/wfg/ Writefag General- kitties edition

I see I've missed quite a bit of Annie somehow, and it's not in this pastebin :(

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Both, I like to pre plan really but I also get inspiration a lot and just sit down and bust out a short story.

youtube.com/channel/UC3ogrx6d9oohf6D42G44j1A

Also, required viewing for those interested in writing.

also holy shit I need to change the title to Don's story arc to something less generic and acceptable.

ohhhhhhhhh my damn, another screenwriter, this is my SHIT, I never thought I'd see the day that one of the other motherfuckers in this group wrote outside of straight prose, so let me tear some holes in The Protector because I appreciate you:

- I don't believe the dynamic between Don and Ash, I just don't buy that parents and children talk that way to each other regardless of age; also, you need to either fix your age for Don or fix your age for Ash because currently Don was nine when Ash was born

- Don is a pussy and I hate him and all the cliche 'battle-weary veteran' sadboi shit he does and says

- I hated how Marcus was introduced, how Don keeps a bunch of NFA items in a storage unit, and how Don packs them in a U-Haul in broad daylight

-"I was tired of carrying a rifle, sir." Why would he say that when he's trying to get hired to carry a weapon?

- the shoot house audition is some REALLY cliche shit, like "we gotta see how badass you are, so here is a scene that the writer has written where you say and do badass shit"

- I don't understand how Don's problems drive his actions

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here's the deal, buckaroo: this can be REALLY good if you shape this shit up

- make Ash WAY younger, like a pre-teen or younger, which would require explanations the way Don gives them that he has to balance with how mature the subject matter can be, and it will also give a better reason for her to feel uneasy about having a separate motel room from him, also it would make more sense why she's even traveling with him in the firstplace

- if he's gonna be a pussy, have him commit to being a pussy and a coward instead of showing flashes of him being an alpha male, the "contact my 2 o'clock" scene was fuckin insufferable because it's out of character and I would love to see more behavior dictated by Don being a sad lil bitch

- put Marcus at the funeral and have Don either already be packed up and reveal the guns when he's getting in the back for something else and Ash starts reading "one-nine-one-nine Browning" to herself, which causes Don to be secretive or lie to her ("what is that, daddy?" "it's a microwave" "what" "don't worry, let's get something to eat"), or just dump the guns altogether if it's not gonna come back in some significant way later on

- since he's a pussy, make him say some dumb pussy shit instead of this hardass line that doesn't make any fuckin sense

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- simplify the test and use it to subvert expectations, maybe they do go to a shoot house that is set up and has guns ready on the table, and then the instructor asks them to write down the quote on a bad motivational poster that was hanging up in the lobby only for them to find they don't remember or don't have a pen or pencil or paper except for Don who remembers AND has something to write with and on, something that exercises a "thinkers before shooters" quality that the company would no doubt be looking for (also why would a pharmaceutical company have a fucking shoot house?)

- this would give Don a small victory that could drive his behavior, get his spirits up, maybe start re-invigorating his Army shit and give that a purpose somehow instead of just coming from nothing and him doing things because you wrote that he does them, maybe even make him reconsider moving out there and applying for the job (maybe it triggers thoughts like "if I can do this, what else I can do? I can get a job anywhere"

- show, don't tell, it's so basic and it's so important

I also don't know where his copious amounts of money came from and why he needs a job right away, but I'm sure you'll come up with something or have something in mind to explain it, I really hate to be too judgmental given that this isn't even the whole thing, but you need to set up your characters' arcs solidly now so that they can contrast after they change later on, also remember to tap into your theme (whatever it is, if it even exists, I couldn't make heads or tails of whether there's a theme or not) and lean on it as much as you can, every scene should be an exercise in what the theme is about

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Huh.

This actually was the most solid advice I've gotten in a bit now.

Thank you!

Also, a few things probably need to address later.

>Ash is adopted

I'll look to work on those other things.

Speaking of, had this character for awhile. This whole project is me writing a send off for it.

posted as you were typing!

Yeah, this whole arc is a shitshow. I'm trying to clean it up as best I can.

Thanks!

Also

>Concern for my own writing intensifies

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If it makes you feel better my next work after A Mandate from Heaven will be in screen play format

>AMFH
>Tags
>Humor

Oh boy...

Second thing- What about a defiant 16-year old?

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more?

I'd still probably age up don into a guy in his early 40s then

Yeah, given his daughter's adopted because of his bad, semi-drunken decision making, I've always tried to write him as being a distant parent of an adopted daughter.

He's not bad, he's just- He doesn't know how to talk to her and I'm trying to portray that. I want him to embody the "How do you do fellow kids" meme and the ramifications that follow from it.

it's easy to talk to kids nowadays, just paraphrase memes you've seen online while doing Fortnite dances.

>project takes place in 2023

I don't know how to make future meme culture.

Uh... It may involve putting hamsters under water.

make it weird to us and have it be even more about clout, we're talking about normie memes here

defiant could work very well as an additional foil to what Don is trying to accomplish (which I am not sure what it is), but I do think picking the right age is important. Based on what I know from what I've read, I really feel like the younger the better, but that blossoming maturity could really be a compelling piece of the Don puzzle, so 13-14 would probably be what I'd go with. Again, though, this depends on the intent of the story is, what the theme is, and what Don's arc is ultimately going to be.

