”

Doc: “okay.” *called her and talked right then* * told her that he thinks it would be better to willpower through it?

Mother: “well she can will-power through right?”

Doc: “well the Psy lady said that she has been powering through with her will power for years; she has none left anymore. so she thinks that meds are the best option and besides” *looked at the prescription again* “these meds are not addictive and very safe.”

Mother: * insisted on no meds for 15 more minutes and had a long discussion with doc about praying, watching motivational speakers and what not*

doc: *joined in enthusiastically*

Me: *stared into the distance and stops listening with my wobbly neck and painful back*

Doc: “well she is not even listening. can you do it? exercise?”

me: “no it hurts, as i have explained before, not like the yayy muscle cramping up cuz i worked out way and i will love exercise in 2 weeks time way. No! the tendons hurt the bones hurt the joints hurt extremely painfully and it increases with time, even after 2-3 weeks it doesn’t get better.”

Doc: “okay, how about friends? social life? what do you do at home etc”

Me: “my friends are not here, i never made new ones. no social life. even when i was going to class before the lock down, it was from home to uni, uni to home. had no friends there. and i did walked in uni for about half an hour or even more but it hurt in the beginning, i thought okay, cramps (although my knees and heels were very painful too) but it almost felt like it got better (the cramps part) but then it got way worse and after a month i couldn’t walk for more than 10 minutes at a very slow painful speed.”

Doc: *asked about pets, anything that would suggest i was a living being with a life*

Me: “pets are not allowed and so is leaving the house by myself.”

Mother: *interjected* “we have never restricted her for anything.”

By this time, i had frankly given up and i don’t remember what happened next or where the conversation went. just remember something along the lines of “ for these 10-15 days before the next Psy lady appointment, let her do whatever she likes to, don’t ask her don’t control her. let her start up her social life again. she needs to be around friends and the things she can enjoy” something like this. to which my mother said very confidently “sure whatever she wants to do”

then, we left his office and in the car she told me to “not eat the meds as we have ‘now discussed it with your doctor”

this is getting way longer. i think i’d make one more post about it, or maybe one more after that for bits that i forgot. this post seems so badly written upon second inspection. this is not even the 40% of what happened but i don’t remember what happened exactly, or even the timeline.

The third and hopefully last post of this series can be found here post 3

#emotional abuse #abuse #actually abused #abusive parents #depression #MDD #chronic pain #tired of life #dpdr disorder #dissociation #scoliosis #migraine

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maruzzewrites · 5 years ago

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Idk if you do other parts of jjba or not, but if you do how about part 3 polnareff and #21. With a fem! S/o? I feel like yan!polnareff isnt common (he’s too big a sweetheart) so if you wanna try something challenging maybe? Also I feel like polnareff is on the delusional side of yandere. He just wants to protect his darling and keep her safe, he’s going to be her silver knight in shining armor even if she doesn’t want one.

me @ me: okay, you can make this a bit less violent also me @ me, spitting on the ground: fuck you

21. “Don’t worry, my love, I’ll protect you.”

Content warnings: yandere content, violence, murder, obsessive behavior, honestly making Polnareff a yandere is a crime in itself.

France was a beautiful country, full of historyand art, the centuries clinging to the walls of the buildings and musicalityhanging from the words of the locals. During your vacation you were sure you’dfind good food, interesting sights and didn’t even mind the few bad-manneredpeople who crossed your path while you were busy taking pictures of everything.You were wide-eyed, your mind on another plane as you admired the beautifularchitecture or the characteristic cafés.

You didn’t even notice people walking around you,inconsiderate as you were in your stupor. You didn’t even notice when youstepped back to take in the palace right in front of you that you walked rightinto someone, and maybe you’d stay in your world if the size of this personwasn’t so impossible to ignore against your own body. You turned around inrecord speed, apologizing profusely with half your words coming out in Frenchand the rest in your native tongue, your rational brain too far behind in yourhurry to ask for forgiveness.

“Don’t worry,” the man you were facing wascheerful while replying, the heavy accented English in his voice was making theletters roll softly on the back of throat. He grinned charmingly at you, andyou were compelled to smile back with coyness. This spurred him to stretch lipseven further, his smile reaching his eyes. “I’ve to apologize too, I was juststanding in your way. You were lovable, all caught up like that!”

