#expeditionary force stuff

[zargontari]

Exforce bullshit again. Joe dies but Skippy uses every scrap of data that has ever been catalogued of him to create an ai with his personality and a facsimile of his memories

xeno in particular I know likes whumper Skippy but how about an accidental whump where Skippy absolutely does not want to acknowledge that he ever died. He insists the ai recreation is the real deal. Maybe he builds it an android body or something mayhaps

[nraqi]

skippy and bishop

[geisterland]

The promised Brazil in WW2 post! I did verify some information, but this is actually mostly based on my previous knowledge (from a Brazilian perspective)  and my visit to a museum on this topic, so I always encourage searching about it yourself! :D This will be more general facts I find interesting than a complete look into our participation, as that is a bit complicated to speak about in a short post. But let's get into it, shall we?

So, the thing about Brazil's participation in WW2 is that it actually came in sort of late. We only started fighting in late 1944 in Northern Italy, after the fall of fascism there, but we technically declared war back in 1942.

The two reasons we entered the war (after a period of neutrality in which we still had a commercial relationship with the main three Axis countries as well as the Allies) were...

Getúlio Vargas' government striking a deal in which the USA would build military bases on our territory in exchange for them investing in our metallurgical industry (long story);

The German sinking of six commercial Brazilian ships (Baependi, Araraquara, Aníbal Benévolo, Itagiba, Arará and Jacira), which ended up killing 607 people, civilian and military alike.

Once we actually entered the war, I would say that our most important ally within the... Allies was the USA - with Brazilian soldiers (the Pracinhas) even serving in the US Fifth Army. We filled very important gaps, and eventually, once the USamericans turned their efforts elsewhere, we played a very important role in the fight against the Nazis in Italy.

A thing to note was actually the sense of connection that a lot of Brazilians had with Italy. Many of the soldiers drafted (and those who volunteered) were of European descent, with a sizable chunk being Italian, so they were both fighting for their homeland and for their ancestors' homeland. Not only that, but the Pracinhas were treated warmly by the Italian citizens, which nurtured an even stronger emotional bond and sense of duty.

The main battle fought by FEB (The Brazilian Expeditionary Forces) was the Battle of Monte Castelo - was a very important defense point for the Nazis - which lasted for three months and was considered the largest battle in the history of the Brazilian Army. Brazil also participated in the Battle of Castelnuovo, Montese, Collecchio, and Fornovo di Taro.

A big thing to mention is that there were actually Brazilians on both sides of the war. Which actually contributed to the psychological warfare by the Nazis to try and convince the Pracinhas to desert - there was even a radio program transmited by a Brazilian woman from Santa Catarina to try and reach that goal, although most of the propaganda was done through leaflets that would appeal to the conditions the soldiers were enduring (such as the extreme cold).

Interesting tidbit about the cold: the Pracinhas would stuff straw in their boots, especially when it was cold, which actually led them to have fewer cases of Trench Foot than the USamericans.

Women in the Brazilian Army acted as field nurses, about 73 iirc going to serve in Italy. I will attach a picture below of some of them.

At this time, Brazil was actually in a dictatorship, which restricted even what the Brazilians could write in letters back home. They were encouraged to never say anything negative, and even if they did, their letters would always be read to check for it. Interestingly enough, once the war was ending and the Pracinhas would come home, people began seeing more and more similarities between the way things were being run by the Vargas' regime and the nazifascists... Hm...

Let's get to the last thing I want to talk about this night - the symbols used by our soldiers!

The main one you may have seen around is the Smoking Cobra. But what does it mean? See, there was this popular phrase within the country that "if Brazil enters the war, the cobra will smoke", something akin to "when pigs fly". And so, when we did join the war, this symbol was used as a sort of cheeky nod to the saying. The Pracinhas had a really good sense of humor.

And the less known, but in my opinion just as funny, symbol for our Aviation group. Which was based on two things: the phrase "Senta a Pua" which was already used in the airbase of Salvador to tell people to hurry up, and the ostrich, a symbol based on soldiers' jokes that they needed an ostrich's stomach to handle the food the USamericans gave them on the boat ride over lmao. I put both symbols below.

And I believe that will be all for now! There's still a lot to be said, and a lot that I will want to talk about at some point, but for now, I hope you enjoyed this little snapshot I gave you. ^_^

[i-like-old-things]

GUYSSSSS I HAVE SUCH EXCITING NEWSSS

So basically my mom, her aunt, and her cousin are the only people left from the entire paternal side of my mom’s family. Well, my mom’s aunt has been really into genealogy and has basically created a straight archives of my mom’s paternal family in her home. However, my mom’s aunt has dementia so she’s been declining and my mom’s cousin doesn’t want any of the genealogy stuff so everything got shipped to my house today and let me show you!!!!

Like this I what my house looked like when I got home from work today. My mom and dad had only opened up one of the boxes and it was filled with stuff. All of the books in bubble wrap are journals that my great grandfather kept from the mid-1910s all the way up until a week before his death in the 70s (he wrote in them every single day). I was literally reading one of his journals the he bought in Luxembourg in 1919 as part of the American Expeditionary Forces (he listed his whole rank and everything on the front cover) and he was talking about his specific role in the military and his drilling. My dad read the entry my great-grandfather made about Pearl Harbor and it was really interesting because when my dad went back to what my great-grandfather wrote on January 1, 1941, my great-grandfather said that the US was sure to go to war because we were helping England so much. He also talked about FDR and how he was president for an unprecedented third term. I also loved how he included the weather everyday.

I didn’t get a picture of the inside of any journals today but I’ll try and get them tomorrow.

We also got this clock in the same shipment. A bit of it was broken but it looked like it had already been broken (there were some glue remnants). We don’t know how old the clock is because, going back to the whole reason we got all of the stuff in the first place, my great-aunt has dementia and my mom is now in control of all of her belongings. We believe that my great-aunt would know how old it was but we can’t really ask her anymore so I’m going to try and date it tomorrow. Although, the pendulum says “Pat. Dec. 11. 77.” so that gives us at least a bit of a time frame (my dad thinks that’s 1877 — which I agree because my mom remembers it when she was a kid and she was born before 1977). What’s also really cool about this clock is that I fully believe it still works. My dad was playing around with it and he let the pendulum swing back and forth. As shown in the picture, the minute hand is at about 53. Well, about 5 minutes later, I looked back at the clock and the minute hand was at about 59. Now the clock has not been wound in idek how many years and my family doesn’t want to wind it for a couple reasons so we won’t fully know if it works independently but at least the pendulum to hands mechanism is mostly functional.

I don’t know if any of you even read that but it did make my day. So I’ll have some more stuff to post in the coming days about this!!

[askmalal]

Favorite Historical Miniatures Armies:

The Chaos Gods and the Primarchs

(The Emperor, of course, always plays with an Alexandrian Macedonian Army. In every period. And he always wins….)

Hashut:

Ancients - Assyrians, of course.

Khorne:

Colonials - Bavarian Nuns, Wahehe War, German East Africa.

Malal:

I mean, I’ll happily play with any army known as an unreliable ally…

Nuffle:

Does not fully grasp the concept. Routinely brings a “Magnetic Action Football” set. Given he’s the god of random chance, however… he often wins.

Nurgle:

Quite happy to play any army at the height of the Black Plague

Tzeentch:

Ancients - Early Maya. Soooo many feathers!

Lion El’Johnson:

Medievals - Crusader Militant Orders

Fulgrim:

Ancients - Purple, Hellenism, Fancy. Hence, Seleucids

Perturabo:

Ancients - Gee… I wonder. But also, heavy siege tanks. So, Ferdinands, Brummbars, Sturmtigers make him positively turgid.

Khan:

Medievals - Really? You really don’t know?

Leman Russ:

WW2 - Norwegians. Danes from time to time. He despises Nazis, and ordinary Vikings are… boring.

Rogal Dorn:

Ancients - Pretty much anything Roman will do.