Pic unrelated????

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Hampture is already a thing.

hampture.blogspot.com/

Zone of Comfort Vol 2 Ch 2 seems to be missing.

What are some books on war journalism and combat correspondents? most of /lit/ just knows civilian journalism like hunter s thompson.

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and you call yourself a writer!

j/k, j/k

Okay, posting part 1 of a new story. It's fairly short (relatively speaking), and vaguely Halloween inspired.

Poly/Archive, I'll handle my 'bin for this when it's done.

Story starts after this post.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Nick Sanders looked up from the evidence bag dripping on his well-worn desk to the person that put it there. “Explain yourself, Gary.”

Gary Langham shrugged his shoulders, equally as confused. “I don't know what to tell you, boss. That's the way it was when Sheriff Glick's boys brought it over from their evidence room. Said they've been having water damage issues.” This meager explanation would have to do for now, until Nick could get more information.

Nick looked down at the evidence bag, which was half-full of vaguely oily water and a wood-gripped Bersa Thunder pistol. He scribbled the case number from the label onto a notepad. “Alright, I'll call over and see what they want me to do with this. Drain the water out of this and send it over to Lauren for storage for now.”

As Gary left with the bag, Nick dialed up a local telephone number. “Laramie County Sheriff's Department, how can I direct your call?” the voice at the other end responded. “Karen, hi, it's Nick Sanders over at the state crime lab. Is the sheriff in?” Her voice warmed a touch as she recognizes the name. “Sure thing, Nick, let me put you through to him.”

The phone clicks in Nick's ear as the call is transferred. “-and congratulations again on the promotion, Jim. Hello, this is Sheriff Glick.” “Sheriff, this is Nick Sanders, down at the crime lab. I was hoping you had a few minutes?” “Why, sure thing Nick, I got a little time. Is this about a case?” “I was going to ask you the same thing. I had a water-logged pistol show up at my office, but I don't have any paperwork for it. What's going on?”

The phone was silent for a few moments, and then when Glick spoke again his demeanor had changed dramatically. “I, uh, I'd rather talk about that face to face than over the phone. Can I meet you in your office for lunch?” Nick sighed internally – today was a nice day outside and he was hoping to get out of the office for lunch. No such luck today. “Yeah, I'll be here. Though I didn't bring anything in with me.” “No worries, I'll pick something up for you – my treat.” “Oh geez, if you're buying then this must be something important.” Nick's comment was made light-heartedly, to get a laugh out of the sheriff. His reply though, was much more serious and somber. “Nick, you don't even know the half of it. See you in an hour.”

With the call over, Nick was suddenly a lot more concerned about this mystery pistol. He woke up his computer, and punched in the case number that had been written on the evidence bag. What he got in return was a lot of not very much. The case concerned a John Doe that had been found out in Yellowstone a week ago – no ID, body decomposed, no autopsy yet but coroner's notes of an estimated time of death to be '5 to 15 years ago'. The only personal effects found was the Bersa pistol, which was under the body and in remarkably good condition considering how long it might have been out there. A note attached to the file said the gun's serial number had been submitted to BATFE to try and find the last owner to have done a 4473 on it, which meant they'd hear back in 6 months or so. Beyond that, there wasn't anything else to go on. Working on a hunch, Nick emailed the Park County Sheriff's Department to see if they could send over any records of unclaimed vehicles towed out of the park during the time frame they were working in.

About an hour later, there was a knock at the door. “Come in.” The door swung open to show Sheriff Glick precariously balancing a file folder, a bag from Arby's, and a pair of drink cups. Nick raised an eyebrow at the food. “Springing for the good stuff, huh?” As the sheriff set the bag and cups down on the desk, he chuckled a little bit. “Well, couldn't exactly get takeout from that live bait shop you like to eat at,” referring to the sushi restaurant near the main drag. Nick took one of the offered drinks, and raised an eyebrow when he realized it wasn't soda but instead chocolate milkshake. 'Gonna be taking a nap at my desk after a lunch like this,' he thought to himself.

After the two men finished off the roast beef sandwiches and curly fries, it was time for business. Glick handed over the file folder to Nick, which was official paperwork bringing the Wyoming State Crime Lab in on the investigation into this John Doe case. A quick look through the paperwork revealed pretty much nothing outside of what he'd been able to pull up on his computer. Nick looked at the sheriff expectantly. “You wouldn't have made such a fuss unless there was something more here. What's going on, Dan?” The sheriff took off his ever-present cowboy hat and set it on the desk, running his fingers through his hair and blowing out a sigh. “I'm gonna be honest with you Nick, I've been in law enforcement over 30 years. I've seen a lot of things in my time. But this case, I can't explain it. I had to tell you in person, because otherwise I thought you'd think I'd gone round the bend. I ain't too sure I haven't myself, after this.”