You felt your face heat up and he let out aplayful laugh, offering immediately to escort you around the capital to showyou the beauty of his homeland. In the days that followed that meeting,Polnareff brought you around and made you know the sides of Paris and the sidesof France that a simple tourist wouldn’t see without a guide or the knowledgeof where to look. He was jovial, chivalrous, he put so much effort in yourentertainment and fun that you forgot he was a near stranger, in a foreigncountry you were merely visiting for barely more than a week. You were aware,though, that those moments would end soon and you’d have to say goodbye to yourunlikely acquaintance.

And those days did come to an end, with theweekend rolling in and passing in a blink of an eye. When you saw him standingright outside the door of the hotel you were staying in, like every othermorning you met him, you greeted him and informed him that if he wanted to showyou the marvels he considered the best, that was the right moment. You were tofly back home that evening, after all. At your words, Polnareff’s eyes widenedand he pouted just slightly. You assumed he was being the usual goof, so you sneakedyour arm around his own and dragged him along the streets of Paris.

He showered you with more care that day, refusingto let you buy your own food and keeping you closer than usual as you walkedaround. Even when it was time to depart and say your goodbyes, offering yourpersonal number and address if he wanted to keep in contact, he insisted ondriving you to the airport. It would be cheaper and quicker probably, so youaccepted and confided in his good heart.

The drive was, however, long and complicated. Hecontinued to reassure you he knew the way, he was just taking a different routeto be faster, while you continued to glance at the clock of the car. He wasvisibly relaxed, and you forced yourself to trust him as your shoulders tensed andyou started to count the pennies in your pockets, ready for the worst. When youarrived at the airport, your flight was long gone and he swore up and down hedid what he could.

Despite expecting this outcome, you started to getfrustrated as you checked your budget. It seemed like you had just enough tosleep another night in some seedy hotel, you’d have to deal with the cost ofthe flight another time. You whipped your head to glare at your companion, whostayed irritatingly cheerful through this whole ordeal, and excused yourselfwith annoyance latching your words. With your luggage, you stepped outside andstarted to walk in the direction of the taxi parking.

You tuned out your surroundings, in spite of thedarkness, to decide how to proceed; you had enough money to sleep, that muchwas true, but another ticked would drain your bank account and you really didn’tneed this strain on your finances. Mindlessly, you waved your wallet around tocontemplate your options, when you felt a hand gripping yours with violentforce. You yelped and looked over a shady man, who was snarling at you in French.

With a whine and a sob, you yanked your armhelplessly in an attempt to free yourself when the man reached for your walletwith a groan. When you realized what he was aiming for, you were about to handhim the money, just to see the man fly away in a flash.

“Don’t worry, my love, I’ll protect you.” Youdidn’t even register the words or the pet-name. Polnareff was standing right infront of you, his hand grasping the guy’s throat painfully, making you wince atthe gasping pleas you couldn’t even understand. The Frenchman, your guide in thosedays, stood there looking you over and then smiled smugly, as if you weresupposed to be impressed by his display. He let the man fall to the groundwithout thinking twice, raising his feet to step on his head and press hischeek on the ground. The attempted thief let out a loud wail, coughing with thenewfound ability to breathe.

The pressure on his head, though, didn’t allowhim to enjoy that relief for long: after few agonizing seconds, the skull gavein and got crushed against the heel of Polnareff’s foot. You watched in horror,petrified, as your companion dragged his dirty shoe on the ground to clean iteven a tiny bit. You regained a bit of your composure, and you looked around;no one was there to aid you and no one saw anything, the thought of being alonewith your former chum made your blood freeze.

With little hesitance, you fished around your bagto find your phone and tried hard to remember the emergency number in thatcountry. Alas, the split second that you needed to recollect your memory wasenough for Polnareff to grab your wrist and snatch the device from your hands, throwingit to the other side of the parking. It collided with a low thud on the ground,breaking.