Konrad Curze:

Renaissance - Prefers Later Hungarians. Will grimace and accept playing with a Wallachian Army if he must.

Sanguinius:

Ancients - Early Hebrews. Also loves running German Triplanes in WW1 games. Richtofen’s Flying Circus, of course.

Ferrus Manus:

Anything with lots of slow moving disgustingly armored stuff. WW1 tank forces, for instance.

Angron:

WW1 - Portuguese Expeditionary Force. A glutton for punishment.

Roboute Guilliman:

ALSO anything Roman. But there must be shiny eagles involved.

Mortarion:

Not much fun. Always insists on bringing the bio-chem warfare units. Every period.

Magnus:

Not really a fan of Egyptian Armies as such. Surprisingly, likes himself a good group of doughty British colonials, circa 1879. Eh wot?

Horus:

Enjoys selecting the worst possible Army or force for the period in question, and proving that he can beat you with it.

Lorgar:

Lorgar constantly attempts to design his own house rules for armies and periods only he wants to play. Once spent a summer running the other Primarchs through the Great Toledo War.

Vulkan:

Appreciates the entertainment of war games, but prefers the abstracts. Problematically, however, he -can-defeat your elite armored division using just the red side from a set of checkers.

Corvus Corax:

WW2 - Big fan of paratroopers. Refuses on principle to play the bad guys.

Alpharius:

Once defeated a modern British Armored Division equipped with Challenger 2s…

Omegon:

…using a group of English Civil War clubmen and a Japanese Type 97 “Chi Ha” with a broken timing chain.

[burdenedreverance]

@badheart​

From top left to bottom right in precedence:

Army Commendation Medal- For stuff I did in Saudi Arabia all i can really say 2x Army Achievement Medal with Combat Device - First medal was for Kabul evacuation, second medal was for a drone attack. Army Reserve Component Achievement Medal- Basically a good conduct medal from my time in the reserves. National Defense Medal- I joined during a period of armed conflict. Global War on Terror Expeditionary Medal-  I was deployed to a foreign country to assist with the war on terror. Global War on Terror Service Medal - I participated in operations in support of the War on Terror. Armed Forces Service Medal - For my participation in the Operations Allies Refuge/Welcome due to Kabul. Humanitarian Service Medal - meritorious direct participation in a significant military act or operation of a humanitarian nature. (Kabul) Armed Forces Reserve Medal with M for Moblization - I deployed while apart of the Army National Guard.  Army Service Ribbon - I joined the army in 2017. Army Reserve Components Overseas Training Ribbon- I participated in a UN training mission with allied countries on foreign soil.| Overseas Service Ribbon- I was deployed for more than 6 months overseas. Nato Medal- I’m not really sure what Nato gave me this for, since I lost the paperwork but I assume either Kabul or that training mission. 

[thetruearchmagos]

Hey, Arch! Happy WBW! Tell me about military pomp and ceremony(if any) in your WIPs!

You bet your best valuables that I can, Gemini!

Okey doke, thinking over recent stuff I've worked on, I think I shall select the fine United Commonwealth Army tradition of the Parade in Review for this.

First Glory

The practice dates back to the old United Army of the Coalition and the Menteneian War, a conflict fought half a decade before the formation of the UC itself. In the times before a singular Commonwealth Army, much of the disparate forces of the states that would form that polity were gathered and encamped in the fields just beyond the Weslich city of Penzstadt, numbering almost ten thousand. Just before embarking on their ships for the coming campaign, a grand parade featuring the troops of every nation present was held in the freshly cleared fields, with heads of state of each country and many journalists and locals in attendance to watch the review. Troops marched through the streets of the former city state, and the ceremony would end with every unit and commander present gathering in a single massive formation for their General Officer Commanding, the Weslich Field Marshal Cochise Spengler, to ride through on his steed for the final review.

------

The practice would continue strongly into the new Commonwealth Army, and would grow ever more colourful and almost festive. The troops of the first Review donned their battlefield attire for the parade, but as colourful and complex regalia fell out of use with the rise of modern military tools their usage would continue in these grand affairs, with the more well reputed lineages of units taking great pride in the quality of their drill and smartness of their uniform.

Silver Screen

The practice would be rather more vigoously thrust into the modern 12 Worlds with the arrival of the Chainbreaker War, and the formation of the United Commonwealth Army in Upepwani. or UCAU. The greatest expeditionary force in Commonwealth history, almost fifteen thousand strong, had gathered itself on the same ground as Marshal Cochise's army had almost a century before, and despite the formation's vast size it was decided that a Parade in Review would be conducted in the usual tradition. This time, however, things would be different. In addition the Commonwealth and Weslich Imperial officials, as well as the Kaiserin herself, and the usual members of the press, a small team of cinematographers from The Observer, the Commonwealth's most reputable press agency, was admitted to the parade and allowed to create the first official, non-government film of military proceedings yet taken in the Commonwealth.* Filmed in monochrome and painstakingly coloured by hand over the next two months, the film would provide the public with their first glimpse into this most sacred of traditions.

Continues to this day, often for units at the end of a major exercise, or those about to go on a foreign deployment

Going into the Commonwealth's second century, the Parade in Review would experience yet more changes in character and conduct. In the present day, the ceremony is most commonly conducted at the closure of major military exercises, though due to the scale these typically take only a few units, usually those of the "Victor", are allowed to conduct the full ceremony in all its pomp and invariably donned in their most ornate dress uniform. Where time allows, the event retains its roots in being conducted to mark major foreign deployments of Commonwealth troops, in times of peace and war, to give the brave troops their final goodbye until they return home.

* A note on Military Film

While the technology of the motion picture camera had been available for some decades by the time this film was made, the armed forces had been slow to make use of them. The usual frosty relations between the press and military had been as much a hindrance as the still rudimentary quality of the equipment itself, and so the only (legally produced) moving pictures protraying uniformed servicemembers available for the UC public were those produced by the DG of Defence's own Directorate for Public Communications. These were notoriously poor in quality, limited in number, limited in what they covered, and barely viewed at all by the public they were directed at. This, however, was set to change. In opposition the the more conservative approach of earlier leadership, by the 70s After Signing there would be a growing impressiong amongst the government that the Free Press could be a useful tool in achieving the Commonwealth's objectives, as well as a broader increase in appreciation for government transparency in general by the public at large. Thus, it was decided by those involved with the deployment of the UCAU that it would provide an excellent oppurtunity for the Army to put the good word out of its activities to the wider Commonwealth, in line with the wishes of the more liberal and open government which then resided to the right of the Speaker's chair. Further films would be produced by both the press and government over the course of the conflict, bringing War and its sights and sounds into the public consciousness to a greater depth than ever before.

[sonofwitches98]

Remus' grandfather, Vincent Davis Raven. Hailing from the Saskatchewan frontier, Vincent has lived a long and rather difficult life. Originally a North West Mounted Police officer from 1873 to 1913, he was recruited into the Coalition Secret Society and tasked with hunting a demon that incited and fed off violence. For the next century, Vincent fought several major wars for many countries while on the trail of the demon, serving in the Canadian Expeditionary Force, Deutsch Afrika Korps, 2nd Red Banner Army, and Task Force Smith.

Retired from the Coalition, Vincent settled in Western Canada in 1973 had 2 daughters; Kathy and Sabrina. He later became the grandfather for Sabrina's adopted son, Remus.

[toskarin]

this saturday I am setting manageable goals. I would like to secure the river basin as a launching point for expeditionary forces and establish a dynasty that will outlast the sun's rising in the sky (just girl stuff)

[zargontari]

late night thinking about two Exforce ocs

On one hand, you have an ancient alien artificial intelligence built to wipe out all intelligent life in the galaxy. Whenever the AIs of its group fought, it fought on the side of its programming overtop of a planet capable of hosting sapient life. This AI and another, who called herself Silver (Dawn Rising) both had sentinels. Neither machine survived, but the other AI plummeted to the planet below, landing dssp beneath the ocean— which would then go on to host sentient life.