“It starts out with the very first report. The hiker that found the body said that he'd heard what sounded like a woman's crying, and when he followed the noise he came across a very grown in and marshy area. A marshy area, at 7000 feet of elevation?” Nick thought about it for a brief moment. It was uncommon, but not unheard of. Though according to reports, the body had been over a hundred yards away from Elk Creek. “I confirmed it with Scott up in Park County, though. They needed rubber boots to get in there to get the body out. Anyways, this hiker swamps his way to the middle of this, and finds the body. You've seen the pictures. Under the body, Scott's boys find this pistol that's you've got now. We've all pulled guns out of streams and lakes before, they're rusty within a couple weeks. But you've seen this one! Like it was fresh out of a safe.”

Dan takes a drink of his shake, and continues. “Scott calls me up, asks if we'll take the body and the evidence. We've got better facilities and more manpower, so I say sure. That's when the fun started. You saw it, yeah? Bag half-full of water?” Nick nodded. It was the first time he'd run across that before. “We've been having flooding problems in the evidence locker... but it's from that gun. I can't tell you how or why, but it fills up an evidence bag in about two or three days. Then it pops and spills water all over the evidence below it. We had to keep it on the bottom shelf after the second time.” Nick frowned briefly and made a mental note to check with Lauren on where it's being kept. “What's more, it's been doing weird things in my department. The K9 units won't go within 50 feet of the evidence room. I've had deputies say they hear crying in the building late at night and it's always from that room.”

Dan cleared his throat, and continued in a quieter tone. “The first time they sent ten armed officers in there. There's only the one door, no way out. Cleared the room, and found nothing but a big puddle of water and a burst evidence bag.” He sighed loudly, and looked Nick dead in the eyes. Nick could see just how much the sheriff was bothered by this. “I know, I know. I sound batshit insane, like Mulder and Scully should be showing up any minute now, but I trust what I see and hear and I trust the deputies under me. Something is wrong here. I'm hoping you can figure it out, so I can sleep easy at night.”

Taken aback by the sheriff's story, Nick can only say, “We'll do our best, you can count on us.” With that, the sheriff took his leave and left Nick alone in his office to mull over what he had just heard. A haunted gun? Dan was right, that sounded straight from an X-Files episode. Still, Nick trusted the sheriff and his judgment. It's possible there was something here outside the realm of science, but Nick had an entire crime lab chock-full of science to try and prove that wrong. He picked up his phone and hit an internal number. “Gary? It's Nick. Meet me in Lauren's office.” He grabbed the folder off of his desk and headed off to Firearms.

>part 1 complete.

this is rather spooky, i like it
part 2 soon?

>also missed your stuff

part 2 this weekend, probably

>i figured everyone had forgotten me

good stuff, will be waiting on it

i like it/10

good, cant wait for more

"War" by Sebastian Junger is a fairly good one. Thing about war journalism is that it's more about the actual war than the person covering it.

[Saber Company, Continued]

The world changed after 2045. I can’t remember too much from homeschool, but we were the first to separate from the statist world. But...my memory escapes me.
I took a second to look up from my hash dinner, to glance over to Martinez, who was imbibing himself with a beer, reclining against a wooden crate with tools we stowed away inside our tank. The food, the booze, and the tool chest were marked with DYNACO logos.

The boots? DYNACO.

The Uniforms and rucksacks? DYNACO.

Spare parts for the tank? DYNACO.

Computers and thermal imaging tech? DYNACO.

The shells we fire? DYNACO.

DYNACO provided us with all the resources we needed to prosecute the will of the corporation--Our homes and our families depended on our success, as did the corporation itself.

Whitman popped his head out from his tent, a cigarette resting between his lips as he took a short drag, emerging from the small half-shell, his boots pressed firmly into the frozen ground underfoot. Frost flowers dotted the ground in front of our tents, the tank providing a windbreak from the pressure system that was building off to our west
.
I could see a break in the grey sky above, the sun sinking under the distant horizon, immolating the sole patch of blue with stripes of yellow, blue, red, even green, if you looked closely enough, the chill of darkness ready to veil the air in a blanket of frost for the 2nd night. But we weren’t sleeping another night here.

“Okay, guys,” Whitman announced, like he did every time he got big news from up top, like a coach, or a production supervisor. “CEO Barstow and The Mannequin got another job for us.”

Slowly, the members of our tank roused out of our tents and huddled around the fire we had prepared a day earlier and kept alight with loose timber from whatever we could find from the small forest fire we started the night previous.
[1/?]

The Samsonians were no more--Their bodies left as kindling or feed for the wolves that roamed this part of the Northern Hemisphere, so we were left with silence at night. Our company of tanks resting amidst the gentle prodding of winter’s approach.
“We’re looking at another two-day travel to the Eastern coast of this region, where we’re going to get a quick resupply and rearm before heading back north to have a friendly talk with Crazy Horse Company about their indiscretion the other day. We’re in DYNACO territory, so that means that we have a responsibility to Barstow to keep the frontiers here clear for further development; including chasing off squatters or encroaching corporations. Engines turn in 6 hours--get some sleep.”

The next morning was uneventful. Whitman, Martinez, Sanders and I packed up and fell into formation with the rest of Saber. We sat there for a moment, until Saber Actual came over the Net.

