Muv-Luv Franchise - FanFiction Discussion

[Fireminer]

Originally Posted by Azrulnin

PaulXion fic is out Chap 76

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7112821/76/

The return of a King! His story really making me feel like an ant.

[Fireminer]

Originally Posted by Chibiloli

I've got idea's, but I don't wanna put it up in public, everybody here has interesting stories though, I wish I could write like you guys.

Hey, what could be worse! My idea for that Extra fic is the weirdest and lacking potential, and I still post it on here!

[sasahar17]

Originally Posted by Wild Goose

*Awesome Advice*.

Basically, what this man says. The hardest part is always putting the effort into getting stared: once you get there it can only get easier.

Anyway, as promised, here's the snip I was talking about. Goose looked it over just to iron out a few kinks.

Spoiler for ML: DYRL -The Miracle of Flight-:

“The airplane is just a bunch of sticks and wires and cloth, a tool for learning about the sky and about what kind of person I am, when I fly. An airplane stands for freedom, for joy, for the power to understand, and to demonstrate that understanding. Those things aren't destructible.”

- Richard Bach, 'Nothing by Chance,' 1963.

-=-

Life as a refugee was hard, and ten year old Nastassja Ivanova knew this better than anyone. Living in a hastily erected tent city in the middle of Alaska wasn’t the best place for a child to grow up. It was bitterly cold and living conditions were atrocious, but with her homeland of Georgia long since overrun by the alien menace, Nastassja didn’t have much of a choice.

Furthermore, she also grew up without her parents. Her father and mother had been ‘forcefully enlisted’ into the Soviet Army when she was six, and she hadn’t heard from them since. Her older sister Lydia had also been conscripted to the Far East Soviet Army at around the same time.

It was a sad fact of life that Nastassja had long since accepted the fact they were all likely dead, and had been that way for a long time. Then again, the ten year old could probably list about a dozen other children her age who had been orphaned in the exact same way, so she couldn’t really complain. In fact, she considered herself blessed, for she had one little advantage over everyone else.

“Grandpa, the food’s being cooked,” she said happily to the withered old man. Nastassja stirred the small tin pot where she was cooking some broth.The ingredients included expired cabbage and rat meat, over a makeshift campfire outside their small tent. It wasn’t restaurant quality but Nastassja had learned to make do. “It’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“Bless you child,” the wizened man said, from where he sat on the wooden stool beside her. Her maternal grandfather, Ivan Litvyak, was her sole surviving relative since her younger sister Katya had succumbed to illness nine months ago. Well into his seventies now and was too old to fight, Ivan had escaped the draft where her other family members had not.

In truth Nastassja considered it a small miracle that God still saw fit to bless her with his presence, especially considering his age and the poor conditions he lived in. To her, Ivan was the father and mother she never had, and she loved him dearly for that.

“What are we having child?” Ivan asked.

“We will be having borscht tonight,” Nastassja lied, hoping he wouldn’t call her on her obvious bluff. “I hope you don’t mind, grandfather.”

“Child, anything cooked with love and care will taste good to me.”

The two refugees were clothed in nothing more than layers upon layers of dirty clothing and lived in a tent so spartan, it would make even a cave look luxurious. Their humble home was set a bit away from the rest of the tents, almost on the border of the nearby forest, as Ivan was distrusted by the other refugees. Ivan was a veteran of the Great Patriotic War and had apparently served with distinction during that period. Unfortunately this had not been enough to spare his daughter, Nastassja’s mother, from the draft. It had also served to alienate them from the rest of the refugees, who did not care for a ‘great Russian hero’ like her grandfather being in their midst.

Nastassja didn’t mind that at all, and neither did she blame them for it. The refuges could hardly be blamed for finding an easy scapegoat in her grandfather, especially when so many of their number had already been drafted into the Army and sent off to die. In her mind, it was the BETA’s fault that their world had come to this.

“You remind me so much of her,” Ivan said suddenly. Nastassja looked up from her cooking to see the old man studying her with keen eyes.

“Look so much of who, Grandpa?”

“My cousin who served in the air force. She was like a sister to me growing up. Unless these eyes of mine are failing me, you just like her when she was your age, sans the dyed hair.”

“You mean Great-aunt Lydia?” Nastassja set down the old wooden ladle she had been using to stir the broth as she gave her grandfather her full attention. “She died fighting the Germans in the Great Patriotic War, didn’t she?”

“She was a real fighter. Never quite met another like her.” He nodded, seemingly satisfied with the resemblance. “I never did tell you about her did I?”

“No Grandpa, you haven’t.”

Quietly, she felt her heart quicken with excitement. Nastassja loved her grandpa’s stories about the war. The stories about brave men and women triumphant against incredible odds and sacrifice against the evil German Nazis helped her escape from the bleakness of the world they lived in, and gave her hope that one day, the terrible BETA would one day too be beaten back.

