/wfg/ Writefag General - "Nothin' Personnel, NATO" Edition

A place to share stories, write, provide criticism and have criticism provided. If it's even tangentially Jow Forums, it's welcome. Also, feel free to discuss other Jow Forums-tier literature and books.

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Other urls found in this thread:

discord.gg/uD5ctwW
pastebin.com/u/TryAgainBragg
pastebin.com/yYV729zh.
youtube.com/watch?v=UkXEjzApCXo
pastebin.com/XESNrWd7
pastebin.com/Q61S8jHG
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If you join, tell us whether you're a writer or a lurker. You'll be kicked if you don't respond within 5 minutes of joining with a message stating why you were kicked. You're free to rejoin, but you will be banned after 2 offenses. It's really not that hard.

Feelings of Garandeur ACT II

Daniel

2 hours later

You're sitting in a trench, looking around for all of your T-dolls and seeing nothing but snow. You look off to your right to see Davidson and Clarke firing away with Garands. When you look back, you see movement in the trees.

“FIRE YOUR WEAPON LYLE!” Collins tells you. “FIRE!”

You raise your weapon and when you pull the trigger, you're jolted into a black void. A series of loud beeps catches your interest, as you open your eyes. When you attempt to look around, you notice the searing pain in your abdomen, prompting you to look down. There's a massive bandage over your stomach area, stinging you as something wriggles beneath it.

“Hold still commander. The nanites are almost finished.” A woman tells you.

When you look over, you see a woman in a lab coat, moving things across a tablet before looking back up at you.

“Done. You may remove the bandage.” She tells you.

“Did we win?” You ask, ripping the massive bandage off your abdomen.

“Yes, we won. You wouldn't be alive if we lost.” She replies dryly. “I'm Sam by the way. I came in yesterday while you were asleep.”

“Hello Sam. I'm Daniel Lyle, the base commander. Glad to have you onboard.” You say, getting off the hospital bed.

“Luckily the book you had in your pocket took most of the impact. The wound wasn't very serious, just hit a blood vessel is all.” She tells you. “However, a bit further up and there would've been nothing I could do.”

You look down at the side table and see your Bible was sitting in the table. God saves you once again.

“Well, I think they just spent all their resources on an attack that failed, so we should be safe for now. Am I okay to get up and move around?” You ask a bit late.

“I don't think I can stop you.” She tells you. “Just take it easy, alright?”

“You got it doc.” You tell her, getting off the bed. “Back to work.”

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Stuff binned by Archive (including some stuff not found in the Sticky): pastebin.com/u/TryAgainBragg

10 minutes later

You're in the cafe, sipping on some coffee as you read the newspaper. You feel like your dad when you do it, always reading the news and working all the time. He was a Corporal in the Army, just like you used to be before joining the airborne. You hear a chair scoot out before being pushed back in, prompting you to lower the paper. Springfield is sitting at the opposite end of the table, looking down at the table.

“Commander, do you ever think about hurting people?” She asks.

You nearly drop your coffee in shock at the absurdity of the question.

“Not usually, no.” You reply, trying to keep your demeanor calm.

“Y-you know I wasn't always a T-doll, right?” She asks. “I used to be a servant android. My AI was one of, if not the most advanced in the world.”

“Android?” You ask.

“Like a robot, but with feelings.” She replies.

“I see, continue.” You reply.

“I-I was so realistic that they thought I was a real person. They drafted me along with my entire house, sending us to the front line. They didn't have enough weapons and ammo to go around, so I was given really old surplus. I've seen people get shot, hanged, drowned, beaten, and stabbed. Sometimes, I just get these flashbacks to hurting people and I don't know what to do with the feelings.” She says. “Please, I need your help. Tell me I'm not defective, please. I don't want to be defective.”

You see tears are streaming down her face now as she keeps repeating that last line over and over again. You set your coffee down and walk over to her side, pulling her into a hug. She immediately hugs you back, crying as she buries her face into your chest. You begin rocking her back and forth, humming the hymn of the republic to calm her nerves.

“You're not defective.” You tell her softly. “Everything is fine now. You're safe and sound where nobody can hurt you.”