>“All Saber, We’ll be stepping off here...we’ll have to leave 5-1’s crew behind...I’ve been reassured DYNACO will collect the bodies today, and their families have been notified...If we could take a minute to just reflect on our loss...”

The silence was astounding. The engines turned off, the hatches opened, and everyone looked out to the field to the right of the road we had fought over the day before, where the mangled skeletons of tanks still smoldering lay. Beside a destroyed M1A3, the emblem of Saber Company remained untouched by the fires that had consumed the tank. Its crew collected and lay side by side, black wool blankets covering them, their helmets seated atop their chests, their names stenciled on with the white paint we used to mark our vehicles.

I did not know them. Despite our good harmony in combat, we didn’t know each other well enough to feel sorry--At least I didn’t. I was more disappointed they did not get to enjoy the wanton silence of nature.
[2/?]

I suppose they were enjoying a different type of silence.
The wind cut across our faces as we silently stood vigil over their bodies for a few moments, each blast bringing with it the faint stench of death.

“Okay,” Saber Actual said quietly over the net. “All Saber- Forward.”

The engines turned on and we rolled out, leaving behind the somber memory of the dead. We had a mission to prosecute. The drive to our next point was long, quiet for a few moments, until Martinez plugged his mp3 player into the AUX port. The sounds of Megadeth blared through the internal headsets of everyone, the volume quiet enough to hear incoming transmissions--mostly banter, discussions about the financial strength of DYNACO compared to the other corporations.

DYNACO came into existence after a 30-year span of proxy wars led by rogue PMCs. The corporations involved in the arming and deployment of those mercenaries. Most corporations found that creating armed wings of their company to intervene in international politics appealed to their financial benefit, from what I remembered.
Eventually, every corporation found themselves fighting each other in various roles, as well as engaging in financial jockeying for position. Those corporations that were destroyed were assimilated and became part of the conglomerate.

DYNACO was the largest conglomerate before the establishment of the new order that we were living through--overthrowing the government by electing a leader sympathetic to their ultimate goal--the establishment of an Anarcho-Capitalist government. Canada, U.S.A., Mexico and everything south of it--ceased to be nation-states.
[3/?]

In its place, Corporations like DYNACO took up the responsibility to protect, care for, educate, and support the citizens where their jurisdictions resided, all the while, fending off the last remaining nation-states, as well as enterprising corporations, or even splinter groups that were bought out by other companies, which is what happened the day before.

The small town living by the port where we were looking to resupply was walled off--accessible through a toll gate. This far out on the frontier, the residents were wary to accept anyone without some sort of identification--and financial insurance, just in case. We promptly gave them our vouchers from DYNACO; they’d have to just wirelessly transmit the information when we were done there.

The citizens were warm, caring folks who treated us with respect, as we did to them. It was an idyllic town, modestly built, a standing militia on guard at the walls and within the town, working alongside one of the thousands private police forces--Masterson Enforcement. Their reputation was good; a majority of third-party watchdogs agreed on that based on their own independent research.

DYNACO’s ships were in the harbor, paying by the hour, so our job was to assist the crew in off-loading our supplies, then getting them ready to sail in as short a time-span as possible. Barstow gave us the financial incentive to do some manual labor, but most of us felt compelled to do it anyway-- it was, as some say, “the least we could do”.

It took us 4 hours, but our cargo was offloaded, and the DYNACO freighter was aweigh, which left us the small issue of distributing the cargo and refueling. Saber Actual went to the help center in the middle of town, and payed a good amount of AmCreds (Amorphous Credits) asking for volunteers. Needless to say, the town had to convert the credits to Bitcoin to get the approximate value, but within a few moments, the blockchain updated and the jobs were posted.
[4/?]

About a dozen volunteers appeared, standing at the docks waiting for Saber Actual to distribute wallet vouchers and get them to start working. Didn’t take long once they got the vouchers, and they helped immensely, cutting the workload down to 3 hours. By this point, the Sun had started to set, and the volunteers had left already. Sanders was too busy trying to flirt with one of the local girls who had taken a fancy to his uniform, however plain it was. Perhaps she liked the cut of it, but when time came to roll out after supper, Sanders gave her a voucher for DYNACO products, with his email on it. She then went on her way.

The mountain range to our north became illuminated in the sunset, as another torrent of clouds poured down the side of the low hills ahead of us. The drive would be a long endeavor, another 2 days to link up with Crazy Horse company if we drove through the mountains, but we were planning on taking the coast to the East, bypassing the mountains. They were no place for a tank company. Saber Company would link up with our partners, Gauntlet and Shield at the old town of Montpelier, where Crazy Horse was waiting for us. That’d make 43 tanks against...We weren’t sure. We were going to wait on The Mannequin to give us exact estimates, as she was closer to the intelligence company she had hired for us.

[Montpelier]
[2 Days Later]

DYNACO had made a good established beachhead in this old continent, and we were the spearhead for them. It had been a very slow process taking territory for the company, as it had been a game of trade contracts and mutual agreements to come under control, with the occasional armed response to our approach.

Crazy Horse had to fuck it up, however. The Mannequin relayed the information to us that she found out that the Samsonians had a grand total of--Nothing--In their crypto wallets and couldn’t afford to pay Crazy Horse.

