#the pacrim one is getting really big now tho and im kinda proud of it and the worldbuilding

[hellofanidea]

thank you for the tag @lewis-winters!

WIP Ask Game

Rules:

Post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one/all of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post.

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in or just post.

WIPs under the cut because some got a little long. Surprise surprise its mostly OC stuff:

Webgott White Collar AU - Featuring Web as a criminal consultant, Speirs as his handler, and Lieb as his very complicated ex/nemesis. Background Speirton.

He was out of plays. Short of slipping his cuffs and probably getting shot in the back as he ran, there was nothing more he could do. What window of time he had, he had wasted on this.

"Got the place surrounded?" He asked instead. 

He sounded flat, even to his own ear. Scuffed patent leather creaked as Special Agent Speirs crouched beside him.

"You know it," he told Web. "If I ask before the cavalry comes, will you give me an honest answer?"

Web finally lifted his head, hoping whatever redness remained in his eyes could be explained away as sleeplessness. He raised his eyebrows at Speirs to continue.

"They're going to give you four more years for this. If they're lenient. Halfway through your sentence, a possible parole hearing coming up… what the hell was all of this in aid of?"

Hands tightening around the neck of the bottle, Web shook his head. His knuckles went white around the dark glass and he sniffed, putting it down on the floor and rolling it away with a hard push. It made it all the way to the other side of the room, where it collided with the wall with a crack of glass. The sound seemed to bury itself deep in Web's brain, like something there had been broken too.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

Pacrim au - Pacific Rim AU, OC-Centric, multiple background pairings and ensemble cast.

“They’re closing the training school.”

Natalie didn’t react, and waited for him to continue. He wasn’t like Nix, who had a way of luring you into whatever he was trying to tell you. Winters was direct, concise. Everything he said, he chose for a purpose.

“We had our last batch of replacements last spring. Most of them ended up working around the Pacific breach.”

How many of them are even left? Natalie wanted to ask.

“So now we’re doing what we can. Calling in old favors. Bringing back old pilots. Anyone who still wants to help.”

Slowly, Natalie looked up.

“The hell kind of help do you think I’d be?” She asked bitterly.

Winters’ expression never flickered. There was little wonder how he’d become the poster-boy for the American Jaeger program, aside from his combat experience and level-headed leadership. He looked like every propaganda poster Natalie had ever seen, all stoic dignity and quiet, patriotic, confidence. Once, she had clung to it. Now it tasted like blood and seawater.

“I think I have Jaegers with no pilots, and pilots wasting themselves by carrying around guilt for things out of their control.” That unshakeable mask softened. “I think I have what’s left of White Horse taking up a bay in my Shatterdome until her surviving pilot tells me what to do with her.”

It hurt to hear its name said out loud again, after so long. Something sharp and hot pricked at the back of Natalie’s eyes.

“I can’t Drift,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I can’t do it, Dick, I can’t let nobody in there again. I can’t risk it.”

The Boxer (T/S) - OC-Centric, pre-canon slice of life

“The children are asleep. They all crawled into our bed, though, so I think we will have to sleep in theirs,” Sylvie laughed softly.

“I can sleep in my chair,” Thomas offered.

Her smile slipped, and Thomas felt the misstep, even though he didn’t understand it.

“Are you hurt?” Sylvie asked.

“No. Not badly, anyhow. Just some bruises.”

She made an unhappy clicking noise with her tongue and moved forward to help him out of his coat. He did his best not to wince as he raised his arms and shrugged the heavy, woolen, overcoat into her hands. As she hung it up, she dipped into the pocket he always kept the winnings in and drew them out. It wasn’t much, but it was more than they would have without it, and Thomas let himself feel some small measure of pride as it was deposited into the empty coffee can they kept their savings in.

It would feed his children, keep a roof over their heads, put shoes on their feet and send them to school. That was worth a few bruises.

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Tagging @almost-a-class-act @bitch-butter @georgieluz @ep6bastogne @latibvles and inviting anybody else who wants to join in