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I know this is kind of weak, but I had to get something out there. It'll be fixed later. For now, I'm just focused on moving the story forward. More will be posted later.

Dont rush perfection, friend.

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"Yeah, I understand what you want me to do" You say to the four star general.
>He had just explained how he wanted for you to spark an insurgency in a neighboring country. Its a strange task for someone he had just found off of the street. You had decided that you had nothing better to do anyways, and that it might be a fun experience. Hell, you could even get the chance to shoot a gun. That would be cool.
"We have your transportation and compensation in that bus" He gestures to a old bus that gives off some 70s vibes.
"You will have no connection with us" He continues "and this conversation never took place. Do you understand that?"
"Sure, Ill keep the secret."
"Alright, then you should get on your way to Poland. It is 13:23."
>With that stated you go over to the bus. The inside is fairly bare bones. Most of the seats in the back half have been removed and replaced with two large tanks and many wooden crates. The two tanks are labeled "FUEL" and "WATER" with the crates having markings such as "FOOD", "WEAPONS", and "AMMUNITION". It would probably be best to go through all of this stuff in depth when you are away from the military base. You set down in the drivers seat and start up the bus. Its a fairly long trip to poland, and you have no idea what you will do to start a rebellion or how to get more people to join you. You just start heading down the road anyways.

I have no Idea what this story is except for the fact that the idea stems from a dream I had. It might be shit, it might not, who knows.

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>keep trying to soft reboot kvsw
>can't recapture that perfect blend of closet hooch and suicidal depression it was originally written on

how many people got space stories right now

one is 3/4 finished I used to post it here a while ago, but can dump a pastebin if anyone's interested
second on in the works. kind of a spin-off with same crew, but different job.
3/13 chapters done.

Has anyone read any books on Francis Marion, specifically his military career, that they would recommend?

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Pretty sure everything written about the Swamp Fox is worth a read

ja, dump it

>Fintán rose, his halberd dripping with the scarlet sustenance of hooded crows onto the shining green grass.
>With calloused fingers he wiped the dark red invigorator of veins from his pale cheeks, spitting more of it out between his soft red lips.
>"There's no better feeling than slaying your enemies", he thought, "seeing them kneel before you in surrender, watching the maimed writhe in their own ever transient life force, beholding the limp corpses of the dead watching the grey skies with blank bloodshot eyes."
>The clatter of the dead being stripped by his comrades rang out over the steamy fog rising from the sweet dew which coats the watercress, the dew anointed that morning with crimson battle-rain.
>His cold ears picked up the shrill voices of two of his comrades arguing over the war-spoils left by a man who had died by wounds delivered at both of their hands.
>Heard also was the booming voice of Pádraig with most sympathetic requittances for those who now lay on the wolves' dinner table.
>Fintán dragged his halberd and sighed.
>"Life is an eternal sickness, the creation of long dead gods, of which only the sweet release of death can cure. Man is a machine made to kill.
>"War is the perpetual conquest of all that is deemed fresh and pure by ill minds.
>"It is the quintessential avocation ofthe righteous."
>Some seabirds arrived from the shore to perch on a nearby ash tree, gathered by the sweet scent of the waiting carrion.
>Now Pádraig called for prayer, and Fintán turned away so that his comrades would not know of his refusal.
>"The days roll by like clouds across the moon, concealing stars that circle like vultures; I fear I shall be confined to this ethereal coffin always.
>He who lives by the sword, dies by it."

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I shall await the continuation. I wonder if Garand will get jealous of our boy helping other T-dolls?

Pretty please. I was enjoying it. Also looking forward to this new one you're working on.

milk for the khorne flakes?

I'm working on one currently that involves bounty hunters using a derelict freighter to ambush some unlicensed scavengers, but my autism continues to get in the way.

No, the spilt contents of the mosquito reservoir

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I'm back. My legs are tingling. The M1014 is GOALS, and operation foxwife is a go.

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floofy Friday bump

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did someone say "fluff"?

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no, but close enough

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Bump.

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Bump 2:Electric Boogaloo

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Why are we still here? Just to suffer? I've been waiting for almost 3 years now for more barrett-senpai.
Come back plz

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My internet is out, but I have the beginnings of a story to post. Soon as my internet's back, I'll post it.

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lewd wawa bump

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>416 admitting she can learn from M16
never ever.

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What is operation foxwife? Can we know, or do you need to keep that a secret?

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Yes

maybe pic related?

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I've got me a pastebin: pastebin.com/yYV729zh.
Let's continue were we left off.

Barely an hour later, we arrived at our destination. The doors of our cart were thrown open, and shouting NCOs ordered us out. Looking back, we must have been somewhere near Wolfsburg, but I didn't know this then. Guided by the orders of the Unteroffiziere, we retrieved our belongings from the baggage wagon before forming up by squads. A Feldwebel went up and down the line of hastily reassembled Trupps and read out names from a list. "Krenz," He would call, and "Hier, Herr Feldwebel!" someone would answer. Invariably, the Feldwebel would then send the answering soldier and his hangers-on off with one of the waiting Uffz. Finally, our turn came. A shout of "Schneider!" was answered with a a shout of "Hier, Herr Feldwebel!" by Egon, who stood at attention next to me. "Schneider, you and your men are with the third company. Unteroffizier Thaler here will take care of you." A tall Uffz stood at attention when his name was spoken and walked over to us once the Feldwebel continued with his list. We snapped to attention. "Guten Tag, Her Unteroffizier!" Egon's greeting was delivered sharp and loud, the kind of greeting even our good old Unterfeldwebel would have found acceptable, but this Thaler fellow just raised his hand to sloppily and quickly return the salute. "Ohne Meldung," he said. "I know that you Jungs are fresh from basic training, but you'll soon see that this kind of protocol bullshit can be forgotten about as long as you are not dealing with officers." We stared at him in disbelief. Was this perhaps some kind of elaborate prank? A hazing ritual perhaps? "You are the one in charge?" Uffz Thaler asked Egon. "Ja, Herr Unteroffizier." "A simple yes or no is enough. Alright, grab your stuff and follow me, Jungs. Time to get you settled in." Thaler led us behind the small trainstation, were several trucks were gathered.

"You can mount up, boys. And you, Schneider, was it? Yes, come with me." While Egon accompanied the Uffz to the driver's cabin, the rest of us did as we were told and heaved our luggage into the back of the truck before clambering up ourselves to take our seats. The back of the truck was open topped, with not even a sheet of canvas to protect passengers from the elements, but at least this allowed us to keep an eye on our surroundings. The parking area was slowly filling up with men as the remaining reinforcements arrived at their designated vehicles. To our astonishment, it seemed as if Thaler hadn't been joking when he told us that we could stow the pleasantries. Most of our new superiors seemed perfectly fine with allowing their charges to talk loudly amongst each other, and I even saw several guys light up cigarettes.
"Well, would you look at that," Burghardt, who had been looking over my shoulder murmured as he leaned back on his bench, "Seems like we're finally in for a good time, eh boys?" Satisfied with the laughter he received, he grinned himself as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket and offered to each of us in turn. "On me, friends. To our old Unterfeld, who drilled us into shape for such an elite unit!" This drew more laughter, and I felt myself relaxing as well. Why had I even been so nervous before? I was surrounded by good friends and we were lead by experienced officers, here to man the biggest defensive network in the world. If the Tsar wanted his men to get their noses bloodied, we would happily comply. With my spirit thus restored, I took a cigarette as well and held it out towards Burghardt who was now busy lighting his gifts.
Truth be told, this was my first time smoking, a fact that quickly became obvious to my comrades. Still, my hacking and coughing only served to further our amusement.

