#robert bellevue.

↪ b a s i c s ;

N A M E: Willard Robert “Bobby” Bellevue III A G E: 35 P L A C E   O F   O R I G I N: Baton Rouge, Louisiana G R O U P: Cheyenne State Capitol O C C U P A T I O N: Patrol F C: Jacob Pitts

❝ Aim with the eye, shoot with the mind, kill with the heart. ❞

↪ p e r s o n a l i t y ;

P O S I T I V E   T R A I T S: vigliant ; facetious N E G A T I V E   T R A I T S: reserved ; haunted

↪ b i o g r a p h y ;

L I F E   B E F O R E   T H E   O U T B R E A K:

FOUR, 1986. Willard Robert III realizes his father expected something of him, that in the community of Baton Rouge the name of ‘Bellevue’ is respected and he is expected to act respectably. Don’t shame your father, boy, don’t play in the pews of the courthouse and don’t embarrass your daddy. Don’t act like a child, be a man like your dad. Imagine that, telling a four year old boy to be a MAN.

FOURTEEN, 1996. Don’t embarrass your daddy, Willard Robert—no, Bobby—just Bobby, thanks, makes it his life’s mission to embarrass his father. Kind of a stereotype, the bad boy son of a Judge, but Bobby doesn’t, won’t ever mind being a stereotype. Smoking pot, sneaking out at night, disrespecting authority: it’s all in the ‘pissing off daddy’ handbook and Bobby prescribes to every word. A rebel heart, Honorable Willard Robert Bellevue II says, and Bobby almost believes he’ll never let it go.

NINETEEN, 2002. Towers fall and it is so damn easy to get caught up in the jingoistic war machine. Just after the New Year, a rebel heart enlists in the Marines. Maybe he just grew out of his rebellious teenager ways, maybe he just got caught up in dangerous patriotism, maybe (read: actually) he just wanted to make daddy proud — because even when a boy tries to piss off his dad, all he wants is his attention.

TWENTY ONE, 2003. Rigorous months of back-breaking training, nail-biting waiting around for deployment, and finally good ol’ southern boy PFC Bobby Bellevue is being shipped off to war. His deployment papers say IRAQ and he doesn’t know whether to smile or cry. Soon, he’s in the back of humvee invading a desert and doesn’t realize until the first shot rings out in the cold night that they aren’t some American badasses and people are fucking dying out here. (Still, he has a job to do, and Marines make do.)

TWENTY EIGHT, 2010. It’s been a long eight years. Two tours in Iraq, a few years in Afghanistan, and finally Gunnery Sergeant Willard Robert Bellevue gets to come home. He’s been called many names over the years: Gunny, Belle, Gator, Bobby, dumbshit backwater Louisiana trash (he didn’t make his childhood in an Antebellum mansion known), but he hasn’t been called a CIVILIAN in nearly a decade.

THIRTY, 2012. Willard Robert Bellevue’s got a new title now: SPECIAL AGENT. Civilian life is hard and he misses structure, really, he needs direction. It’s hard for veterans to get jobs and while his views on the military (or rather the xenophobic jingoism disguised as freedom) soured, Bobby doesn’t know how to be anything else but a Marine. Some went government, some went construction, some fell into drugs. Bobby picks the first. The government cares more about them, veterans, than the public pretends to, anyways. (If he hears ‘thank you for your service’ one more time from some fifty year old woman in the Walmart checkout line who hasn’t ever seen combat outside of a shitty Mark Wahlberg movie, he thinks he might puke.)

L I F E   D U R I N G   T H E   O U T B R E A K:

THIRTY TWO, 2014. No one ever tells him how hard it is to truly start over. To going from fighting for his life every single day to spending two hours waiting in line at the bank or sleeping in an actual bed with only the sounds of the highway to lull him under. No one ever tells him how much he’ll hate the war and how much he’ll miss it. No one tells him how bittersweet it will be when the war finds him again, truly finds him in the way of people eating each other and not just in being shot out at by white supremacists in remote Wyoming compounds.

L I F E   A F T E R   T H E   O U T B R E A K: