/wfg/ Writefag General- IJN edition

>He'd found himself somewhere, he thought, on the end of the earth, staring out into the pass, beyond which was a valley, mostly unexplored, that stretched on to another set of hills, and then to oblivion.
>"How much longer?" Molly demanded impatiently as she appeared ready to go with her pack on her shoulders and her MK18 slung across her chest.
"Forever." Kyle answered as he pushed the cotter pin back into the bolt carrier. As he crossed the firing pin with the codder pin, a flash of white caught his eye, and he slowly turned the multitool to his eye and looked at the laser engraved logo that caught his eye.
"Voda? Maybe dad knows that brand." Kyle whispered to himself.
>"HEY! Answer the question." Molly demanded.
"What question?"
>"What's your price?"
"To what? Compromise something that means anything to me?"
>"Maybe. Or to own you. Like literally buy you."
"More than you got. Maybe you could pay for it as an indentured servant."
>"Or I could just tie you to a radiator while I brainwash you."
"Where's the fun in that?" Kyle asked as he slid the bolt back into the receiver.
>"Where's the fun in hunting a bunch of radioactive wolves?"
"Not much to be had the way they swarm you every time you get near them."
>"So you're not having fun with it?"
"Not having fun? WOMAN... There's a reason god gave us full auto." Kyle said as he popped the pin back in place, swung himself to his feet, and started toward the town.
>Molly stared at him for a moment as though he were insane before she realized that he was right.
>"....Yeah. Wait for me." she muttered as she ran after him.
"Jim! Come along! We're going hunting! Emma, untie Andrew and catch up with us."
>"HEY! I DIDN'T TIE HIM UP!"
>Kyle would've been more surprised if the affirmative remark he heard wasn't "HMHMH RHNMHM!"
"Catch up, tards. We're hunting." Kyle stated without bothering to look for the source of the voices.

>He heard the fast paced footsteps as Jim met with him, pack shouldered and mark18 at the ready. He racked in a round just to be certain.
>"So where to?"
"I have an idea for a spot. Oh, and I hope you brought food. We're staying out all night."
>"Of course, I always plan to get caught out."
"Good. We're heading to a warehouse about twelve blocks into the city and we'll see if we can observe any animal activity."
>"Should we split up? Get some interlocking fire or something?"
"Fuck no. NEVER split up here. All it takes is about five seconds and you could get mauled to death in a spot where we'll never be able to help you."
>"Yeah... Where the fuck is Nelson? Crazy fuck disappeared."
"Probably had some cognitive overload and he's off looking at shit somewhere that confirms his beliefs straight from Siege by James Mason."
>"So you think he's off somewhere cursing the place like the whore of Babylon?"
"Almost certainly. We had a guy like him but less cogent back home. We called him 'Read Siege.' When the FBI siege started, a negotiator came up to the front gate demanding we surrender. He walked up to him, and when the negotiator shrank away from him a little bit, he GRABBED the poor bastard, licked the side of his face, and went 'I can taste your FEAR!' The look on the poor bastard's face was priceless."
>"I'd remark about it, but..."
"Watch, he'll turn up covered in blood."

youtu.be/CWmCrQVFujk
Alright, niggas, rate, hate, whatever, have a good week.

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youtube.com/watch?v=Q-CVfyoDxLI

88 PAGE SPECIAL

Did you ever have a page 38 Special?

I didn't, no. Should I have?

I like you user.
youtube.com/watch?v=eyhMgXmR3w4

So Matthews isn't only a low-down human trafficker, but is using an anti-human trafficking task force to stop Don and the gang. Parks is gonna be tore up when he figures this out.

Solid work here m80. Also, hooray for milestones!

There's a *little* more to it than that, but you got the right idea.

I'm looking forward to seeing what that *little* more is.

What I'm trying to figure out how to do is finally tie all the stories together in one, who's Jewing who.

There should be another update out tonight regarding this.

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To add, remember that Don's EX-WIFE who Don (has been separated with for a month) is also on this task force.

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I have one other story (also in progress, supposed to be grittier and more gut-punchy), a short blurb, and a speedfiction exercise. If you see anything else on there, it's tied into the 1903. Trust me, it's the first thing I wrote for this thread, so it's pretty shit.
pastebin.com/u/DUKE-of-Onions

Thanks, bro.