The sound of a bag impacting on the bed of the truck drew our attention to Egon, who had evidently finished whatever little briefing the Uffz had in store for him and now came climbing up to join us in the back. "Ah, come to join us at last," exclaimed Burghardt, who of us all seemed to be in the best mood, and offered Egon an arm to pull himself up. "What's the matter? Won't the Unteroffizier let you ride in the front? That's got to sting. Here, take a smoke to get over your personal tragedy."
However, the joking and laughter quickly died down when Egon refused the offered package of cigarettes and looked from one of us to the other, his face bearing a grim expression.
"I talked with Thaler," he finally started, and we all leaned in closer to hear him better over the laughter and shouting of the surrounding squads and the sounds of engines as the first trucks left the assembly area. "He'll be our new squadleader. Seems he's fresh from the Unteroffizierschule and this'll be his first position of leadership. He also told me that since I was our leader during basic training and know you guys better than him, that he'll be relying on me to be his number two and assist and advise him on how to best utilize you to the best of our possibilities."
"So you'll be our acting Gruppenführer, basically." came from one of the guys. It was an observation as much as a question, and slowly the grins returned to my comrades' faces. People leaned in and shook Egon's hand and gave him friendly slaps to the shoulder, but my friend still seemed caught up in his grim mood. As our truck pulled finally pulled out of the staging ground and onto the road that would take us the last few kilometres towards our destination, he was still staring off into empty space, and I thought that he seemed a fair bit paler than earlier the same day.
The road, it turned out, was far from empty.

I became a British citizen and joined the army last year

Our vehicle was just one among the dozens that were moving to and from the frontlines, carrying soldiers, supplies and everything else one needs to wage war. And war was indeed being waged here, the craters of past bombardments and shellings that pockmarked the landscape left no doubt in that matter. But for the moment, it seemed that all was quiet ahead of us. There was no booming of big guns, and the grey sky was free of aircraft. I was almost disappointed. But at least it seemed that my earlier nervousness had been an inappropiate overreaction. If we could move in broad daylight so close to the front, unimpeded by air attack or artillery, the enemy was surely lacking in military acumen.
"Look, friends!" One of my comrades was standing upright, holding onto the cabin of the truck to steady himself as he looked ahead.
We followed his example, either standing up or leaning over the sides of the vehicle to get a good look at what lay ahead of us.
In front of us, only a short distance ahead of us now in fact, were the first outlying bunkers of the Ostbollwerk.
As our truck drove past them, we finally took in the enormity of the fortress the trenches of the 1921 stalemate had become.
Decades of work had turned dugouts into multistoried bunker complexes and machinegun nests into concrete-reinforced firing positions for artillery pieces and anti-aircraft guns. This monstrosity of a defensive line stretched to either of our sides as far as the eye could see, and it didn't take a genius to realize that it stretched several kilometres to our front as well. Beyond that, there would be the no man's land and finally the Russian lines, no doubt just as fortified as our own.
Our truck continued to weave through the traffic while we gawked at the sight that presented itself to us.

No one was talking anymore, everyone was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to keep up the banter that had been going on between us ever since we left the assembly area at the little train station.
Finally, our truck took a hard right turn and headed straight for the open maw of a bunker's open gate. The structure seemed as big as one of the enormous appartment blocks that had been erected to house refugees from the east, and as we drove towards it, I couldn't help but feel as if it were a malevolent grey giant, just waiting to devour us as soon as we got close enough.
Of course, what expected us on the other side of the bunker's gate wasn't the inside of a monster's maw, but rather a perfectly normal military motor pool. Vehicles of all kinds lined the walls of the area, from simple trucks and jeeps to armored transports and even a few tanks. Mechanincs and vehicle crews were hard at work, overhauling and reapiring their vehicles. As we drove through the chaos, the whole scene somewhat reminded me of an anthill. We drove past the bustling masses and into the mouth of another tunnel that opened up opposite our entryway and led us down a subterranean roadway. In regualar intervals, we passed crossroads that led to other areas of the enormous defensive complex. The drive continued for about half an hour, until we came to a halt in front of another door. The soldiers standing guard mustered us with the practiced contemptuous stare of the experienced soldier while we climbed down from the truck and gathered our belongings. Once we were done, Thaler gave a knock to the driver's compartment. The truck driver put his vehicle in reverse, and after a turn that must have been anything but complying with regulations, he returned the way we had come, while we entered our new home for the first time.

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Stalemate for 43 years? Fuck me this is a brutal war. I'm eager to see what sort of horrors you've concocted for this story.

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ATannie life paper published when?