“No, no, no, my dear,” he caressed the side ofyour face thanks to the closeness, seizing your side tenderly as he looked atyou with admiration, adoration, desperation in his eyes. You were forced tolook at him, and after the awful demonstration you just witnessed, you weren’tsure you wanted to confront him openly. “I will take care of you, you don’thave to worry. I’ve lost enough as it is.”

You weren’t sure what he was saying, you weren’tsure if you understood what was buzzing in his mind, but you knew that all youdid was nodding imperceptibly, as if the slight movement would negate yourcompliance. You let him escort you to his car and sat passively in thepassenger’s seat, his voice cooing in your ears as you didn’t even understandhim. He wasn’t even talking in French.

#jjba #jojo's bizzare adventure #polnareff #polnareff x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #violence ///#death ///#listen anon you are absolutely right pol is a sweetheart #but also if i was murdered and my brother decided to kill my murderer i'd still have Concerns #so he has the potential we just don't want that because he deserves better #Anonymous

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sol-futura-est · 4 years ago

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Sol didn’t seem like such a mythic character as some people made him out to be, if what I looked at was the individual. Sure, he changed reality at a whim, but there was more to him. It was like you trusted him, as soon as you understood who was in front of you. Implied was a hundred different things, including the fact that he watched over you. As I came in, I greeted Mortimer as he cooked a meal for dinner, but I declined. Even with the meeting shocking me, I was tired. I wanted to read some then head to bed. As I shut my bedroom door behind me, I turned on the lamp at my desk, the same one I had at the arena, a small one, that only lit the hardwood, not the room. On the top of the stack, a detailed account Varo Tarquini’s encampment after the Battle for the Caucasus, where he routed an army one hundred strong in a battle lasting four months. My father had been caught further east, assisting the Sikhs, before he would cut through the Mongol territories, the former Kazakhstan, up into Moscow, relieving that siege with Tarquin, before going further into Petersburg. All in all, it would be three years of fighting, just here, from Georgia north to the Baltic Sea, then another four fighting east, with the remaining three years of this war spent in bitter stalemates, some lasting up to a year. What made this battle special was that one fifth of the former archon’s army, formerly a Georgian, by the name of Kuratisi, was eradicated entirely. Tarquin only had his one legion at partial strength, with barely twenty thousand ground forces engaged at any given point. This was where Svarogovist automated air power, and limited naval forces proved underpowered. We didn’t need to use guerilla tactics every time to bleed them. We didn’t even need to constantly bombard them. We just had to bog them down enough to make them believe that they could face us and do enough damage for another part of their army. They had nowhere to retreat, nowhere to go but back.

But they wouldn’t.

" Today is the 9th of September, 2211. Yesterday, my forces encamped at Volgograd celebrated their victory over the southern army group of these machines. I tried to cajole them, but after a certain point, I decided to let them have the day. Airspace is clear, so are rail lines. We’ll receive our much needed reinforcements via Kiev. I never thought the Intermarians would be much good in war, but they’ve kept good on all their promises. Nobody rescinded quotas, nobody refused their tax. This war wasn’t for us, they understood that. We could’ve stood back. After all, this wasn’t a threat we anticipated.

I would’ve gone, senate or not, anyway. But that’s not the point. Air freight and rail freight will be escorting out our wounded, bringing us fresh troops. I hear that the auxiliaries are gonna be in high supply, even with record recruitment numbers out of the major cities, Paris, Madrid, Rome. Even the Celts are putting forth ten thousand troops, with another ten thousand from American mercenaries. They’ll fill in foreign detachments as need be, or, if these bastards take my advice, let these men command themselves so long as they obey regional commanders. The consul is insistent on it, however. Foreigners serve alongside us, use our guns, obey our rules. Julian says it’s to avoid international incidents. Trade with the city states and the American republics isn’t even that important, the only incident we’d have is criticism from one of our own journalists. Even then, what would it matter?

Two hundred miles east is the front. Roland has the south, up to Moscow, where the Intermarian Army holds out. From their left flank north, is Marcus. His infantry were made for trench war, stagnant war. His lines, his defenses are nearly indestructible for a normal enemy. For this one, he gets to learn a thing or two. Lawrence and the Sikhs are preparing to move onto Orenburg, and after that, we’ll all sweep through in one massive L-shape east. We’ll march until the sea or the Chinese borderlands, or until there’s a mass surrender.