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WHAT THE ABSOLUTE SHIT
I COPY-PASTED THE BIN AND IT IS NOT ONIONS
THIS BETTER NOT BE SOME FUCKERY BY THE SITE WORD-FILTER BOT
pastebin.com/u/DUKE-of-Onions

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Okay, so somewhere along the way, AFTER I had already made the bin, people pissed off gookmoot enough to get a filter involved that would change the name of the sauce that goes on sushi, that fermented basedbean (soibean? trying to get the url across without tripping the filter) sauce, which is salty as all fuck. Or the spanish translation of "I am", if that helps at all.

>pastebin.com/u/DUKE-of-S o y

No, there are not fucking extra spaces in there, fuck this gay bot in his robot ass with a digital codeblender.

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Patrician taste. I like you too user.

Fuck it, doing it old school. I had apparently added this all in the past few months, but somehow I only thought I had added a paragraph or two. Where were we?

Oh, yeah!

>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.

“Okay, Elizabeth, you can come back out,” I called after we had unpacked the range bags. Naturally, with a blink she appeared. But instead of her more relaxed appearance she had reverted to her formal, almost boot-camp robotic programming. “Hey, chill. You’re okay, you’re okay,” I tried calming her with a friendly hand to her shoulder. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing, really.”

“My ears hear what you’re saying, but my eyes tell me you’re lying. That, and I have way too many sisters to believe that when you say ‘nothing’ you actually mean ‘nothing’.”

“I’m good, I promise.”

I gave her a glance, then decided to drop it. This was not going to help her, and it was nowhere near what Duchess and I had decided to do. “If you say so. I’m going to game on the xBox for a bit. Duchess went to snag some food, and there’s beer in the fridge for you.” With that, I turned and left the spare room to grab myself a beer before starting the game.

Naturally, I choose a first-person shooter, and naturally it’s a World War 2 game. It held no particular place in my heart, but it killed the time as well as Nazis, and we all know that any good Nazi is a dead Nazi. Also because the online gamer these days is roughly 12 years old, I opted to take the scenic route and play the campaign. Plus, there’s a solid sniping mission, where I get to use a 1903A4.

Somewhere halfway through one of the boring tank-assist missions I hear the fridge clink open, some rummaging, and then hear a bottle pop open. I have about another 10 minutes before I get to snipe people from a belltower, so I chug along and toss as many grenades as I can in order to finish the mission. During loading screens I toss back a swig or two and hear, barely, that Elizabeth has decided to join me in the living room. She sat on the other couch, but the point is that she is here instead of doing whatever guns do when they are left alone. Some people claim that they murder people, but that is a discussion for another day.

“Which game is that?”

“Call of Duty, World at War. You want to join in?”

“You can do that?”

“Well, yeah. Not everyone wants to finish a storyline alone. Let me get you the controller.”

She toyed around with the introductory level while getting used to the commands and controls while I went and refreshed our drinks. She was by no means good at the game, but the point was to acquaint her with it.

“Okay, ready?”

“…sure?”

First missions are usually an easy level anyways, so making sure my newest gaming buddy stayed alive was not too difficult. All we had to do was take and hold an objective.

“The game is wrong.”

This was new. This was also what I was hoping to achieve. “About what?”

“Almost all of it. There were very few submachine guns, but every person in this squad has one. Another thing, this is what they call a squad? It’s five guys! That’s barely a team!” She looked like she was winding up for a longer rant, but Duchess thankfully arrived before that.

“Is she calling you out for being a bad Team Leader?” I heard from the entryway.

“She’s explaining that everything’s wrong, starting with weapon loads.”

“And it doesn’t end there! This is literally the wrong way people would give orders, make radio calls, and even talk to each other!”

>all hail holy trips

“Let me help you unload the car,” I said, turning off my controller. This let Elizabeth play solo, and she was already comfortable enough with the controls to keep her busy.

“How’s it working? She talking more about it yet?” Duchess inquired once we were out of earshot.

I laughed and grabbed some of the larger bags. “Babe, she literally just opened up before you got home. She’s only had about a beer and a half. And she’s also just barely started having a personality.” I tried opening the door to the house, but like the dumbass I can be, I forgot that I needed a free hand to do it.

“Just as long as she’s improving,” Duchess admonished while she opened the door.