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The bunker out of which our company was based turned out to be a veritable fortress in its own right, looming over the edge of no man's land. A hunk of the finest reinforced concrete the Kruppwerke had to offer, it commanded the surrounding landscape. In its underground, sleeping quarters and the other facilities needed to house two hundred soldiers lay protected from any fire the Russians might bring to bear, while above ground, firing positions ensured that any direct assault would be a costly affair for the enemy. We were welcomed to this stronghold by bored officers and less than enthused soldiers who seemed to regard us with an almost hostile indifference.
In the evening, once we had been properly introduced to our new habitat and comrades, we sat together in our barracks room. Thaler was with us. The Uffz had brought beer, and now we drank as we listened to him and Egon plan their cooperation in leading us. The alcohol and the dim rays of the tube light sat in the ceiling did their job admirably well, and I soon found myself somewhat tired, but with a not uncomfortable buzz. Paying attention to the two men talking didn't seem that important to drunk me, and instead I found myself cleaning my fingernails with my pocket knife while I thought the day over. So far, everything had worked out just fine. Sure, our new unit hadn't exactly been the most welcoming of places, but noone could realistically expect to be welcomed like the second coming on his first day. Surely, in time we would be able to prove our worth to our comrades and earn their respect.
I was awakened from my drunken revery by the sound of our heavy door getting thrown open. On our doorstep stood a figure in full battle dress. "Gas," he shouted, his voice distorted by his own gasmask already on his face, "They are gassing the bunker!"

Just like that, movement returned to our group. My friends from Hannover jumped up from their seats and all but flew towards their lockers to retrieve their gasmasks. I did the same, and could just make out Thaler pulling his own mask from the container on his hip. I had just pulled my mask over my face and fastened the straps, when suddenly I was thrown to the ground. In a panic, I punched and kicked wildly, trying to get my attacker off me. How had Ivan already gotten in here? Shouldn't there have been an alarm? Shots fired at the very least? No matter, I wouldn't make it any easier for them. My fist made contact with something soft, and I was rewarded with the feeling of something crunching underneath it, accompanied by a yelp of pain. "Scheiße. Helft mir mit dem hier," a muffled voice groaned, and I froze as another one threw himself on top of me and held me down. The voice had spoken German, no mistaking it. Then what were they doing here? They must have been Russian auxiliaries from the occupied territories. I redoubled my efforts to get free, even as a gasmasked face came up in my field of view and nimble fingers started to get to work on my filter. So that's how they had managed to get in here. Infiltrators in the captured uniforms of our own. And now they would simply let me suffocate as the bunker filled with gas. No matter how hard I thrashed my head around, the one sat on top of me continued his work, and I was sure that I could see the spark of joy in the eyes behind the mask as he triumphantly held up my freed filter. Immediately I held my breath. Perhaps if I managed to play dead, they would let go of me and I could at least pull off the mask of one of them or stab one in the back with the pocket knife that had come to rest just outside of my hand's reach once they paid no more attention to me. This hope was squashed as well, when another masked figure stepped into view.

While the others still held me down, he sat down next to me. I abandoned my plan to play dead to once again struggle against my captors, but to no avail. Strong hands grapped my head and held it in place as the newcomer placed something in the filter's place and poured a liquid into my mask. I coughed and hacked as the liquid flooded my mask, forced to swallow. It was a cool liquid, somewhat bitter but not unpleasantly so.
Beer.
The newcomer stood up and withdrew the now empty bottle from my mask as his accomplices let go of my limbs. I hurriedly sat up and pulled off the mask as fast as I could, still coughing up liquid as I wiped my face with my sleeve. The figure who had set the bottle to my mask stood opposite from and likewise pulled off his own mask.
"Welcome to the third company," said Hauptmann Schwenk as he gave me a hand to pull me to my feet.

This isn't the place to ask, but does anyone have the reaction image of the dude looking happy as fuck wearing sunglasses with his buddy next to him

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>hazed this soon

Yep, some things are true across national boundaries.

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life paper?

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youtube.com/watch?v=UkXEjzApCXo

You haven't given up on us, have you Mary? You'll still finish A Mandate from Heaven for us, won't you?

tfw no elf or fox GF

I'll take the fox.