Every night, I relive that moment Sol visited me. I guess he knew me well, showing up dressed like a Camargue rancher, tipping his hat to me as his eyes gleamed golden light. All the stories I heard talked about him shouting from a summit of a nearby hill as our boys crossed a valley. We had a brief conversation, and even though I thought he’d be taller, it was enlightening. His faith, his strength, you don’t really know it until he affixes your mind, your sight, until he stands before you like king of the world and tells you some poetic riddle you only half understand, before you wake up in your bed, or back wherever you were, as if nothing happened. Lawrence and Marcus told me things like this happen, usually in dreams. Maybe I dozed off and didn’t notice, but all the same it doesn’t matter. In some way, I have his blessing against this enemy. Whatever he is can wait for war’s end.

Us soldiers, us farmers, we march forward with or without the support of any king, any God, though we will never refute the help.

Though a part of me I thought I put away, my Catholic upbringing, is smitten. This man appeared from nowhere. He didn’t tempt me with prize or power. He held an open palm, told me he was proud of me, of my cause, of every soul on the march.

Was this Christ? And he simply took on the name Sol for reasons I couldn’t understand? Maybe he was Christ and simply let people call him Sol. It wasn’t like he ever introduced himself.

If it was Christ, would it even matter if I comprehended that?

Even with so many men under me, cheering my name, even with every newsstand emblazoning my name, this being made me understand the task, he humbled me.

Maybe when I go home, I’ll teach my daughters some new lessons. Ones of faith, of duty, of discipline in the face of adversity.

In a few short years, I’ll be able to go home to them for good. "

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keenbeliever · 4 years ago

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Traveling To America? New ESTA Registration Mandated?

What Countries Are in the Visa Waiver Program?

Andorra, Austria, Australia, Belgium, Brunei, Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Hungary, Iceland, Travel Ireland, Italy, Japan, Latvia, Liechtenstein, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Monaco, The Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Portugal, San Marino, Singapore, Slovakia, Slovenia, South Korea, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, and the United Kingdom.

A website, operated by the American government, is where you register for ESTA: esta.cbp.dhs.gov. The ESTA information you submit via the computer is compared with certain American law enforcement databases and then either approved or denied. Foreign travelers will not be able to submit ESTA applications at American airports after arriving or at a U.S. Embassy in their country.

What if I Don't Have Plans to Travel to the U.S. Yet?

VWP travelers are not required to have specific plans to travel to the United States before they apply for an ESTA Travel Authorization. As soon as VWP travelers begin to plan a trip to visit the U.S., they are encouraged to apply for travel authorization through the ESTA website. Applicants are not required to update their destination addresses or itineraries if they change after their ESTA Travel Authorization has been granted.

An ESTA Travel Authorization only authorizes a traveler to board an airline or ship for travel to the U.S. under the Visa Waiver Program. After they arrive, travelers who obtained an ESTA Travel Authorization may still be denied entry (also called "admission") at a U.S. port of entry, such as an American airport. An approved ESTA is not a guarantee of admissibility at an American airport. In all cases, the American airport officers make the final determination whether a foreign traveler can enter the U.S. or not. You still have to establish to the satisfaction of the inspecting officer that you are entitled to be admitted to the U.S. under the Visa Waiver Program.

Can I Change My Travel Itinerary?

It is possible to change an itinerary on an existing ESTA Travel Authorization; ESTA is designed so that you can update parts of it at any time. Travelers who did not get an ESTA approval may be denied boarding by the airlines, experience delayed processing, or be denied admission to the U.S. at the American airport.

What If I Already Have a Valid B1/B2 Visitor Visa?

While the ESTA Travel Authorization is completed online with no interview, there are Visas that require a U.S. Embassy interview. The Visa process has separate procedures, which generally require an appointment, travel to a U.S. Embassy, an interview with a Consular Officer, processing time, and the payment of an application fee. If a foreign national already went to the U.S. Embassy and has a valid B1/B2 Visitor Visa pasted in their passport it is not necessary to get an ESTA Travel Authorization because the traveler will be entering with a B1/B2 Visitor Visa and not through the Visa Waiver Program. Keep in mind that an approved ESTA Travel Authorization is not a Visa.