Then you have a little guy named Joskia, who is the product of that sentient life. A seventeen year old little guy who goes diving with his buddies and finds the wreckage of an ancient ship. Naturally, they strip the thing. He goes home with the world's most useless beer can.

And then convinces a genocidal AI that people are pretty cool, actually. Mixed results on that front.

"Disrespectful kelp. I should teach you the meaning of fear."

"— but you will not."

"You are sure of that?"

"Very certain, yes. You are too lazy."

"Lucky for you in the short term. I will burn your ocean to steam one of these days, and then you will be very sorry for treating me this way."

"I will take note of that. You should take note that being denied a cannon is not a sign of abuse, but instead is a very intelligent act of self preservation on my part."

"I am going to blow containment and take your stupid face and your stupid planet with me."

they are stupid. He names it Foca ("birthed from the stars", with a violent subtext).

[nraqi]

i am possibly the first one to think abt this and i am very proud of that fact BUT craig alanson really really should’ve delved a lil bit deeper into the whole eldritch (no, not tentacles) madness concept for skippy. i mean, the dude handed an arrogant scientist an unsolvable math problem to get him to stop bugging him and ended up driving said arrogant scientist insane. i think that’s pretty cool and deserves some looking into imo.

what happens when he’s actually pissed off and tries to drive someone insane?? how many times has he accidentally done this apart from mr. mad scientist over here?? what if one of the reasons he refuses to tell bishop about some of the universe’s ‘secrets’ is because he fears that it would drive him into madness ?? (it’s been a while since i listened to that part in particular and it could be a possibility he DID say that but i forgot :3)

anyways fic idea maybe

[human-do-a-worm]

Ramblings of an Old Soldier Part 2/?

Part 1 can be found HERE

The next day, the Unkall boy came back to the old soldier, sitting on the bench where he normally does, reading his data tablet. The boy had a rather happy look on him today.

“Ah, you’re back. I take it that my story wasn’t quite enough on its own then?”

“Not quite mister. It turned out to be more than enough for my first paper. After I turned it in, my teacher said I could go ahead and write the rest of my papers for the course since I had found a primary source willing to share their experience.”

“I see. How kind of your teacher. Back when I was in school, they would have told us to stuff it.”

“So, what other stories do you have to tell?”

“How about my time in the cycle after the Martian campaign?”

“That sounds wonderful. Let me start my recorder.”

The Unkall child pushes a glowing button on his data tablet, and a blue dot appearing on the screen indicated that the recording had started

“It was less than a month after the battle on Mars; that’s one twenty-fourth of a cycle in standard units. Reconstruction had begun on mars, and the war fleets which were now all massed around Terra had been split into five groups. Group Solar and Group Lunar were the two largest of the fleets, and as such were classed together. Group Pangea, Group Gondwana, and Group Oceana were the three smaller groups, and were classed together as well. The fleets were organized in this way by Grand Admiral Demetrius, to ensure that no one fleet would have to stand against the enemy for too long a time.”

“Since I’ve brought him up, I should probably tell you a bit about the Grand Admiral. Remember what I was saying about the preparations for the battle on Mars. All the meticulous planning done to move the civilians back to Terra, and keep morale up while being an effective fighting force? Well, that came from Demetrius, and was only slightly modified by individual units as the orders were passed down the chain. His odd decision making turned out to be one of the most valuable things that humanity had, because nobody could anticipate his plans; especially the Vrumoids. He was only a rear admiral, but after his commendation, and the first victory in the war, He was immediately promoted.”

“Back to the war now. The battle plan was simple. Keep a constant pressure on the enemy, working in a single spot, pushing the enemy back system by system, and planet by planet. Where to stop would be figured out as the fleets went along. This seemed to work very well. In most systems, Groups Solar and Lunar rarely had fire a single shot. The Vrumoids would either flee or be destroyed by one of the smaller groups before the heavy guns of the heavy class ships could be brought to bear.”

“The reconquest continued almost flawlessly until there was a single human world left to reclaim. Rexorb VI was nothing more than a rock when humanity last saw it, but after looking upon it, the armada called for the command group; Group Regal; to come and take a look. At first sight of the data scans, Demetrius broke down with laughter. Failing to find the humor in this situation, his second in command asked him what was so funny.” “These poor bastards. They’ve made this planet up to be just like Mars, hoping we’ll make the same mistakes they did. Have they never been told that it’s a bad idea to try using the tactics someone created against them? They’ve made themselves the easiest targets possible for us, and what’s even better is that they did it on a mining world. There were only a few housing units on that planet, and its riches lie deep inside. This is the perfect opportunity to try a new idea.”

“With that, preparations were made swiftly, and with much laughter all around. On the back side of Rexorb VI’s moon, groups Solar, Gondwana, and Oceana moved into position, mounting themselves with their primary propulsion systems poised to drop the moon from its orbit.”

The boy spoke up

“Didn’t the Vrumoid forces on the planet notice what was happening?”

Laughing, the old man responded

“Nope. That was a benefit of only showing the enemy one small and one large battle group at a time. According to Vrumoid intelligence recovered after the war, The defenders on Rexorb VI simply thought we were just deciding how to invade properly. They had no idea Demetrius was crazy enough to consider crashing the moon into the planet, and they would have to have been crazy to even guess that the rest of the fleet would just go along with it. I know Demetrius was expecting to do some explaining to the others.”

“The High Admiral may have been absolutely insane, but he wasn’t heartless. He ordered a shuttle to take one squad and an emissary to give them one final chance to surrender. They of course, believing a ground war lay ahead, refused. That was the last mistake that the Vrumoids ever made when dealing with humanity. Exactly one planetary axis revolution after the shuttle returned to the fleet, all the pushing ships’ engines fired up. Each of the ships had worked out their individual point of no return for propelling the moon towards the planet, and had an order to pull off at what their captain deemed a safe time before reaching their point of no return. By the time the last ship pulled off, The moon was going faster than its own terminal velocity.”

“When that moon hit the surface of the planet, the entire thing cracked like a geode. After observing this from one of their comm stations, the Vrumoid Empire rushed to set up peace treaty negotiations. Of course, who was the Terran representative by unanimous vote from the United Terran Council? None other than High Admiral Demetrius. They figured that if nothing else, he could get the Vrumoids to leave humanity alone. But what he got us was something so much greater.”

“As you might have learned in class, our home system and colonies were entirely located within an isolated part of Vrumoid space. We had no knowledge of the Galactic Council Alliance, at least until one of the Vrumoid delegates at the negotiations made a mistake and asked one of his compatriots what the council would think of their actions if they ever found out. After learning that there were other intelligent species in the galaxy, Demetrius demanded that humanity be granted a swath of planets and territory directly to the territory of another GCA member.”

“This single achievement is what brought humanity forward. Demetrius did what no other Terran could do; he found sentient life that wasn’t actively trying to kill us, and he made sure we could get to them with ease. If it weren’t for him, we would have never known the GCA existed, and likely would have been either wiped out or enslaved by the Vrumoids after they rebuilt their forces.”

“Of course, after we made contact with the council, and they saw what we were able to do to a far more technologically advanced species, they demanded to see our battle reports and to speak with all the commanding officers. I remember standing there by High Admiral Demetrius’ side.”

The young Unkall spoke up ecstatically

“You were a commanding officer?”

“Sure was kiddo. Leading the charge of those bikers on mars was one hell of a brave thing, and Demetrius took note. When he got the chance to promote one of his soldiers to an admiral under his command for Group Solar, he spoke loud and clear to us and said “Where’s that crazy bastard that volunteered to charge a platoon of enemy tanks using nothing but motorcycles and bombs on sticks? I have a job for you!” That was the day I was no longer a simple marksman, I was an Admiral, and a damn good one too. My group didn’t lose a single vessel to the enemy.”