“THAT ISN’T HOW THE GUN WORKS AT ALL!”

Duchess and I shared a look and continued to unload in silence. Elizabeth, for her part, continued ranting about the inconsistencies with the portrayal of World War Two. Most of them were new to me, but then again, I never met my granddad and my step-granddad was only involved with Iwo Jima in a support role.

I snagged two more beers and went back to the couch. “How do you know so much about the other guns in there, anyway?” I asked casually, handing her a freshly opened container.

“Because I was there. I may not have exposed myself that often, but I was always aware of what was going on even if I was just a gun. Besides, when I did look like a soldier, it was easy as hell to just hide the hair and look like a teenage boy. There were more than a few in any of the units I was in, and everyone was always dirty, anyway.”

“You don’t exactly look like you’re…uh…90 years old or so.”

She gulped back some more beer with the game on pause. “Thanks, but we guns don’t age the same way. When we break, or wear out, or explode,” she let out a snort and I caught her looking at me with a smirk, “and if there’s enough of us left to save, we usually get parts swapped back in until we’re good as new. After that, our only real enemy is neglect and rust.”

Duchess popped her head around the corner and said, “Well, if you still have time to drink and reminisce, maybe I could get some help with the stew. If it isn’t too much trouble. Or anything.” Then she was gone.

“Dibs on cutting the veg!” I exclaimed as I dashed to the kitchen.

“Then…what can I do?”

“I need someone to cube the meat. Try to have them all be under half an inch cubes,” Duchess directed.

As we moved to our assigned areas and duties, Duchess oversaw everything and kept the conversation flowing almost seamlessly. “So if you’re constantly replaced, how old are you really?”

“I was first produced in 1942, so it was a bit after Pearl Harbor but well before D-Day. I did make the landing, but I was wrapped in plastic at that point because that was the first time I went to the field for anything other than an exercise.”

“Those cubes are about the largest we need for the stew. There we go, that size is perfect.” Duchess went back to checking her pot and whatever kitchen witchery she did with it. “You said ‘produced’ in 1942. What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I’m obviously not a human.” I decided to keep my mouth shut because she was talking far more than we expected. My original plan was just to loosen her up with some booze, get her distracted, and then keep her talking about anything other than war itself. I also wanted to be quiet because I could only assume that anything I said about her obviously being a human would be taken as hitting on her, and Duchess is scary good with knives. “So, I wasn’t born. I was produced, just like any other rifle that Remington or anyone else crafted. Are these a good size?”

“Yes, perfect. The pot’s not ready, so you can move them to the side. How are my veggies going?” she called out.

“So far so good,” I answered, leaning to the side so she could see. I was almost halfway done and took the opportunity to break for another swig of beer.

“Good. Elizabeth, you mentioned that you were always aware, even as a gun. Did you know that you were different than the other guns?” I was so glad my back was turned and I was already doing something, because I would have quit just to listen. I was curious as hell.

“That’s…difficult to explain. I knew, in a way, that something was different. I knew that I could see and feel, but I didn’t have any control over myself. Or my abilities. I just..” she faded off, now forgetting that she was in the middle of a story.

“What do you remember first?” God, I love that woman. “You don’t have to…”

“No, it’s fine. I never had anyone ask, so it’s somewhat…difficult.”

I was not going to interrupt if I could help it, but the vegetables were nice and diced. “Babe, veggies?”
“Yeah, right here,” she pointed as she moved to the side to grab bouillon cubes. After popping out two, she handed them to me. “One cup oughta do it.”

The number one rule in my profession is “build good rapport,” and I was not so sure if this was good or bad rapport. Bad or negative rapport is bonding over pain. That, while still rapport, is never as good as good rapport, things that make the other person smile or laugh. I mulled over this particular issue while heating water to blend the beef bouillon.

“Well, okay. The first memories aren’t clear. They’re muddy, like a dream. Or a half-remembered dream, anyway.” Elizabeth’s slicing slowed a bit as she tried to focus on her past. “Honestly, it’s better if I showed you.”

“Hang on,” I paused the muddling of the cubes in the hot water and wondered aloud, “how would anyone be able to ‘show’ us a memory?”

“That’s actually the simple part. You know how we can read each other’s thoughts when you shoot me?”

“You can do that?” Duchess asked incredulously.