“Your Great-Aunt Lydia was a fighter pilot. An ace in fact. One of the best,” Ivan closed his eyes and nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as the old man slipped into memory.

“An ace?” Nastassja tiled her head in confusion at the term. She had been dimply aware in the back of her mind that her great-aunt Lydia Litvyak had been some kind of great hero, but in bleakness of her day to day existence it had slipped her mind.

“A term used to describe the best fighter pilots. Your grand-aunt Lydia was the highest scoring female ace during the Great Patriotic War. The champions of the skies,” Ivan supplied and turned his head skyward and pointed. “They would soar among the clouds like the angels. Even a sharpshooter like me was in awe every time I saw them take to the skies.”

Although the sky was darkening and overcast, Nastassja couldn’t help but look up and be swept up by the majesty of what he had just said. She was a ten year old girl listening to her grandfather’s story and her imagination ran wild.

“She loved it you know, flying. I remember this one time, when I was in her airbase getting ready for a parachute drop, she finished a mission so she buzzed the tower and gave everyone air show,” Ivan recounted with a smile. “We all loved it.”

“Wouldn’t you get in trouble for that?”

Ivan nodded, his smile growing even wider. “The commander was furious, but she didn’t care. Fighter pilots can be an eccentric bunch, and your grand-aunt was no exception: She used to put bouquets of flowers inside her cockpit.”

By this point, Nastassja was completely captivated by the image of this woman, this champion of the skies who flew through the clouds with bouquets of flowers in her hands. Lydia Litvyak, the woman who walked in the realm of the gods, in defiance of the very laws of nature themselves.

It was a beautiful dream.

“You have to understand Nastassja. To her, flying wasn’t a job or a duty. It was her way of life,” Ivan sighed as he remembered how that story ended. “She stayed true to it right up until the very end.”

“She must have been amazing,” Nastassja replied, turning back to her broth which was almost done.

“The world doesn’t have people like her anymore,” Ivan said sadly. “The BETA own the air now. Air power is pointless. We won’t be seeing anymore of her like in the coming days.”

And just like that, the dream was over and reality set back in.

The vision of the woman in the clouds was gone, and Nastassja was back on the cold uncaring Earth. Such was the reality that she lived in today.

“The food’s done,” Nastassja said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She carefully spooned the broth into two small clay bowls she had set out for them, and then handed one to her grandfather. “Grandfather, eat it while it’s hot.”

“Bless you child.” Ivan smiled wearily, taking the bowl from her, and the pair began to quietly eat their modest meal in silence, the warmth of family fighting off the cold that surrounded them.
It would not last.

In the years to come, tragedy would visit upon Nastassja Ivanova. Her beloved grandfather would pass on in his sleep, and she would be drafted into the Far East Soviet Army like her parents and sister before her. While Nastassja had already been independent for her age, the horrors of war against the BETA would force her to grow into adulthood long before she should have. She would eventually find a new home among the children of the 211th Zhar Battalion, and a new mother in her commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Fikatsia Latrova.

Captain Nastassja Ivanova, a hardened warrior, would eventually forget about that small, wam and carefree conversion with her grandfather.

But in the back of her mind, somewhere in the deepest reaches of her consciousness where none threaded, that small ten year old that cared for her grandfather, and listened to his stories, remembered.

It was supposed to be it's own full length story, and indeed I have a few more scenes after this one that are partially completed, but after writing it out I felt I was just rehashing too much of the TE Kamchatka Arc and decided to bin it. I don't think this is as in depth as DarthTabby would have liked, but it's something at least.

Good news is that I have an entire story planned for Lilia travelling though these refugee camps in disguise while she was evading the CIA. Hopefully I can get to work on that once I'm done with my other stuff... which might take a while knowing me.

[Fireminer]

Now that is quite something. I could really see potential in this!
And why the heck I am thinking about an urban lengend of the last princess in the Tsar family ran to Europe from the Communist?

[Mangathell]

Originally Posted by Chibiloli

I've got idea's, but I don't wanna put it up in public, everybody here has interesting stories though, I wish I could write like you guys.

If you've got an idea, don't be afraid to post the makings of it! For all you know you might cause somebody else to have an equally interesting idea and I'm pretty sure the ladies and gents of this fine section of the Internet will be quite happy to discuss it with you! After all isn't that what this forum is for?

Originally Posted by Darthtabby

refugee story idea

Nice! There is a story there that needs to be written! Ah just imagine all of the themes involving morality! A grade 10 english student's worst nightmare! hehe

Originally Posted by Fireminer

Now that is quite something. I could really see potential in this!
And why the heck I am thinking about an urban lengend of the last princess in the Tsar family ran to Europe from the Communist?

Because that urban legend is an interesting story that could be made into something interesting?

[Fireminer]

Just thinking incorporating that into the refugee idea. What happen when a girl used to live in blissful ignorant got tossed into the harsh reality?