>Someone else gave them the finances to do so.

[5/?]

We had left the road sometime before and were now in a long-abandoned grain field, where the wheat flourished freely from the black soil, leaving the crops unattended. We lined up and sat just a mile outside the city gates of Montpelier, all the while John Denver plucked his strings for us, singing Rocky Mountain High, feeding the audio into the company’s radios. We were holding quietly, anxiously. Would we get attacked before we had a chance to react? Always a possibility.

“Cut the music,” Saber Actual said. Whitman complied. Saber Actual seemed pretty upset about something. “We’re expecting Crazy Horse in 15 mikes. Load Sabot and get your engines on, weapons ready. Standby for a transmission from The Mannequin”.

There was a period of silence, followed by the motherly-like voice of The Mannequin.

“Saber Company...I congratulate you on your rapid response to the Samsonian incident 3 days prior. Rest assured, Your client appreciates your professionalism--He has said it firsthand.
Unfortunately, our work is not done; despite DYNACO’s success here, we are at the flashpoint of a potential war between DYNACO and the Slav-owned KWP. They financially intervened in the Samsonian Incident by paying off The Crazy Horse PMC. We are planning on meeting the PMC here to reiterate the wishes of our client--Not to Fuck with him. For the duration, you, Gauntlet, and Shield PMCs will be on DYNACO Payroll until this incident is settled, no matter how long it takes.”

-“Holy shit,” Sanders said quietly. “Another big war.”
[6/?]

Martinez gave an audible “Hmm”, alluding to his agreement as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. “We’re looking at a long fight ahead of us, right boss?” He was asking Whitman. Whitman waited a moment before responding.

“Ask Driver.”

-“Me?” I asked. “I don’t know the first thing about the situation...I just drive the tank. That’s my name, boss.” Whitman shook his head and responded.

“KWP has been establishing territory here in the Contested zone for years...Since we arrived from the Atlantic, We’ve been gaining territory much faster than we had estimated--Faster than the KWP had anticipated. We’re two thousand miles away from each other...The Contested Zone is more like a corridor, or a Demilitarized zone, so to speak...”

-“So we’re looking at war, A long war.” I concluded.

“Looks like it,” Whitman said. “I suggest mailing home most of your personal effects from Seville...We’re not going home anytime soon.”

Saber Actual's voice came through the net just then, his voice tense with a mixture of fear, determination, and grit.

>"All Saber, Intel has indicated a large force pushing through the city ruins. Orders are to advance and investigate. You are weapons free. Roll out!"

Just like that, we were going into battle again. Tanks in the city, most likely Crazy Horse, backed by KWP. That was apparent now--It wasn't just a war for territory. This was a fight between PMCs representing corporations--An action that was illegal; it went against the PMC-Corp treaty signed decades ago. We weren't supposed to represent corporate fights. This was supposed to be a lawyer's' job.

Alas, the pay was good, and 43 tanks rolled into the city, unsure of what we were going to find.
[7/?]

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We pushed through the highway, some weird name, La Langue-dough-Sin, or something, and found ourselves amidst the ruins of what was once a modern city. Carcasses of buildings hollowed out and stripped of anything of value or flattened into mounds of rubble and dust. Mangled steel and ashen wood littered the street, but it did not hinder our movement, clocking in somewhere between twenty to forty kilometers to navigate the rubble.

Our tank was on point, Whitman barking directions while pulling double duty--scanning the GPS and looking for targets, while Martinez kept his eyes on the sights. Sanders relayed radio traffic to our sister companies while I kept our tank column moving--Slowly, but steadily.

We had just crossed into a heavily urbanized area and drove past a supermarket when Whitman suddenly barked in surprise.

“Identify Tank! 500 Meters! All Saber break off and establish a firing line, due Northwest!”

I rotated the tank and adjusted its position behind the abandoned supermarket, driving into it. The treads flattened the rusted shelves and the muzzle pierced through the back wall, backing up to allow the cinder block to fall freely, allowing the gun and sights to peer out of the open wall. The other tanks arranged themselves as best as they could, given the terrain. Our real-time satellite displayed tanks still covering the road from both flanks while several tanks engaged the King Black Panther in the distance.
[8/?]

“Martinez! Do you have a shot?” Whitman shouted.

- “Got his turret, nothing else. Sabot Away.”

The fire kicked more cinder dust out of the hole in the wall, clouding our color monitors. I quickly switched to thermal as I double checked our GPS. We were just 2 miles outside of the city center.

>“Load Sabot!”
>-“UP!”
>“Fire!”

Another thunderous shockwave. Cinder blocks begin to knock against the chassis of the tank, followed in part by the other tanks, engaging the tank as well, until a plume of smoke bled into the grey sky above the horizon.

“Killed. Scanning!” Whitman kept his eyes on periscope, rotating as best as he could. He assumed all was calm, until someone shouted on Vox-

> “Crazy Horse position West! Looks like a Golf Course! Gauntlet, break off and engage West! We’ll take the flank and secure the advance!”