“I still remember the day I went down on that rock the day before we cracked it. The Vrumoid commander must have been watching the video recordings from when I charged the tanks, because the moment I walked into the room and she looked up at me, she looked all sorts of shaken up. When I told her that this was her last chance to accept a mercy never offered by her empire, a chance to surrender; she simply said that surrender would never come until she and her warriors no longer stood upon the planet. If only she knew the irony in those words.”

“I remember being at the peace conference, and although Demetrius had only been seen rarely by the Vrumoids, mostly in transmissions intercepted from Mars to Earth, they had seen me plenty. I think I scared them more than Demetrius did, because when I talked about how my motorcycle wasn’t out of fuel yet, they started agreeing to our demands.”

Curiously, the boy tapped something into his data tablet

“Wait a minute, are you saying that you’re Admiral Sturm?”

“Indeed I am. Admiral Jakob Sturm, service number 6556-0293-422-41, former commander of the Terran expeditionary fleet codename Solar. I proudly led my sailors, soldiers, and marines through some of the harshest battles that humanity has faced, and kept my fleet intact. I wasn’t lying when I said that I didn’t lose a ship in my group to the enemy. And after serving 10 cycles in service of my species, I left honorably.”

“So what did you do after you left? I’d imagine being an admiral is a hard job to top.”

“You’re right, admiral is a hard job to beat. I served as an ambassador of Terra for a cycle before I returned to the stars. I found some of the others from back on Mars that charged with me on that day. We were a mercenary group. We mostly took escort contracts or welfare and security for anyone we deemed especially needy. We did good work for a few cycles, but then I had to give it a rest.”

“That’s around the time your name stopped appearing in records of both the GCA and Terran reports. What happened?”

“I’ve been talking for too long. I think you might be able to get a few pages out of what I’ve said today. Better to not burn up all your content at once, right? I’ll be here again tomorrow, like I always am. I’ll tell you more then.”

“If you insist sir. I’ll be here.”

“Until then, take care. I may be old, but I still expect people to stick to a schedule.”

With that, the boy stopped his recording and went home. To meet someone as important as Admiral Sturm, who seemed to have vanished from most records 8 cycles ago, was entirely unexpected. Unexpected, but it will certainly make a wonderful paper for his teacher.

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

i ain’t done anything for @tolkienocweek yet, mostly because my covid-induced neet-dom has decoupled me from any association with sidereal time and thus there’s no way i could guarantee getting something out on its specific day. still, i do have one character that could potentially qualify for day 3 (background characters) or day 4 (self-inserts), sorta. i’d like to introduce you all to the proprietor of the fëanorian ethics department, the as-yet-nameless fed elf

fed elf is a... moderately idealised self-insert of mine, though she’s taking on a life of her own

she’s also a noldo. of course she is

her Noldorin Craft™ is, as i’ve said before, arguing. she has very strong opinions about almost everything and will debate them at length

she’s moderately infamous for it in tirion

she’s especially fond of philosophy, in the ancient-greek asking-a-million-rhetorical questions style. what should we do? why do we do the things we do? why do the valar get to tell us what to do?

... you can probably tell which side of the fëanor/fingolfin debate she landed on, if it wasn’t already obvious

she’s not particularly close to any of the future capital-H House, but she is in their rough orbit. one of the miscellaneous guild trolls that form the rank-and-file of their initial expeditionary force

idk if she’s ~devoted to the cause enough to go to formenos, but when the trees get eaten and fëanor rolls up into tirion with the solution to all their spider problems, she is all for it

she’s a passing acquaintance of maedhros from those times when he’d show up in her guild hall for debate night, so she probably ends up with his crew, at least initially

... there’s a very good chance her first attempts at crafting a new noldorin ethical system happen on that horrible night aboard the blood-stained swanships of alqualondë

in any case, she gets good enough at murder to not die before the brothers hellspawn are divvying up east beleriand, and the formerly reasonably undelineated fëanorian host is splitting up into its various garrisons

most people stay with whoever they’re already riding with, but there are exceptions. she is one of them, as soon as she hears about caranthir’s Plans she immediately switches allegiance to the future lord of thargelion

he’s deliberately trying to set up on the trade routes! they’re gonna make contact with the dwarves! there are apparently trails leading over the blue mountains, links to communities of elves unlike she’s ever seen!

so many new people to argue with!!!!!!

so she heads up to lake helevorn, and helps with setting up the city. she winds up filling some middling role in east beleriand’s military bureaucracy, when she’s not on orc-killing duty

but her true passion is *~ethics~*

there is actually a practical component to this. due to Certain Events the noldor (especially the fëanorians) aren’t as-well suited to their pre-darkening moral codes as they might have once been

they need a new one, with contingencies for, like, murder, and all the other new situations they’ll encounter in this new world! the questions of what’s right and wrong have been blown right open, and fed elf is possibly the happiest she’s been in her life. they’re building everything else from first principles, why not this?

and the fëanorian host in aggregate does actually care about morality, even though outsiders never believe that. it’s what separates them from the orcs (in their minds at least); they’re doing everything for a Cause, not for destruction’s sake alone. say what you want about the fëanorians, their problem was never a lack of ideals

she gets people coming in sometimes, wanting to know what the right thing to do in a situation is. either that, or they think she’s wrong about something and want to explain why in depth, which is almost as fun

soon enough, there’s a small shop just off the main streets of lake helevorn called the fëanorian ethics department

(she’s the only one with a shop, but she’s not the only member of the host with Opinions. the guy on the other side of the market district whose system is fairly similar in the broad strokes but completely different in the details is her personal archnemesis)

for most of the first age, fed elf has it pretty good. by her standards, at least, and she’ll happily exposit at length as to why they’re the only ones that matter

the work on the system of ethics never quite stops, but it does slow down. she’s less prescriptivist than most noldor, so she does a lot of observation and interviewing and stuff, and also new things keep happening for her to cover, but she does manage to nail down the basics!

she does consultation, in varying levels of official capacity, but she’ll also just. answer anyone who comes in with a question. or asks one within earshot

it’s mostly noldorin fëanorians she has debates with, the sindar and atani generally prefer to ask her whatever they want to know with minimum fuss, but whenever she gets a real fight going they all join the crowd. watching fed elf argue with people is one of lake helevorn’s municipal spectator sports

she also has conversations with travellers! these usually start when some newcomer is staring in befuddlement at the sign outside her shop and she takes the opportunity to pounce

she asks them detailed questions about their own ethical systems, which she files away for potential future incorporation/argument ammunition. they fairly frequently ask questions of their own, most often variations on ‘you guys seriously have morals?’

sometimes this even turns into a proper ethical debate! these aren’t usually as well-argued or intense as the ones she has with other fëanorians, particularly if she’s not talking to a noldo, but when she meets someone who’s a proper match for her it is the highlight of her year

running the shop does generate a fair bit of paperwork she tends to be too emotionally invested in to deal with properly, so she hires help now and then. one recurring underling is a clumsy perpetually-ill atan who is nevertheless really good with the filing and holds fierce opinions of their own, even if they hide under the table whenever anyone so much as raises their voice