We'll gas those fucking keeblers.

A quick 40k write up. No real lore knowledge needed.

The forces of Chaos were the first to lose their focus, the new and unknown objects in the distant sky enough to distract the ill-disciplined infantry. The entrenched and encircled Imperial Guardsmen capitalized on this moment of weakness, but with the enemy force so vast it brought them no new edge in the battle. Their training and the looming barrels of Commissar boltpistols made sure that only a few quick glances were sneaked upwards, nothing more. And yet, it was the booming voice of a senior Commissar that interrupted their tactical vox chatter. “Soldiers of the God-Emperor, look up and rejoice!” Again most guardsmen spared only a quick glance then returned to their sight pictures. Their situation was hopeless and they have already made peace with it, their minds now on killing and not so much on prolonged survival. “Even though High Command could not promise us reinforcements, He has not forgotten us!” This roused some actual curiosity, but the, now much closer, objects obviously were not flyers. Missiles or whatever other projectiles these could be are good, but not what was needed right now. Especially in such small numbers. “Rejoice, for His angels have answered our call!” Now this was something worthy of attention. In fact the objects were now close enough for both sides to focus on them almost exclusively. The Imperials greeted them with reserved optimism, Chaos with panicked and ineffective small arms fire.

“Soldiers! Show His chosen warriors that they are not here to save us from death, but to help us wipe out the Chaos filth!” The objects, now unmistakably identified as Space Marine drop pods, slammed into the Chaos ranks, bodies and debris flying everywhere. The Imperial infantry answered with renewed fire. The Commissars voice was now hoarse, some strain in it as he vaulted on top of the barricade with the regimental standard in one hand, the other waiving a power fist.“Show Him that you are worthy to stand at His side!” As the standard fluttered proudly, his crackling power fist slashed the air and pointed at the opposing side, now a scene of a slaughter in progress. Eager Guardsmen scrambled over their cover, weapons ready to unleash carnage up-close. Their officers hoisted holy symbols of the Imperium and their regiment for all to see, hastily gathering their squads around them. “FOR THE EMPEROR AND FOR VRANS, CHARGE!”

The overzealous destruction of Chaos forces cost the Vransian regiment more than a cull from afar would. But each body laying down in the dirt and blood, at least those that still had a face capable of doing so, had one thing in common; now dead eyes full of determination and a mouth radiating serenity and comfort. For they knew where they were going.

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Nice.

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I am a newcomer, treat my OC gently.
pastebin.com/XESNrWd7

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Orcs and wizards and operating? Interesting combination... beyond that, the only thing that bugged me you you calling a NV monocular a, "single barrel night vision device." Is this a one off?

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pastebin.com/Q61S8jHG

Have part one while I work on part two. user goes innawoods and turns out guns aren't enough for Skinwalkers. It's smut.

Emergency bump

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Bump for the glorious kube, through divinity it gains strength, may the pain and agony it feels from the guns that comprise not be in vain.

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Comprise *IT.

user and his waifu know how to party.

This is pretty nice, gets the flow of an engagement well, I feel. That can be really hard to right, but I like how you did it here.

Hot damn. Now that's how you write smut.

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Thanks user. Part two is going to be even heavier on the fear boner.

Sweet. I like fear boners.

I also enjoy those, and phat assed Skinwalker women

Pull yourself together, goddamit.