The Leopard X tanks that comprised Gauntlet Company danced away from our positions, leaving plumes of cinder smoke and dust, their dapple camouflage working very well in the foliage as they disappeared from our flank. We backed the tank out to maximize our maneuverability and to keep our flank protected as Saber Actual gave commands over the net.

> “All Saber, Press into the city. Shield Company, Take the right flank and cover our advance into the city.

> -“Roger.”

Whitman checked his GPS one more time.

“Driver, get back on the road and push into the city, Lead Saber in.”
This was it. I felt knots in my stomach as I throttled forward into the city proper. The engine masked my anxious sigh as we pressed forward, the smell of cinder block filled my nostrils as the winds kicked up from the sea to our East, fluffing up the billowing gray clouds and coaxing moisture from them. It would rain soon, and hopefully, would give us some concealment from the enemy.
[Chapter End]

A hamster chooses, a gerbil obeys!

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>Annie is back
Oh yes, more

here's a (you)

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aigth, previous stories are binned just need to add that user to the folder

get insulin ready because sweet lil' cocoa is archived
pastebin.com/aZupbQrb

fuck you user, you made me laugh
pastebin.com/CNBJy9bv

>that story
itll be fixed just gonna take some time since the back up of that one is not properly named nor categorized like now

ayyy, you werent kidding, im hyped this is gonna be good

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and i forgot my trip like a potato

is damaged goods going to continue?

>all these (you)s
I'll keep working! Thank you!

I haven't forgotten.

>Glad you got new shit, too

Chapter 13 is now live on pastebin!

pastebin.com/fKpRMtyW

and chapter theme...
youtube.com/watch?v=KCFHHtC9Dws
really helped solidify the tone as I was writing

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>trent reznor
Loving the comfy ancap feels. Keep it coming.

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>doesn't know about nu-reznor

pssssh!

Short update here in a bit.

You sure you ain't khaoskid663, brotato?

There is nothing wrong with Levi's. Who even makes this

>Last time, it was Range Day
>They were examining the targets
>He shot for shit

“Where exactly were you aiming?”

“Right in the center, actually.”

“You didn’t get anywhere near that.”

“Yeah, but at least they all stayed in one little area. It looks like I was shooting high and a bit right.”

“Those are REALLY HIGH though! You’re almost off the paper! I thought you were a better shot than that,” she added with a sly grin and a camera shot of my first target.

“Yeah, well…new gun, unfamiliar sights, didn’t know where the zero point was, and-“

“Excuses, excuses. Do you need to put that new one up?”

I considered spending more time doing just that, then decided against it. “Nah, lemme just mark these out, and we can reuse the same target.” Marking done with an ever-handy sharpie, we headed back to the bench. I should have expected it, but Duchess certainly didn’t expect to see Elizabeth absently rearranging the ammo clips.

“Shooting high, aren’t you,” she stated. Duchess and I glanced at each other when we heard that. “I was last zeroed to 200 yards. Why didn’t you ask?”

“I…never, uh,” I stammered.

“I know. There aren’t many of us out there, and the ones that are don’t like to flaunt themselves. Before you ask, unless you change my front sight out for a different sight, you won’t be able to get a 100 yard zero.” She cracked her neck and stretched for a second before asking, “You ready for more?”

“What about windage? Anything I should know?”

“Windage?” Duchess asked. Like I mentioned earlier, she knew the basics but was almost lost with the fine-tuning of shooting for accuracy. I still would not like to piss her off if she had access to any of my guns. Or her dad’s guns. That guy probably had all of his tweaked to shoot a flea’s legs off at 50 yards.

“Yeah, babe, it’s the left and right adjustment. Remember how I was shooting to the right?”

“Oh yeah…How do you fix that, anyway?”

“I have a standard windage adjustment knob to the right of the rear sight. Right now, at this distance, each click is an inch. How far off were you?”

“I want to say six inches or so…wait, Duchess do you have that picture handy? The one you took just now?”

As we looked at her phone and compared the rings on the picture to the rings on the paper we had nearby, a thought dawned on me.

“Elizabeth, how am I supposed to hit something 100 yards away if-“

“You aim lower. In this case, aim for the balls if you want to hit them in the heart.”

I had never heard her use that kind of language before. Duchess obviously had not, either. Elizabeth was oblivious to both our surprised looks and the fact that neither of us were looking at the phone any longer. After an empty moment of idly looking at the empty brass, she continued.

“If they’re closer than that, you don’t have to aim as low. So if the bastard’s about 50 yards, aim for his gut, and if he’s around 20 yards, you don’t really have to aim as long as he fills your sight. Same as going the other way from 100, you don’t aim as high, and getting back to zero at 200. Now, if you see a bunch of them 300 or so yards out, aiming higher or at the guy’s head behind him would work better.”

“Elizabeth?” Duchess asked.

“And if they- Yes?” she finally stopped, realizing that the world had come to a relative halt. “I was rambling, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Duchess drawled out, “just a little bit. How long have you known all of that?”