(that atan is me. much less idealised self insert)

like every other elf in the host, fed elf is still under arms. she has a unit, she’s part of the orc patrol rotas, when caranthir needs to do a battle she pulls her broadsword out from under her desk and reports for the muster. east beleriand is just a pretty violent place in general, and her most impassioned arguments frequently shade into all-out duels. east beleriand, where even especially the philosophers will knife you

but just like fëanor promised on tirion upon túna so long ago, she’s built a place where she can be the best version of herself, and she couldn’t be happier (marketplace douche notwithstanding)

like so much of the host, she has big plans for when they topple angband and reclaim the silmarils. it’s just, well

i am not entirely sure what fed elf’s fate is after the fall of thargelion. most likely she died at some point, because so do most of her peers and also because she has an aversion to cutting her losses that’s definitely gonna backfire sooner or later

it’s either that, or she abandons everything she ever worked out to flee over the blue mountains, or she sticks with the host long enough to see all their ideals and dreams burn to ash. out of all of them death is probably her kindest fate

if she does die - she’s definitely a kinslayer at least one time over, she is staying in the halls for a While. the local maiar completely stonewall her every time she tries to argue her way out, she has plenty of time to sit around and think

because yeah, the host’s century-long self-immolation has given her a lot to think about. she was wrong, it turns out, in several important ways, and from the outside she can see how much the ethical system she put her heart and soul into was bent towards destruction

if she ever gets out, it’ll be after a lot of self-reflection, a massive dose of humility, and her accepting her own small-but-not-insignificant role in the nightmare they created

the fëanorians as get let out of the halls of mandos are without fail less violent, more self-aware, and just generally more conscious of their actions than they were when they went in. fed elf is no exception to this

she’s also no exception to the rule that their time in elf afterlife therapy generally fails to lower their volume at all. soon after her rebirth, after some time spent rethinking her personal moral code, fed elf puts out a thesis as to why elwing’s refusal to give up the silmaril was perfectly justifiable under fëanorian ethical mores

this pisses off a measurable proportion of aman’s sapient population. soon the furious letters of rebuke are pouring in nightly

exactly. as. planned

[starryeyes2000]

Retribution: Prologue

Chapter 2 | Masterlist

Pairing: Christopher Pike x OC

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 900

Summary: Years ago, Lieutenant Christopher Pike and his team’s classified mission failed changing the course of two peoples – the Estess whose planet was strategically important to the Federation and the deeply spiritual Gileseians whose out of the way home was location and resource poor. The price for his involvment will be steep and the debt is about to be called in.

This story takes place after the Season 2 finale. Control was defeated and all the events of Season 2 occurred except for Discovery travelling into the future.

Image credit: @ocfairygodmother

Prologue

10 Years in the Future

Sylvia Tilly walked the empty corridors of Discovery, reminiscing. It was good to be back on board after all these years. It felt like … coming home. It had been her first real home, filled with colleagues who became friends as they fought to survive the Klingon war and in the Terran universe. As they defeated Control. Here she had taken her first steps from awkward student to awkward junior officer. Like a toddler growing into a teen.

Tomorrow she would accept command of Discovery, her first command, relieving one of her best friends, Captain Michael Burnham. Michael was leaving Starfleet to begin her duties in the Vulcan Expeditionary Force, fulfilling the wishes of her father.

If Discovery was her first home, then Enterprise was her second home. She took her first steps on Discovery. She grew up on Enterprise. On Enterprise she realized, for the first time, her pie-in-the-sky dream to become a starship captain was truly attainable. That she could make it real. That she had the right stuff.

Present Day

Earth

“There is still time to stop this … barely,” the mourner whispered and reached out to trace the etching on the memorial stone. The stone was one of tens of thousands forming a black granite monument dedicated to those civilians who died in the recent Klingon war. This place was one of a multitude of remembrances for the war dead scattered throughout the member planets of the Federation. “I didn’t expect to feel regret.” The tears flowed, the ache for this much-loved brother as deep as when he was killed helping those displaced by the fighting.

“I’d ask you what I should do, but I already know your answer. You practiced forgiveness not vengeance.”

There was a long pause when the guilt surfaced. I can stop this. They cannot succeed without my help. I should stop this.

No. The pangs of remorse were reburied.

“I’m sorry. I cannot forgive them. That ship, that crew who were trained to fight and took oaths to protect us? Who spent the war in safety far away from the death and the pain? There must be consequences for that.”

The mourner crouched down and placed a bouquet of flowers in front of the marker. “How can I forgive those who abandoned their duty when you, a primary school teacher who had no special training, volunteered and gave everything? I must … I want … to do this for you. No matter the cost.”

The mourner sat next to the stone and leaned against it. “I will wait here with you until it begins. And then those who died unnecessarily, and their families, will have peace … and recompence.”

Gileseia

In the end crafting a web of those willing to act had been easier than he anticipated. The Federation had enemies among those harmed by its policies. His people whose systematic extermination was unchecked due to the Federation’s policy of non-interference. Others whose sovereignty was trampled because their planetary system was too strategic for the Federation not to interfere. Its own citizens who were disillusioned after the Klingon war.

For him this wasn’t about vengeance. That was a waste of time and prohibited in his spiritual doctrine. This was about safety – the safety of his family, his tribe, his species. He had learned a hard lesson living in the refugee camps and now understood that safety could only be guaranteed with power. Today his power would be acknowledged.

He knelt in prayer to the Universal Father and Universal Mother, asking forgiveness for the lives that would be lost in order to defend his people. He alone bore the responsibility for their murders and, after his incarnate life ended, he would spend 10 millennia tormented by ice and fire, hunger and disease. It would be a fitting punishment for the sins he was about to commit.

He regretted that innocent lives would be lost, but that was easier to bear as they were unknown to him. In battle there was always collateral damage.

It was difficult for him to think of the one who would suffer. She had been kind to him and his family. Had worked in the camps as an interpreter and teacher of the language skills that helped many, including his beloved sister, build new lives on Federation worlds. Yet, that she was the necessary catalyst was not his doing. The ways of the Universal Parents were mysterious, and he accepted her fate, like his, was part of their plan. Yet he prayed that her ordeal would be brief. That the Universal Mother would welcome this victim into her loving arms, gifting immediate peaceful eternal rest.

Estess IV

Minister Drey rose to watch the sun rise. Today it would begin, and Christopher Pike would finally pay for his crimes. And thanks to the Gileseian fools, Estess IV would never be implicated. Unfortunately, Isak Bengsston would most likely escape justice, unless he was killed in crossfire. But Pike, Pike would suffer.

Drey smiled, pleased with the irony that Ambassador Robert April would today, all of days, begin negotiating the final draft of the treaty admitting the Estess system into the Federation. The same day vengeance rained hell down on his enemies.

[elisabeth515]

Burn book type of sketches

For some reasons, very likely because of Douglas Haig (actually found out about him when I went to Museum of Edinburgh the first time), I got into WWI so I just decided that I am drawing some dudes.

SO- May I present: Sir Douglas Haig and John J. “Black Jack” Pershing, commanders of British Expeditionary Forces and American Expeditionary Forces respectively.

They two were friends and they corresponded quite frequently after the war until Haig’s sudden death in 1928. I’ve been reading about WWI commanders lately, and there’s some stuff going on between the West Front Allied generals, so why not make it like a Burn Book?

Here is my dumb blondie Douglas 😔✨ (he’s Scottish and I luv him)

Ngl I only draw Pershing by virtue of being friends with Haig—I guess he will be the only American that I will ever draw except Hollywood stars.

Bonus: shitposting

[mudhornchronicles]

dreamboat | greaser!frankie morales | part two

diner cred to @thatretrobitch​

pairing: francisco “catfish” morales x reader; 1950’s greaser!frankie x reader

warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking, ya know… 1950s stuff + death and war, and being rude af

a/n: part two of dreamboat

masterlist

dreamboat: part one | part two

“If I didn’t know any better, Francisco, I’d say you were teacher in a past life.” You look up at him and smirk. He looks over to you and gives you a crooked smile. He adjusts his jacket and runs his left hand through his hair.

Frankie taught you a lot more history than the teacher. Frankie had a lot more patience and explained each topic that was covered in much better detail and simply enough to understand. Like when Hattie Wyatt Caraway of Arkansas became the first woman elected to the U.S. Senate in 1932 to fill the vacancy caused by the death of her husband. Frankie compared it to the demonstration of the first long distance telephone service between New York and San Francisco in 1913 – surprising but needed.

You didn’t have Frankie for a third period, just first and fourth, but he made sure to meet you out each of your classes and walked you over to your next class. He had conversed with the boys about asking you to Rosie’s Diner on Friday night. Everyone knows when a guy takes a little darlin’ down to Rosie’s, she’s unavailable. Frankie knows you probably don’t know what going to the diner with him means but he assumes if you did, you wouldn’t go. So he decides that the less you knew the better – well at least that’s what Tom decided.