"There's a risk involved here." Kyle thought to himself. For a moment, his mind was quiet as he considered all the things that might be lurking, lying or waiting in the area surrounding him.
>A bolt hit him in the shoulder as he stood spellbound, and he looked to see Molly throwing another at him with a grin.
"Haha. I'm in danger."
>Slowly Molly closed the distance to Kyle. Throwing several bolts directly at him, all bouncing off as he watched.
"The fuck are you doing?"
>"It's fun."
"Ok." Kyle answered indifferently.
>He squatted down and picked up one of the bolts off the ground, then proceeded to only half way wind up before projecting it in a straight line, bouncing directly off her center of mass.
>"Hsss- Aw fuck! You trying to tell me something, BOY?" she playfully demanded as she felt the sting of the bolt in her abdomen.
>The two of them both halted and snapped their heads left as they heard an ungodly howl down the street.
>About a hundred yards down the street, stood a pack of what could only be assumed to be wolves.
>The animals started running, making an attempt to close the distance.
>As Kyle attempted to raise his rifle, he was stalled when he saw an old man in a blue smith and wesson hat and a shirt covered in the brands of old gun companies run out into the middle of the street and take a low ready stance.
>A loud and harsh beep came pierced the streets themselves as his rifle rose.
>A flurry of bursts that seemed like full auto swept the street, and killed half of them before running to the side, dropping the rifle and grabbing what looked to be a shotgun before running back out into the middle of the street.
>he raised the shotgun, the animals now just under half the distance they'd been. when they started out, and issued out a rapid flurry, double tapping each before they could close another fifteen yards. Kyle would never forget the strange cry he issued out. "HEYOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

>With that, the old man turned to them, his aviator shades and mustache clearly visible aside the creases in his face, set in from years of high concentration.
>He slowly began to walk toward them, checking the shot time on the fringe of his pocket.
>The fear set in and all present were petrified as they watched him approach Kyle directly and reload the shotgun from tubes.
>"Hey, try this one out, it's pretty trick." he said as he reached Kyle, and then offered him the shotgun.
>As Kyle accepted the shotgun, and placed his hand on the bottom of the receiver, he watched the man seem to evaporate into thin air.
>"Did everyone else just have the same fever dream I had?" Jim asked, trembling atop the carcass.
"Everything in the zone is fantastical, and beyond our comprehension... Who was that guy? Was he a sponsored shooter?"
>"I... I think that was Jerry..."
"The guy who outshot the android in 2025?"
>"Yup..."
"Christ."

Based boomer saves the day. Truly the zone is a strange and wonderful place.

Late reply but good stuff user, please continue.

bump

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It's about that time here, folks. The history channel turns into my favorite network as we discover why, when those brave souls finally DO penetrate Area 51, they'll find Hitler playing Half Life 3 with the genetically engineered Cat and Fox girls.

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thanks boys. I'd been working on a splatbook for Pathfinder to try and make modern small arms tactics viable so a crew could operate against liches and vampires. Hard to find folks to play test, oddly.

Been drowning my sorrows in filling out some of the feel by writing these. More will come.

Here's some more.
pastebin.com/E793GrQF

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I'm tempted to write a sex scene between Don and Sarah that took place the two weeks before Don's divorce.

Because I'm bored.

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Tactical wizards and witches are a particular fetish of mine. please do more.

A one-shot or perhaps a short series.
Originaly intended as a lore background for the board game I made.
(and yes, the sci-fi story is in the works, don't fret)

>Captain Reinhardt grasped another handful of mud and pulled himself to the edge of the crater
>He gazed over the positions in front of him, his tired eyes trying their hardest to pierce the darkness and make out the shapes before him.
>He knew they were close.
>Horizont was still dark and there was no sign of dusk yet.
>Perfect.
>Without moving his head he glanced over his wrist. The luminescent arrows of his watch told him it was 2.53
>Barely few minutes before the agreed time.
>Slowly, as to not draw any attention to his position he turned his head to the left, trying to see the positions of other squad.
>He didn't know if he's more glad or worried that he couldn't see them.
>He couldn't use light signal without compromising his position and at this distance from the enemy he dared not raise his arm to send hand signal.
>But he wasn't that worried about it. He trusted his men. Heidrich would be there when he needed him. His stormtroopers are probably already in position, ready to begin final advance.
>Slowly he turned his head and looked back West.
>He could not identify the point where sky turned into a treeline and further into a grassland they just covered.
>Remembering as they moved out from among the woods, across the tall grass, which soon turned into loose dirt and shellcraters.
>By the time they reached the first shreds of barbed wire they were already crawling through mud.
>The dark and moonless night made it difficult to navigate and maintain formation, but it was much better than the alternative.
>He thanked heavens that the Major listened to his request. He just hoped the other officer keep his end of the deal.