Elizabeth leaned back, sitting on the table with her feet on the bench, and stared at the sky for a second before answering. “I…don’t know. I guess I always knew, from the time I was test-fired during production. They tried to teach the soldiers some basics, but not all of them caught on right away. Sometimes the smart ones would just guess and work their way to a target using the puff of dirt as their marker. Other times, the dumbasses would just point in a direction and hope they shot someone. When they started using those Thompsons and Garands, us bolt-guns were held back and changed to fit service as a sniper. Now, their training stuck with them. They could adjust on the fly, kept cool even when shit hit the fan and everything went FUBAR-“

“Whoa, hey now. Since when do you use that kind of language?”

“Since she’s seen some shit, hon,” I replied. By this point I was seeing her in a new light. “You good to talk about that?”

“Yeah…uh, yes. I’m okay.” She stood up and brushed away some scattered brass, tried rearranging some clips of ammo for the umpteenth time. “We’re good. So, back to shooting, right?”

---------------------

>There is nothing wrong with Levi's.
But that's where you're wrong, kiddo. They decided that instead of just making pants they had to take a stand against guns.

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The second part of that article.

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“Can she hear us in the trunk?”

We were headed back home, range trip complete, after more groupings to show where Elizabeth was impacting. Duchess and I spoke little about her brief revelation while she was in the open, barely deciding that we would discuss it in the car on the way back. Now that we were in the car, even ten minutes down the road, nothing had been said until now.

“She did mention that I was singing along to the radio that first range trip I had, where the stock blew off.” I decided against mentioning the exact circumstances for that particular interaction, mostly for my sake. “Also some specifics about bitching to Pandora. But she was in the case in the front seat. Far more padding between her and us now.”

“So what are we going to do about her, uh, issue?”

“You don’t have to pussyfoot around it. She has PTSD, probably pretty bad, and was just able to hide most of it until recently.”

“How did you deal with it?” Instead of looking at her phone or out to the fields we were passing, she had twisted to face me almost directly.

“Before I met you?” I was not uncomfortable speaking about this now, but I had spent years on my own and in various toxic relationships.

“Yeah. I still see it in your face from time to time, but I know it took you a while to even get a handle on it. You never talk about that.”

Our drive was still going to take a bit, so my silence did not say I was avoiding the question. That was another reason I loved this woman: she knew the difference between gathering and organizing complex thoughts and apparently ignoring her. I finally did answer when I sorted everything out in my own head.

“At first, I hid behind my idea of macho. Fronted it, postured, façade, whatever you want to call it. When I left the Corps I was less organized because I was still too young to consider it. Didn’t have an objective. But I was old enough to drink, so I did. A lot.”

“That bitch didn’t help much, either.”

“Heh, no…no she didn’t. Anyway, staying good and not running back into the law is where you found me. By that time, I was already on the mend. I just needed someone to tell me that, despite my fuck-ups, I was not a fuck-up.”

“So, what do we do for her? What can we do?”

“First, we let her take her time. Once she’s comfortable enough around us, even if it’s just when we’re the only three in the house, she’ll talk about it. I have an idea that seemed to work with the guys I knew.” I smirked. There was very little chance Duchess would let it fly, but if it worked, it would get her loosen up, too.

What was supposed to be a long drive was made quite short by my plan to help out our unique roommate.

pastebin.com/53kxnBSU

Paste provided at the right time this time.

>Y'all know the drill
>Sorry for so long between posts
>Got a promotion and work is insane

Nice update. Can't wait to hear more wartime stories. Also, when is the waifu and raifu threesome gonna happen?

is ok, we all have our own lives outside of this board, as a fellow writefag who doesn't update very often & when I do it tends to be short, I understand.

That said moar pls?

I think Duke would be a dead man in very short order should Duchess ever catch even a hint of either one of the other two considering such things.

then again, my personal motto is "when I die, I'd prefer to go with a bang!"

Nigga, your WANT me to die?

I posted a poll some time ago asking what y'all wanted. Comfy was the winner. You will get at least 3 more updates before I move back to rooftop Koreans.

If this situation with Elizabeth was real, you bet your ass no three-way or infidelity shenanigans would happen. As it is, I don't even need to ever jack off.

As far as writing lewd, I have no intent to try. Not to say that I haven't read my fair share of smut, but I don't know how to build that kind of tension or execute the scene without using phrases that I've seen written so BADLY that I've come to detest them.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll do a small scene that fades to black before Duke and Duchess's activities are spelled out.

cmon dude, waifu and raifu. no balls

You won't die. You just have to assert dominance and fuck your wife into submission first.

I sat on the curb watching my life go up in flames. A while later I would learn the fire was caused by the people in the apartment below me cooking meth, but at the time I didn't care why it happened. All I knew was that there was no way I could come back from this, even when the insurance came through I'd still be screwed. Even with the payout I wouldn't be able to afford the deposit for a new place... replacing clothes... dishes... furniture... everything...

I sat with these thoughts swirling around in my head, barely able to focus. I couldn't believe that this was happening, it had to be some sick joke.

The rifle, my Yugo SKS still felt hot in my hands, by the time I realized what was going on it was almost too late.

The fire spread to my unit first, I woke up to a smoke filled room and the flickering orange light of flames in the haze. I only had time to get dressed in cargo pants and a jacket before grabbing my rifle before getting my ass towards the front door as fast as possible, I got my boots only after tripping over the backpack with my laptop dropped by the door. And that's all I had, all that was left of my life.