“Ya know, doll. I like the way you say my name, but how ‘bout ya just call me Frankie, huh? I don’t use the entire thing anymore.”

You cock your head to the side and your smiles turns into a slight frown. “Do you not like the way Francisco sounds?”

He tucks his hands into his jean pockets, shrugs, and looks down at his dirty Chuck Taylors. “Thanks, I do like it, but it don’t… it don’t sound cool, you know? I got a reputation to keep up – all the guys do.”

Frankie stopped using the name Francisco at the start of freshman year. Pope stopped using Santiago around the same time. Their teachers would call them Francis and Saint because they found it difficult to pronounce the boys’ names correctly. Frankie was too shy to say anything and Pope was still unsure about his accented English, so when Will laughed and told the teacher, “Ain’t that a bite? You got a degree, but can’t pronounce an ABC name,” the boys knew Will was going to be a great friend. The boys thought that would be the end of it, but then Benny decided to join his brother and say, “How ‘bout, since ya feel so high and mighty, you call ‘em Frankie and Pope? We got Francisco like that city on the west coast, so call ‘em Frankie. Then we got Santiago. You wanna call ‘em Saint, then give ‘em the highest honor.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better,” you stopped walking and placed a hand on his arm. “I like your name. I think it suits you very well.”

He smiles and nods. He doesn’t know if he’s nodding because he’s convincing himself he likes it too or if he’s nodding because he’s glad you like it too. He liked your company because you weren’t too invasive, but he could also tell that you wanted to get to know him. He knew he wasn’t the most open to people, he has his father to thank for that.

As young 19-year-old – about a year older than Frankie – his father was drafted and fought in World War 1 in 1918 as a US Army soldier and was then sent off to France a few weeks in to fight with the AEF, the American Expeditionary Forces. Because of this, Frankie’s father wasn’t the most expressive when in public but was easily the most caring when it came to his family. When Frankie was growing up, his father had spoiled his baby boy and made sure he worked hard as a welder so that Frankie wouldn’t want for anything. Frankie remembers his father coming home from work late at night, oil and bits of metal stuck to him, and always turning his frown into a smile when he laid eyes upon his son.

His father’s closure to the world only grew when he saw his family in danger. Frankie figured that by growing up within a military family, it would lead to him serving in the military as his father did before him. When Frankie was coming to the age of enlistment, he told his family about him wanting to go off to the military, but his father was very much against it. All his father wanted for his son was for Frankie to live his life the way he wanted to, so Frankie didn’t enlist. One day when Frankie was at school, recruiters came to the Morales home and were knocking the door down. Frankie’s father had informed them that his son would not be serving. He was told that because Frankie was able, male, and was soon to be of age, he had to enlist whether he was needed or not. His father complied; except he wrote his own name down instead of his son’s.

His father never regretted going to war. He still had nightmares, which Frankie knew all too well. He had met Frankie’s mother when he came back home in 1921 and after years of trying, he was blessed with a son in 1935. All was good in the world until the year 1950 – Frankie was 15 years old. In August of 1950, a letter came in the post reading the following:

SIR: FRANCISCO MORALES SR.

You are hereby notified that you, on the 21 day of August of 1950, have been legally drafted in the service to the Armed Forces of the United States of America. You are to report to the Armed Forces station below and will be transported to Daejeon, Korea.

Frankie’s father never came back.

His body was never recovered – just his ID tags. Frankie’s mother was told that the last transmission received with the whereabouts of Francisco Morales Sr. were near the Nakdong River in South Korea. Frankie always carried his father’s ID tags around his neck no matter where he went. Those tags always reassured him of himself knowing that he was doing what his father wanted him to do.

Frankie walked you down the steps of school building and stopped at the sidewalk. “Ya know, if ya need a ride, I can take ya home – aint no trouble.”

You smile and shake your head. “I appreciate that. I told my mother I’d take the bus back home.” You knew your mother would have a fit if she saw you get dropped off by a boy, but she may still be at work. You looked back at Frankie and saw that he had a slight frown on his face as he played with a necklace hidden in his white t-shirt. You weren’t sure the reason behind it, but he didn’t want to pry. “Actually, I’ll take a ride.”

His eyes lit up and nodded. “Great but I do gotta warn ya, doll. I gotta take Ironhead and Benny back to their place. Pope usually goes back to mines.” A ride home in a car full of teenage boys – what can go wrong?

The pair of you walk down to the school’s parking lot and there you see students laughing in their cars – 4 to 5 in a car – all while having a smoke and others are drinking from beer cans. You have no doubt that it’s beer cans when one gets tossed towards you with left over beer splattering over your white skirt. Frankie takes notice of the yellow stains and the grimace growing on your face. He looks over at the teenagers in a beat-up Chevy.

“Aye watch where ya tossin’ shit, birdbrain.” The teens look over at Frankie and walk over to him. You place a hand on his arm and look up at him.

“Frankie, c’mon. Let’s just go to your car, huh?” you plead. His arm tightens and as the teens arrive in front of him, Frankie protectively put you behind him and adjusts his jacket – a tick of his you’ve taken note of. The three boys who walked over to Frankie look over at you and smirk.

“Well shit Frankie, pal.” One of them takes a smoke and blows the out towards his side. “You already smashin’ up this little new betty? Don’t you work fast… first Michelle, then Tiffany, now this one?”

Frankie’s jaw tightens and his hold on your arm shifts. “How ‘bout you stuff it, Jack? You know you ain’t even supposed to be here. This ain’t your turf.”

Jack removes his hat, a cowboy hat he’s become fond of, and fixes his hair. He puts it back on and laughs. “You’re right, but I clearly don’t care. Oberyn ain’t out the can ‘till Friday, so I call the shots. My boys wanna be here and screw all these chick-a-dees, then they will. I know you ain’t gon’ do nothin’.”

“He will,” you hear a click and quickly turn your head to see Pope and the boys, Benny holding up a pocketknife. “But he ain’t doin’ it alone either.” The Bandits circle the three men and puff up their chests.

“Alright,” Jack holds his hands up. “We’re gone but trust me when I say that Oberyn ain’t gon’ be too happy to hear this.” With that he snaps his head over to his boys directing them back to their car. They turn to leave and Jack walks away backwards. When he’s satisfied with the distance between himself and The Bandits, he turns on his heel and runs to his car. He jumps in the driver’s seat, gives his girl a smooch, and revs the engine – with that he’s gone.

Pope looks at you and gives your shoulder a quick squeeze. “You good? Hope those bumrats ain’t spook ya too bad.” You shake your head and smile shyly. You look down at your ruined skirt and shrug.

“Just a ruined skirt but that’s okay. I wasn’t fond of it.” Will laughs at your comment fluffs yours skirt from the bottom, earning a nudge from Frankie.

“Let’s get her home, huh? I gotta drop off everyone else,” Frankie says. Tom tells Frankie that he’s got detention and to go on without him. Tom goes back towards the building while everyone piles up in Frankie’s Cherry Red 1945 Mustang GT – his father’s gift to him for his 15th birthday, also his last gift.

Per usual, Benny and Will leans the driver’s seat forwards and get in to sit in the back while Pope goes to sit in his usual spot as shotgun. Frankie tuts at Pope and points to the back. Pope scoffs but shoots Frankie a wink. He gets in and sits in between the brothers, being the smallest of the three, and Frankie runs over to open the door for you to sit up front. He grabs your books and hands them to Pope. As you situate yourself and buckle your seatbelt, Frankie gets in and turns on his baby. He revvs the engine and backs up out the school’s parking garage, but not before revving his engine one more time for the freshmen per Benny’s request.

On the drive to the brother’s house, Benny grabs your notebook and looks through your notes of the day. He looks through the math notes you took during 4th period and immediately closes it. “You sure are smart if you’re taking this angle stuff. I’m guessing it’s college prep?”

You look over your shoulder and nod. “I’m currently taking college preparatory trigonometry. They unfortunately didn’t have any other advanced placement for me here.”

