Guess what? I’m not where you think I am!

As we speak, I am traveling to parts unknown for an office team building thinger. As such, I do not have a fic for you.

But awesome writer Sarah Rees Brennan has a parody that I guarantee you’ll want to read.

Enjoy, everyone!

I don't suck.
Take THAT, inner critic!

Fanfiction Friday: School’s Back

Okay, this is basically just going to be a drabble – it’s the only thing I could manage, and I didn’t want to not post any fanfiction this week. So here it is! Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I’m only borrowing them for this AU fanfic. They belong to whoever owns the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and I think only they have the right to earn money off of these heroes. I don’t deserve to be paid for this at all, especially since I don’t think this is very good.

Again, this is an Alternate Universe fic. The characters are not the context that you normally see them in. If that’s not your kind of thing, feel free to turn back. In fact, you should turn back anyway; I expect that this is extra-horrible on my part.


As far as Tony Stark was concerned, he was king of SHIELD University. Of course, this was largely thanks to the fact that he recently saved it from bankruptcy – running your own multi-billion company while you’re still in college has its perks. He was therefore fully expecting everyone to fawn over him during the Fall term.

He didn’t expect Steve Rogers to have a fricking growth spurt over the summer.

“I still don’t see it,” he muttered as he disassembled and reassembled his smarphone on the picnic blanket. “I saved the school. Why is everyone paying attention to HIM? It’s not like he’s a hero or anything.”

“He put out a fire in the chemistry lab and hoisted Professor Coulson over his shoulder,” Rhodey replied, for the hundredth time. “It’s one thing to throw money at a problem. It’s another to actually get involved in a way that risks your physical safety.”

“Besides,” Pepper chimed in without looking up from her textbook. “YOU set the lab on fire, Tony.”

“It was an accident!”

“Bruce Banner says otherwise.”

“Dammit, I thought we were science bros!”

“Not if it means risking criminal charges, Tony!” the girl blew a lock of her hair away from her face as she swung her face up to her friend. “I’m not sure any sort of bro code would cover that kind of thing.”

“Rhodey helped me steal a tank.”

“That’s because he WANTS a tank.”

“I do love my weapons,” Rhodey agreed as he practiced flipping a fake rifle in the air. “Why do you think I joined the ROTC?”

Having completed the 50th assembly of his smartphone, Tony quirked his eyebrow at his best friend. “Frankly, I’m surprised that you haven’t joined the army.”

“Clearly, you forget that I only attended college because someone needs to keep an eye on you and Pepper can’t do that herself,” the friend in question retorted. “At least, she can’t if she wants to finish the…how many degrees are you taking up?”

Pepper shook her head in amusement. “Just two. And honestly, you guys should take your studies more seriously.”

“I don’t have to!” declared the self-proclaimed king of everything. “Because I’m a genius. Which is why I still don’t see what girls see in that Steve Rogers guy. Does he have a multi-billion business that he built with inventions? No. Can he make giant robots? Nope. I CAN. What makes him so cool?”

The redhead coughed delicately and mumbled something.

“What was that, Pepper?”

She cleared her throat. “He’s an artist. And we’re in college.”

Tony looked at her blankly. Rhodey started to crack up. “Oh man. There’s no way you can compete with that. This is romance territory.”

“Hey!” the multi-billionaire glared at his friends. “I can be romantic.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pepper replied airily, turning back to her book. “Very romantic. Like taking FIVE different girls to the prom. THAT ended well.”

“Well I very well can’t dash their hopes and dreams.”

They all fell silent.

A few minutes later, Tony piped up again. “Pep. Rhodey. I just realized something.”

His two friends looked at him expectantly.

“Steve Rogers is my NEMESIS. This is so cool.”

Pepper gave up, packed up her stuff, and walked off. Rhodey just stared at him in disbelief. Tony didn’t mind. He just launched into his brilliant plots.

Not My Fanfiction Friday: The Source of All Things

Once again, I find myself unable to write something for this blog because a bunch of other stuff got in the way – I had to choose between writing for this space or writing more stuff in my notebook for the superhero thing. I ended up going for the superhero.

But I can’t leave you without something to enjoy today, so I’m going to share with you one of my absolute favorite pieces of Gundam Wing fanfiction, by a fic author who calls herself Maldoror. WARNING: This is slash, and it’s INCOMPLETE. But it’s such good FANTASY that I still feel the need to share it with people. I mean, come on. The Zero System as a freaking SPELL? How awesome is that?

Gundam Wing Custom MG
Pretty Damn Awesome (Photo credit: awee_19)

I almost wish that it were an original work instead, but I don’t know how that would have worked.

Still here? Great! Without further ado, I give you the oldie but goodie fic that is The Source of All Things.