Can I Re-Apply for an ESTA Travel Authorization if Denied?

Yes, but you must wait at least 10 days to reapply and your circumstances must have changed. Unless there is a change in a substantive fact, re-application will not change the result. Keep in mind that applying for an ESTA Travel Authorization with false information can cause a foreign national to be permanently barred from ever entering America. The ESTA system is designed to try to prevent individuals from changing and manipulating an ESTA entry until they receive an approval.

What If I am Denied an ESTA Travel Authorization and Have No Changed Circumstances?

There are three types of responses to an ESTA application; approved, pending or travel not authorized (denied). Applicants who receive a "pending" response are advised to check the website 72 hours later. Applicants who are denied will be required to go to a U.S. Embassy to apply for a formal nonimmigrant visa, such as a B1/B2 Visa, which may take months.

Can a Traveler Find Out the Reason Why an ESTA Application was Denied?

The U.S. Dept. of Homeland Security has stated that travelers may contact the DHS Travel Redress Inquiry Program (DHS TRIP at dhs.gov) but there are no guarantees that information about a denial will be divulged. U.S. Embassies and Consulates are not required to provide details about an ESTA denial nor resolve the issue that caused the ESTA denial.

What If I Have a Criminal Record?

Only those qualified to travel under the VWP are eligible to pre-register through ESTA. Persons who have been arrested and/or convicted are generally not eligible for VWP and probably require a formal Visa, such as a B1/B2 Visa, to travel to America. If a foreign national has received tickets for speeding (which don't usually result in an arrest or conviction) they are probably still eligible for the VWP and ESTA. If a foreign traveler has been denied entry into or deported from the U.S., they require a formal Visa.

Do Any Other Countries Have a Similar Program?

Australia has a program called the Electronic Travel Authority (ETA) that mandates travelers to submit an ETA application electronically through a website requesting permission to travel to Australia. Airlines may refuse to accept passengers who do not have either an approved ETA or Visa to enter Australia.

How Long Will the ESTA Application Data be Stored? Who Can Access It?

The ESTA Travel Authorization is valid for two years or until the traveler's passport expires, whichever comes first. The American government will maintain the information for at least 15 years to allow retrieval of the information for law enforcement, national security, or investigatory purposes. Information submitted through ESTA can also be shared with any U.S. government organization.

What Information Does the Airlines Get?

Airlines will receive confirmation of a passenger's ESTA status visa the "Advance Passenger Information System" (APIS) which shows whether the ESTA authorization has been granted for a Visa Waiver Program traveler. It is recommended that the traveler print out the ESTA application approval in order to maintain a record of their ESTA application number and to have confirmation of their ESTA status.

What About Children?

Accompanied and unaccompanied children, regardless of age, are required to obtain an independent ESTA Travel Authorization.

What if a Mistake was Made on the ESTA Application?

The ESTA website will ask applicants to review their application before submitting it. Also, there is an update function for certain information such as email address, telephone number, or flight information. If an applicant makes a mistake that cannot be "updated," he will need to submit a new ESTA application.

What if I Only Have a Connecting Flight Through the U.S.?

Visa Waiver Program visitors who have a connecting flight in the U.S. are required to either have ESTA Travel Authorization or a Visa from a U.S. Embassy in their passport to travel through the U.S. even for a one hour stop. If a traveler is only planning to stop in the U.S. en route to another country, the traveler should enter the words "In Transit" and his final destination in the address lines under the heading "Address While In The United States" on the ESTA application.

What Are the Questions on the ESTA Travel Authorization Application?