The boys let out a harmony of “ohs” and Will shakes Frankie’s shoulder. “Frankie! She’s smart like you, buddy!”

Pope smirks and joins in on the teasing. “Lo vez, hermano! Being smart doesn’t make you un-cool. Being you does! No te hagas ver como el tonto porque no lo eres.”

You see, brother… don’t make yourself seem dumb because you aren’t.

You look at Pope and smile. “I agree with you, Santiago. Frankie is very intelligent so he shouldn’tdumb himself down because he thinks that’s what people think of him.” Pope stops and looks at you. “You know some Spanish, angel face?” You eagerly nod. “I’m very familiar with the language. They had us choose electives at my old school. I took Spanish, Italian, and French. I had a lot of a free time.”

Pope looks at you in shock but happily hollers. “Well sugar you sound pretty good speakin’ ‘em”

You couldn’t explain it, but you felt giddy. You felt happy to be around the boys and you knew you wanted to continue to be around them.

With Frankie getting out of the car and moving his seat forward, Will and Benny get dropped off first, but not without teasing him about “asking the chick.” Frankie flips them off and Pope lets out a belly laugh. Frankie apologetically looks at you and mouths sorry. You blush and mouth that’s okay.

Once leaving the brothers, Pope tells Frankie to turn up the radio. Frankie looks at Pope through the rearview mirror and narrows his eyes. “Switch to 12,” Pope says with a wink. Frankie rolls his eyes and turns the knob so the needle hits channel 12. Once Frankie hears the recognizable melody from “Takes Two to Tango” by Pearl Bailey. Frankie goes to switch the channel, but you stop his hand. He glances over to you and he sees you mouthing the words. He looks back at Pope who wiggles his eyebrows and sings out loud and to Frankie’s surprise, you join Pope singing at the top of your lungs. He laughs at your attempts at dancing in your seat and looks back at Pope who was waving his hands in the air.

Frankie thought that you’d be this proper, shy little thing but here you were having singing and laughing with his best friend. You gave him the slightest nudge and smiled in his direction. “C’mon Frankie. Don’t be a sour puss. I know you know this song!” You were right. He did know this song. He and Pope sang it so much because Pope thought he could woo some girl – he didn’t really know what the lyrics meant so you can guess what happened. If you guessed he slept with her… you’d be correct.

You poked Frankie in the ribs light enough to not affect his driving and giggled as he sang out with Pope. You liked seeing this Frankie – not that big tough guy you saw at the parking lot. He seemed like he had a big heart but was scared to show it and you were determined, but you were ripped away from your internal planning when Frankie politely asked for your address.

“It’s a shame you ain’t hangin’ longer sweetheart,” Pope began. “I think you’d like being around us two mucks. You would definitely like Frankie’s mom’s cooking. She makes the best food in town.” You smiled as the two best friends bickered about whose mom had the best food.

“I would have loved to, but I have to be home and do chores before my mother gets home.”

Frankie looks over to you and gives you a reassuring smile. “It’s alright. Maybe next time, cool?” You smile at the invitation and nod. Frankie continues to drive as you and Pope make a conversation about the possibility of you tutoring him in math. With them being high school seniors, they are not failing one class.

You feel on top of the world, laughing and talking with your new friends, until you spot the yellow Pontiac in the driveway and your mother coming out of it. Your face drops and the boys immediately take notice.

“What’s wrong?” Frankie asks. You straighten out your top and ask Pope for your books as you ready yourself to run out of the car. You look at Frankie and offer a weak smile.

“My mother won’t be happy with me is all.” You’d ask Frankie to drop you off a couple of houses before your own, but you know your mother has already seen you. As Frankie pulls up to your house, the boys’ jaws drop. You wouldn’t say your house was big, but to the boys, it was huge. Your two-story home consisted of 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. The exterior of the home was beige with dark brown trimming and the river rock pathway leading up to your home was lined with grass so green you’d think it was plastic.

Your mother, dressed to the nines in a pale pink dress and white belt, looks at the hot rod parked in front of her home and places her hands on her hips as she sees Frankie run out and open your door. Your mother would normally love seeing her daughter be treated by a gentleman, but she isn’t very happy to see that it’s Frankie. She has always dreamed of her daughter being courted by a young man in polished Oxford shoes and ironed pleated pants not a worn out leather jacket and dirty chucks.

You thank Frankie for the ride and look over at your upset mother. The boys say hello to her as she gives them the ungenuine smile of hers you have seen many times. You wave goodbye to both boys and begin to walk up to your mother. You hear whispers behind you and then you hear your mother say, “Is there something else you’d like to say, boy?”

You turn and you see Pope shove Frankie towards you. His face turns red as he sees your mother staring him down and he knows that this may not be the best time to ask you.

“On with it, young man. My daughter and I have work to do.”

Frankie once again runs his hand through his hair and clears his throat. “I- I, uh, I was wonderin’ if ya wanted to hang with us at Rosie’s on Friday. The shakes are pretty good so we could ma-“

“What’s your name, young man?” You look at your mother. You narrow your eyes at her for interrupting Frankie.

“It-It’s Frankie,” he stutters, “my name’s Frankie, ma’am.”

Your mother gives her less than friendly smile again. “Well, Frankie, you’ll understand where I’m coming from when I tell you this – you are not the kind of person I want my daughter befriending. You just don’t quite… how can I put this nicely? You don’t fit a mother’s standards.”

“Mother!”

“Quiet.” she tells you. “You will not be around these boys again, do you understand? Your father works too hard for you to just ruin your life like this. You asked to be taken out of the pristine private school we paid for you to go to and we allowed you to enroll in public school. Why are you bringing home some… some hoodlum! How can you do this to us?”

You wished this had surprised you, but it wasn’t the first time your mother disrespected your choice of friends. You huffed and you felt tears coming to your eyes as you saw Frankie’s defeated look in his eyes and Pope fighting the urge to get out of the car.

You mother calls your name, and you turn to look at her. She walks to you, heels clicking the pavement, and cups your jaw. “You will not associate yourself with these boys, do we understand each other?” You see Frankie nod to you and walk back to his car. You look back at your mother and nod. “Yes, Mother. I understand.” Your mother smiles at you and gives your cheek a pat. “Good girl. Now… get inside and put that skirt in the hamper. Your allowance is going towards a new skirt.”

She leads you into the house and you look back and see Frankie’s car is still there. You stop in your tracks and look at your mother. “Mother, may I please run back and grab a paper I left?”

“Is it school related?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very well. Go grab it and say goodbye and come back in. We have to get dinner going.” You nod and run back to the car and your mother walks into the house.

Pope rolls down the passenger side window and both boys look at you. You smile at Pope and look at Frankie.

“Does Rosie’s Diner have sundaes?” Pope smirks and turns to Frankie while Frankie nods with a confused face. “Well,” you start, “If Friday’s invitation is still open, pick me up by the green house down the street at 6pm. She’ll be going to my grandmother’s house up north.”

“Sounds like a plan, doll.”

The light breeze surprises you as it picks up the more you walk down the street. You walk past two houses and you see the red backlights of the cherry red mustang you seemed to miss.

Your mother, thankfully, left to your grandmother’s home about two hours ago, much earlier than expected. She called not very long ago to make sure you were home and doing homework. You told her that you were planning to retire early as your homework began to give you a headache. She insisted you eat dinner and sleep as she didn’t want to see eyebags under your eyes when she got back tomorrow. She bid you goodnight and said she’d be home by tomorrow’s lunchtime. Once you hung the phone on the hook, you ran to your room and began to ready yourself for the night.

You grew giddy as 6 o’clock crept closer and closer. You had applied your blush and mascara so carefully you’d have thought you were dusting the finest of china. You did not want to wear too much makeup; you didn’t want to seem as though you were trying too hard. You picked out the pins out of the curls on your head you’d put up right when your mother left and watched as the soft and tight curls fell and framed your face. You grabbed your wide tooth comb and brushed the curls out, parting your side at a side so there was more hair and volume on one side. You sprayed a tight hold hairspray all over so you could make sure your hair stood – Frankie wouldn’t want to see frazzled hair, no man would, you thought.