“Well, yeah. Like that time you held my stock and I swore I would do nothing to hurt either of you.”

“I thought I heard voices in my head…”

“Right. That was me.” She finished cubing the last of the meat and looked around. “Uh…the meat?”

“Perfect, dump them all in the middle. How’s the bouillon?”

“Just about there,” I respond while grabbing for my half-empty beer.

“So. Okay. You can swap thoughts while you’re a gun?” She waved the wooden spoon in the air as she was trying to figure out how to phrase the question, almost like a conductor with a baton.

“Not just as a gun. I can do that as I am now, but it can look like a séance,” she laughs. “Definitely not something for right now, but maybe another time.”

“That’s fair, because it’s dinner time when the stew is ready. How long is that, babe?” I ask as I trash the empty beer.

“Maybe another 45 minutes to simmer. If you don’t want to burn your faces off, you’ll need another 5 or so after you put it in the bowls.”

“Awesome. We’ll finish that next level and call it quits by then. Elizabeth, wanna head back and see how many Jerries you can bury?” Her grin was all I needed.

>end update
>link to current story - pastebin.com/53kxnBSU

As always, critiques and ways to write better are greatly appreciated.

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Just want to say I hope all of you are doing well and having a good day! Keep up the great work everyone!

pastebin.com/2v7CcnUB

Time for some of that good character development.

Neat and comfy, just the way I like my geist stories.

All that remains is for Parks to reach out, or be reached out to. Good job my dude.

In writing this, I realize Parks has been awake for roughly four days to a week.

If you don't make it painfully obvious, no one will care. Case in point, I hadn't noticed.

Shit- I need to write in somehow or convey to my artist to make Parks increasingly more exhausted as the story continues, with him being powered by sheer will and adrenaline.

Though in other things.

If my characters had a voice actor, who would they be done by? I came up with the security voice from Insurgency(first one) as Don as a likely contender.

I picture James as Alex Jones, but with a higher voice. I'd probably pick the popular token zip for Parks, but I have no idea who said zip is right now. Guess we could do Bruce Lee, even though he isn't popular as he used to be.

i like it, i r8 it 8/8

Thanks fren!

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bump

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a battleship supercarrier?
is there a story about it or is bumpanon just bumping with cool shit

There's not a story about it yet. :^)

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Gun gf for life!

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>mfw will never have an AKM -gf

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Here's another for you user. If post the other screenshots of the ones I wrote buy they are to long so I had to do it in sections. Should have done it on computer but was at work at three time.

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bump

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Bumping for my best friend, who worked at Taco Bell for a while and had some stories about cleaning the bathroom.

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don't you fucking die on me.

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>filename
Come on out, Michigan, I know it's you.

bumping for more construct stuff
>inb4 he replies

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I'd like a gordita supreme and a crunch wrap.

I don't wanna.

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Fine. Here's an old gem from over a year ago.

pastebin.com/M1u9XVEC

That's so weird to say. Over a year ago. It's really been that long? Anyways, have fun reading a thing that started me off writing.

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*blocks your path*
what do Jow Forums?

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My daughter does this all the time. Head pat and pick her up.

she did say carry, would be pretty hard not to at that point

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I remember this. Man, it's really been a year? Here's to more autistic adventures.

subtle demand -bump

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Wish Guardbro would comeback and do more drawings.

bump

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God no, I'm glad that his samefaced waifushit isn't being spammed everywhere anymore.

its people like
that we cant have nice things

just so you know, you replied to two different people, I posted and

in case you doubt the fact that you were replying to two people instead of one

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k

>complaining about someone drawing anthropomorphized raifus and/or people posting the pics
where do you think you are?

>where do you think we are?
arfcom

>look back through Jow Forumsorea paste
>it was ctrl+v'd twice
OH GOD OH FUCK
fixed it now.

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bumping for more not heaven

bump

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has irish-angery-gat senpai updated yet

oi, jarhead
viscosity is the thiccness and slickness of the oil, not a particle or type of debris.

>not recognizing a famous halo quote
I'm not going back and fixing it, since I finished working on this a long time ago and it would ruin the quote. I know viscosity doesn't apply now but over a year ago, I had no idea. Just followed the rule of cool.

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are you ever going to add more? it was quite good.

Funny you should ask...

youtube.com/watch?v=3JE4ILhcomo

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>inb4 that's from WWII

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