The traveler must provide (in English) biographical data including name, birth date, country of citizenship, country of residence, email address, sex, telephone number, passport information, destination address in the U.S., travel information (round trip airline ticket, flight number and city where you are boarding) as well as questions regarding communicable diseases (chancroid, gonorrhea, granuloma inquinale, HIV, leprosy, lymphogranuloma venereum, syphilis [active], tuberculosis [active], and others), physical or mental disorders, drug addiction problems, arrests, convictions, past history of visa cancellation or denial, and prior deportations from the U.S. The traveler will also be asked whether they are seeking work in the U.S., have ever been deported or tried to get a visa by fraud or misrepresentation. The traveler will be asked if they have ever detained a child of a U.S. Citizen granted custody of the child, and whether they have ever asserted immunity from prosecution.

Do I Select "Business" or "Pleasure (Tourist) at the Airport Port of Entry?

After the ESTA Travel Authorization is granted, the foreign traveler will be interviewed by government officers at the first American airport they land. The officer will ask what the foreign traveler will be doing in America and the questioning can take up to four hours in a detained setting called "secondary inspection." The officer may ask the traveler "what else are you doing in America?" repeatedly to try to get "the real" answer. If the traveler is only going to be a tourist, they are not allowed to do any business, including meeting with any attorneys, applying for a bank account, meeting with real estate agents, or other business consulting activities. Even though the traveler is going to conduct just one business meeting while in America, they are required to report it and enter as a business visitor. The business visitor is allowed to participate in tourist activities, but the tourist visitor is not allowed to participate in any business activities. Therefore, if any business might be conducted while in America, it is best to tell the government officers about it at the airport to avoid being accused of lying, put immediately on a plane back to your home country, and barred from America for life.

Can I Be Searched in the American Airport? Am I Entitled to Legal Representation?

While being interviewed at the American airport, all luggage (even locked bags) can be searched, as well as the traveler's body and his/her cell phone (including text messages and phone numbers) and laptop (including hard drive). The officers may "google" a traveler's name and check out their myspace, Facebook or hyves pages. The traveler is not allowed to be represented by an attorney or even call their attorney while in "secondary inspection." Bathroom visits, water and food may be limited, so it is best to prepare for such an occasion while still on the plane before landing.

Do I Still Have to Go Through the "US-VISIT" Program at the American AirportForeign travelers arriving at American airports and seaports must still be photographed and fingerprinted every time they enter the U.S Who Should I Ask For Help to Fill Out the ESTA Application?

The information a traveler provides on the ESTA application can remain in their file with U.S. authorities for a minimum of 15 years - probably longer. If a foreign traveler has some questions about how to answer the questions so as not to be permanently barred from America, it would be prudent to them to pay for a legal consultation with an American Immigration Attorney who is a member of the American Immigration Lawyers Association (AILA). Beware of unauthorized private websites that offer ESTA application assistance for $49.99 - they are usually not authorized to practice immigration law and are asking travelers to pay for a copy of the application questions, which are free on the dhs.gov website.If I Am Denied the ESTA Travel Authorization Will it Effect My Ability to Obtain a Visa at the U.S. Embassy?

When the ESTA Travel Authorization is denied, the foreign traveler must make an appointment at a U.S. Embassy in their country to apply for a formal Visa. The U.S. Embassy is operated by the U.S. Department of State and there are no expedited procedures for those who have been denied ESTA Travel Authorization. Because the ESTA program is so new, it is impossible to predict how badly a denial of the ESTA Travel Authorization will impact a traveler's application for a Visa at a U.S. Embassy or impact their future travel to America in general. American Immigration Attorneys are in close contact with their foreign clients and will share the denial information with each other starting in January 2009. Currently there are no government policies regulating this area of the law, or opportunities to appeal a denial.

When Is the a "New" ESTA Travel Authorization Required?

A new ESTA Travel Authorization is required during the two years if (1) the traveler is issued a new passport (2) the traveler changes his name (3) the traveler changes his or her gender (4) the traveler's country of citizenship changes or (5) the circumstances underlying the traveler's previous responses to any of the ESTA application questions requiring a "yes" or "no" response have changed (such as a new arrest).Can an American Immigration Attorney, Travel Agent or Employer Fill Out the ESTA Application?

A third party, such as a relative, travel agent or American Immigration Attorney, is permitted to submit an ESTA application on behalf of a VWP traveler. Be aware that the traveler is still responsible under the law for the answers submitted on his or her behalf by a third party.

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