I hope you enjoy this monster of a fantasy work as much as I still do! 🙂

Fanfiction Friday: Blankets

Please PLEASE forgive me for this. I’m still on a Pacific Rim kick, and I really couldn’t help myself. I do not own these characters; some other brilliant mind (or a collective of brilliant minds) are the ones who made them come alive. I am not writing this for profit; I only write this through sheer love. I know I’m not doing them justice, but I’m trying my best to respect the source material.

I hope anyone who stumbles upon this ficlet won’t judge me for it.


He felt the scream long before he heard it. With a swift grace cultivated by years of combat, Stacker Pentecost maneuvered himself off the cot on which he had been “sleeping” for the last two weeks. It only took a few steps–steps through which he felt the unforgiving cold of Alaska–for him to reach her room.

“Mako,” he murmured at the weeping girl. “Mako, daijoubu.” Awkwardly, he put his large palm on her small head.

She peered up at him through her jet-black hair, cheeks tear-streaked and eyes angry. “The Onibaba,” she stuttered in unsteady English, pulling the blankets closer to her body – which was already covered by three thick wool sweaters. “It does not STOP.” He watched as she started to slip her hand under her pillow unconsciously, watched her pause and clench her fingers over the sheets instead. She tilted her head back, the curtain of her hair revealing more of her pale face. He knew what she was about to ask.

“Not yet,” he said firmly, before she could even make a sound.

He saw the corners of her lips fold inwards and down, marking her displeasure across the rest of her features. He thought, not without a significant measure of amusement, that this is the closest Mako has gotten to acting like a petulant teenager. Seeing her shake, he handed her another blanket. She took it, but did not unfold it. Instead, she put it beside her and steadied her hands.

She will never cease to amaze him, it seemed.

She inhaled and exhaled audibly, lowering her head. When she lifted it, she looked straight up at him. “I will conquer my mind,” she says firmly. ‘And my hands. And the kaijuu,’ her the rest of her seemed to say. She took the blanket wrapped around her, and folded it, placing it on top of the one she set aside.

He straightened his back in acknowledgement. “I know,” he replied. What else can he say?

He stood as she lay back down on her own cot he watched her, like a guardian angel, until she successfully snuck back into slumber. Only then did he go back to his room to lie in the dark, composing letters to Tamsin. He still didn’t know what he can say, but he was determined to keep in touch. He reached under the cot, slid his hand into a small box, and let his fingers glide over the smooth but broken surface.

In his mind’s eye, he can see the color red – bright, vivid, alive.


The next morning, he walked past the open door of Mako’s room. She was sitting at her desk, back straight, engrossed in writing something. On the cot were the blankets, untouched since they were left there.

“Mako,” he called out. She swung around to look at him.

He leaves a wooden staff at the doorjamb, eyes never leaving hers.

“If you want to fight kaijuu someday, then you better know how to do it properly. The clearing, 10 hundred hours.”

He turned away, not needing to see the look on her face. He knew that one corner of her mouth would lift before the other, cracking open into a look of hope.

Hope as warm as blankets.

Fanfiction Friday: The Holmes Home

These characters don’t belong to me; I credit their creation to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (as reimagined by Steven Moffat and Mark Gattis), as well as people engaged in the Sherlockian game. This piece is not for money, it’s for my own enjoyment. As such, the accuracy can be a little spotty. I apologize for getting anything wrong.

Oh, and this contains slash. You have been warned.


(from the blog of Dr. John H. Watson)

I’m still a little shell-shocked, to be perfectly honest. I absolutely did not expect anything that happened today. Not one thing. I’d blame Sherlock for all this, but we all know that that’s bloody useless. He only tells me what he wants me to know, and he really doesn’t want me to learn anything REALLY personal about him. I only know about Mycroft because he was borderline STALKING his little brother.

So you WOULD forgive me if I found myself absolutely floored when, a few hours ago, I met their MOTHER.

Allow me to backtrack a bit.

Sherlock and I were following a lead in the mysterious death of one Adelpha Montrue, and we found ourselves in Yorkshire. In retrospect, I should have noticed that Sherlock was acting a bit off. His eyes would dart all over the place, as if he were expecting someone to attack us. His sentences were clipped; he sounded like he was in a hurry. In fact, he practically pushed me out of the wine shop where we thought we’d find a man named George Johnson, an American winemaker who had been having an affair with Ms. Montrue. We didn’t find him there, but we’d gotten some really valuable information from the shop owner and Mr. Johnson’s friend regarding a Mr. Alesso Montrue – although we’re not sure if it’s a husband, son, or brother – but, as important as that was, I didn’t think that we needed to be in a hurry.

Of course, I went along with it because it’s Sherlock and he’ll be insufferable if I refuse to do what he says in the middle of a case. Much besides, I assumed that he’s DEDUCED something important from the bit Mr. Johnson gave us.

Apparently, I was wrong – because about a few seconds later, we ran into a distinguished-looking woman who looked oddly familiar.

You know what the first words out of her lips were?