As you went through your closet, you decided that a dress was the best choice as it was simple enough to either be dressed up or dressed down. You went with a white collared black dress with thin white windowpane patterned lines all over. You wore your black flats and added a black shiny belt running across the waist. You get closer to Frankie’s car and you see him get out of his car – you figured he had seen you coming.

“How ya doin’ there, doll?”

“Hello, Frankie.” You wave and get closer to him. Once you’re in front of him you fix his jacket lapel and look up at him. “Aren’t you sight for sworn eyes.”

His eyes widen then starts laughing loudly and your face goes red. He nearly falls in laughter as his hands catch himself on his knees. “W-What’d ya just say?”

“I said aren’t you a sight for sworn eyes,” you frown. “Is that not appropriate?”

He catches his breath and puts a hand on his belly. He reaches over and tucks your hair behind your ear with the other hand. “The saying is a sight for sore eyes, doll; not sworn eyes.”

You feel as if your face is about to burst as you start laughing at yourself. You just cannot believe you’ve messed up your first attempt at flirting with Frankie. “I was really sure it was sworn.”

He smiles brightly and shakes his head. “Hey… can’t say ya ain’t tried right?” You giggle and nod. He look you up and down and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Te vez hermosa.” You look beautiful.

Have you ever had that feeling when there’s a puppy trying to get comfortable, but it can’t so it walks over to you and lays with you – falling into a deep and peaceful sleep? You know how it makes your heart feel as if it’s grown twice in size because the puppy chose you and trusted you to protect it while it slept? That’s how you felt when those words came out of Frankie’s mouth.

“Muchas gracias, Francisco.” Thank you very much, Francisco.

He playfully rolls his eyes at you and lets out a laugh. He points to the car and says, “get in the damn car.” He runs over to your door and lets you in, as per usual, and off you two went to Rosie’s Diner.

Frankie leads you into a bright neon-lit diner not very far from your home, about 25 minutes from your place. The diner stands out from the black concrete parking lot and pine trees decorating its background. He opens the light brown doors and places a hand on your lower back as you walk in – not too low or too high.

“Howdy’ho kiddos.” You’re greeted by a woman in her late 40’s or early 50s – the grey hair and sweet smile give it away. “Hey there, Frankie. Bandits meetin’ ya here?”

Frankie smiles at the woman, gives her a hug, and a quick kiss on the cheek; a kiss she smiles at and hums in content. “Hey Ro. Boys are comin’ in a while. You know they ain’t missin’ your special tonight.”

“There’s a special night every night for my favorite bandits, Frankie. Who’s this, huh? You finally bringin’ a girl for me to meet?” Frankie shakes his head from side to side smiling. He turns to you and introduces you to Rosie, the diner’s owner and one of his favorite people. “She’s new in town and I wanted to show her the best diner in the world.”

Rosie slaps Frankie’s arm and laughs. “Stop talkin’ sweet ‘fore your teeth rot, boy. You’re too pretty to be all gums now. I knew my boys were comin; your usual booth’s open, but take the table next to it, yeah. Ya need the extra seat ‘less you sittin’ the girl on ya lap.” Frankie begins to stutter a protest as you stifle a laugh.

“It’s very nice to meet you Miss Rosie. I’m in awe of your diner and excited to try your food.”

“Well it’s very nice to meet the girl who Frankie finally decided to bring to the diner. It’s a very special moment in his life ya know?” You cock your head to the side and take a quick glance at Frankie.

“Why’s that, Miss Rosie?”

As Rosie was about to explain the beginning of courtships of 99% of the teenagers in town, Frankie dragged you away with the dramatic excuse of being so hungry he can eat a horse and how he’ll drop dead if he doesn’t get a shake.

As you make it to the table Rosie had sent you to, you’d think that Frankie would have pulled out your chair, but a couple of some teens you remember seeing at school look in yours and Frankie’s direction whispering among themselves. You took a seat and looked at Frankie to ask if he knew them but as you were about to ask, you saw his face looking back at them with a deep stare. He gave them a single nod towards the door and to your surprise, they ran. Frankie scanned the room and he knew everyone would be taking in the scene. Frankie had never taken a girl out in public – especially not a girl like you. Sure people knew about other girls he’s been with, but everyone knew they weren’t together.

Frankie sat down after everyone in the diner turned their attention back to where it previously was and he passes you a diner menu, but still tense due to the eyes that locked with his back once more.

When the waitress you learned was named Vi and was obsessed with Will, Frankie had ordered a basket of fries for the two to share, a cherry soda for him and a sundae of your pick for you. Vi was also an older woman, best friends with Rosie, and had an innocent crush on Will’s blonde self. Frankie told you about the time Will brought Vi a bouquet of flowers for her birthday and Vi almost attacked the poor kid to the ground with kisses. Vi was sweet and she made you feel very good about yourself as she fixed your collar and fluffed your hair because “her Frankie needs to see what he’s got in front of him.”

You were nearly done with your sundae as you heard the distinctive pitch that is Benny’s voice as he said “What’s cookin’ good lookin’ don’t you look like a dream,” and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You greet each and every one of the boys as they take their seats around the table – Benny calling dibs on one of the seats next to you. Benny puts his arm around the back rest of your white chair and calls Vi over to place a new order.

As the night continues, you feel free. You feel so relaxed and at ease with the boys around you that you don’t even notice the dirty looks some girls were giving you. Benny puts his head on your shoulder and give his cheek a little pat resulting in Benny playfully trying to bite your hand. Frankie clears his throat and Benny looks over at him and smirks.

“I ain’t trynna steal ya girl, Frankie. If she hangin’ with us, ya gotta get used to us playin ‘round.”

Frankie turns red as Benny calls you “his girl” and rolls his eyes with a chuckle. He looks out the window and immediately tenses. You follow his gaze and see a 1942 black Ford with some boys in it – one of the being that Jack guy from school – revv its engine as it speeds back and forth through the parking lot. He grabs the boys eyes and directs them towards the window and Benny stands up immediately. The boys follow suit and Frankie turns to you.

“Stay here alright, doll? We’ll be back.”

You turn from Frankie to the window and back to Frankie with a worried look painting your face. “What’s going on Frankie?”

“They shouldn’t be here. This ain-“ You both turn at the sound of a crash and see Pope being held against Frankie’s car by a guy in a black tee with its sleeves rolled. Frankie runs out of the diner and you run after him. You know you shouldn’t be getting in between this, but you aren’t going to let anyone hurt your new friends.

Frankie runs up behind this guy, turns him around, and shoves him away from his car and friends. The guy smirks and nods at Frankie. “Did you miss me Frankie?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Oberyn? We already told ya friend there that this ain’t your turf.”

You had to admit, Oberyn had this strut to him that showed his self-confidence and the combination of his flirtatious smile and smoldering eyes only made him more attractive than he already was. Jack came to stand next to him and as he turned to toss some keys over to another friend of his, you caught sight of the word VIPERS with two snakes on the back of his jacket.

“Yeah… he told me ‘bout it. But ya anna know what else Jackie told me? He told me that ya got ya’self a knockout.” Oberyn locks eyes with you and winks. He tries to walk over to you, but Frankie pushes back and away from you.

“Don’t get near her.” Oberyn lets out a sarcastic chuckle and gets in Frankie’s face.

“How ‘bout ya make me, Morales?”

The next thing you knew, you were yelling and crying with Will held you away as you saw Frankie and Oberyn duke it out on the concrete while Benny and Pope tried to pry Oberyn away – Jack and some other guy pushing them away. You caught a glimpse of Frankie’s bruising cheek and Oberyn’s bloody nose. You only noticed the officer’s arrival once Will dragged you back in the diner and making sure Rosie held you back as he ran back to be by Frankie’s side when the local sheriff gets out the car.

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