[Wild Goose]

Originally Posted by sasahar17

It was supposed to be it's own full length story, and indeed I have a few more scenes after this one that are partially completed, but after writing it out I felt I was just rehashing too much of the TE Kamchatka Arc and decided to bin it. I don't think this is as in depth as DarthTabby would have liked, but it's something at least.

As a shortfic, I think this is really fine. Maybe it's not long enough to be a standalone, but you could put it in the Snippet Collection?

...yeah, mood whiplash like crazy. Maybe we better not.

[Chibiloli]

Originally Posted by Wild Goose

Dude, don't sweat it. I've been writing on and off in some manner since 1998 (first thing I ever wrote was half After Action Report, half roleplay of my Command & Conquer missions ).

The trick to writing, I find, is to read a lot - authors like Clancy, Griffin, Weber, Ambrose, Couch, Tolkein, Lois McMaster Bujold - and when you write something, read it out loud to yourself.

Everyone had to start from humble beginnings. The important thing is to write, and then be prepared to accept criticism - but if you can do that, then you're on the right path.

I just don't think my story has much potential, that and I'm not much of a writer, but I'll take your advice then and go with it, who knows, I might just actually post a piece for you guys to see here, anyway thanks for the advice Wild Goose and Sasahar17.

[Fireminer]

Hey, only now that I realize that noone has ever try to write battle in the Middle East!

[Wild Goose]

Originally Posted by Fireminer

Hey, only now that I realize that noone has ever try to write battle in the Middle East!

Allahuakbar.

Jihad.

Yalla yalla.

GOD DAMNIT HUSSAM.

SULEIMAN YOU FUCKING IDIOT.

Insha-Allah.

Everyone dies.

The End.

[Fireminer]

Originally Posted by Wild Goose

Allahuakbar.

Jihad.

Yalla yalla.

GOD DAMNIT HUSSAM.

SULEIMAN YOU FUCKING IDIOT.

Insha-Allah.

Everyone dies.

The End.

What the heck?

[MrTerrorist]

Originally Posted by Fireminer

What the heck?

Ignore him. He's just playing with you.
About battles in the middle east, i do believe there's a story in MLA about a group in Egypt that defends the front line against the BETA. You can check that story to help you.

[Wild Goose]

Originally Posted by Fireminer

What the heck?

Translations:

God is great.

Holy war. A Crusade is a bad thing, but a jihad is a truly wondrous thing!

Move move.

GOD DAMNIT HUSSAM. (Arab soldiers are notoriously incompetent and prone to doing the wrong thing. To get any use out of them, a skilled commander has to micromanage them like a starcraft player. Which is a [problem when you tell them stop and they decide that means drive on.)

SULEIMAN YOU FUCKING IDIOT. (Arab soldiers are also idiots, for the most part.)

As God wills it. (Arab cultures are notoriously fatalistic. Spend time on range and marksmanship? Bah. Insha-allah, the bullet will hit. Insha-Allah, it was fated that I was shot today. Insha-Allah, it is god's will that we are all incompetent.)

Everyone dies. (It's a Muv-Luv story.)

[Fireminer]

Now that's pure crazy. Actually, I see many similars between Russian and Arabian.
And South America?

[wavehawk]

Originally Posted by Fireminer

Hey, only now that I realize that noone has ever try to write battle in the Middle East!

- Because every time I think about mecha in the Middle East I either think the first episode of Gundam 00 or some episodes of Gasaraki.

(Suddenly pictures Takeru in the middle of the Iraqi desert, the only survivor of a BETA assault screaming "TAKEMIIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!")

..Don't ask. Just don't ask.

[Fireminer]

And why people love Peggy-Ru?
(Searching "Gasaraki") Thanks! Now I know how "Muv-Luv Prototype" would look like!

[Fireminer]

Originally Posted by wavehawk

- I don't think we're talking about the same topic.

And yes, you are also not talking to the same person!

[maxxus0923]

I am wondering what would a silicon based life form would look like... i wish it was humanoid... now we can make a crossover with that

[Fireminer]

Originally Posted by maxxus0923

I am wondering what would a silicon based life form would look like... i wish it was humanoid... now we can make a crossover with that

Xenosaga or Terminator?

[faiz blaster]

Okay, this might be of your interest then.

In the late 90s, there was a sci-fi novel released in Brazil called "Espada da Galáxia" (Sword of the Galaxy). The main character was a space explorer from a species known as Metalianos (Metalians). Although humanoid, the Metalians evolved from insects, so much of their physiology and mentality actually resembles the likes of bees and ants. Furthermore, Metalians were bio-metallic lifeforms - that is, unlike humans who have bodies composed mostly of water and carbon, they had living bodies that were made up mostly of metal alloys such as silicon, aluminium and titanium.





Hopefully this can serve as a reference for you. I don't know if there is any material about it in English, but maybe you might find something after some research.