"Hey, buddy" a voice behind me said. And I turned to see one of the first responders holding out an old moving blanket. "The news crew will raise hell if they see a guy sitting out here with a rifle. Wrap it up will ya?"

"Yeah, sure." I replied, rolling the most valuable thing I had left up in rough blue fabric that smelled of oil, gas, and mold.

I gave a non-committal answer about going to a friend's place when he asked if I had a place to stay and walked off, I couldn't stay and watch anymore. The first responders let me leave with little fuss, but only after assuring them that I was fine and had no injuries. I guess they had decided to write off the entire structure, as the building blazed brightly in the overcast night.

Fire trucks and news vans continued to fly past me as I walked towards downtown, eventually turning off the main road near the college and heading to a 24hr coffee shop I liked. I didn't see a single person as I walked along back roads through dark and silent neighborhoods, and even if I had seen someone I didn't have the energy to talk or even put up a fight.

The parking lot split two lines of shops on the street, the cafe and bookstore on one side, and on the other a bagel shop and record store on the corner. Even the streetlights seemed dull as I cut through the alley behind the bagel shop and saw that there were only a few cars in the parking lot. I hurried across the lot, the wrapped up SKS still clutched tightly in my arms.

I checked again to make sure no one was around before quickly ducking back behind the bookstore. Dave had a camera up, but he had asked me on Tuesday when I stopped in if I knew how to fix one so that would not be a problem.

Gingerly unwrapping my SKS, I set the rifle down leaning it against the brick wall.

Resting my hand on the front portion of the handguard I muttered "it's safe, you can change if you want."

It happened in an instant, smooth well cared for wood switching to the OD fabric of the woman's jacket. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and a barely audible "user..." was said before I pulled her into a tight hug and tried not to lose control...

After a while she pulled back and readjusted her wool cap to cover the feline ear that was poking out one side. Looking at me with a half smile Katya said "We'll be fine user, we always are. now, lets get some coffee and decide where to go from here. Although you look like you could use something a fair bit stronger than a mint mocha"

pastebin.com/aJajWfR5

So, I'm back after way too long.

Gonna be rewriting the SKS and user stuff I wrote, hopefully I'll stick with it this time.

>implying any woman called "Duchess" would submit to a mortal man
you clearly haven't been around strong-willed women

signed: someone who grew up in a house with two of them, each one claiming the other is worse.

well i like this start
>an ancient fag returned

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How would you write a buddy cop movie with An American WW2 vet and A Russian soldier set in the 80s?

youtube.com/watch?v=61nYwoswwyI

a G.I. enters Germany in early 1945 to annihilate the Nazi regime, enters Berlin soon after the war, falls in love with a German girl, stays in Berlin even after the split & through the Berlin Airlift, travels between East and West Berlin whenever he pleases just because he can, in 80s gets drunk with a Russian soldier in an East-Berlin bar, things get fucked-up & they need to un-fuck the things because reasons.

more?

that's the beginning of the movie mind you

Working on it

>You actually binned my shitpost
Wow, I am touched. If that is what actual writefags feel, I will increase my (you) giving.

I wasn't here the first time, so I'm excited to see how this develops.

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That poor Mk23. Glad Annie can get her talking. Great start to the new adventure. Glad to see some more Annie.

Was alright. Not sure I quite got the whole drug company PMC thing. Interesting dynamic with his daughter.

Don't ya know, wars are funny now.

Ooh! Haunted pistol. I like it.

Ah shit. Global warming is here again. Some good shit you got here.

Didn't think Peng had a human side to him. Explains why he's so rough on Hiro.

Guess I'm not wearing Levi's anymore...

Welcome back. Really good stuff. Hope Elizabeth gets the right help. Too bad there aren't geist support groups for things like this.

Oh man. That's a heavy beginning, man.

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and everyone else.

I'm probably gonna rewrite Don's arc from the top to start at the end of his journey and show how he discovers himself, then meet back to where he's at.

Good to see you back.

wetasphalt.com/content/how-write-book-three-days-lessons-michael-moorcock

Some good tips for structure

whatever you do, DO NOT put the end in the beginning, it is one of the worst sins you can commit

it is good to have a plan for staging the character's change, and in fact, it's always good to have an ending in mind regardless of what you're writing, so start there with where you want it to go and what you want to say, and then work backwards, you may be able to fill in the gaps between what you've got but it's easier to work backwards sometimes

do you have a theme in mind or is this just meant to be a generic character conclusion piece? either way, you need a theme

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I was trying to type this at work earlier, but apparently my ISP at work is blocked because someone shitposted harder than me.

It's actually about self rediscovery.

>Goes into the Army and does well, enjoying his time
>Becomes a combat medic realizing he's interested in saving lives and protecting those unable to
>Receives Army Cross but doesn't think he deserved it
>Gets lost as he leaves the Army but still has his family
>Four years of him being unsure of himself, trying to be as good a parent to Ash as possible
>Four years of him losing himself, feeling like the best parts of him stayed in that desert

So the divorce happens and he winds up learning to get back to who he was.

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