Author has written 37 stories for Harry Potter, Quantum Leap, Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, DC Superheroes, Ironman, Bewitched, Freakazoid, Munsters, and Monty Python.
According to my stats, an amazing number of people have been looking at this, so maybe I ought to put something profound here:
- But then I realized that I don't really have that much to say that's all that profound...
I do have one major peeve with Reviewers. Specifically anonymous reviewers. Now I don't hold the generalized distaste for anonymous reviewers that some of my peers among the writing community do. I understand that there are times when a person can't be bothered to log in. Some other writers simply delete anonymous reviews unread, never allowing them to see the light of day... then they complain loudly about the changes FFN made last year that no longer allows the writers to simply ban unsigned reviews.
What annoys me about anonymous reviewers are those among them who ask questions or disparage my work without the intestinal fortitude to allow me a way to respond to their silliness. For example several anonymous types took me to task for Intervention because I dared question the Great Dumbledore and his well thought out and logical plan for Harry's success... If I could respond to them, I would kindly point out to these misguided children of just how accidental Harry's canon success actually was... I think they totally missed the fact that Albus' plan called for the power of the Elder Wand to die with him, and it did not, allowing Harry's disarming of Draco to make HIM the master of the Death Stick despite the fact that neither of them ever touched the stupid wand. This accidental chain of coincidences were the ONLY thing that allowed Harry to win.
Status of my current works:
Harry Potter and the Invincible Technomage: Chapter 21: About 150 words, aiming at 10k.
Harry Potter and the Distaff Side: Chapter 16: Still sadly stuck. 2000 words aiming at about 8K
Speed: Chapter 1: 4685 words, heading for 8 k.
A scene from a story I playing with when I can't get the words to flow on my current focus; Working title: Leaving the Nest.
Unlike most of my work, this isn't a Potter story... Rather it is a Young Justice story telling the tale of how Dick Grayson left the Robin identity behind and became Nightwing.
The young man's brow furrowed as he killed the motor on his bike and shoved the kickstand into place. He could not remember ever arriving at Mount Justice's garage without someone responding.
Maybe he was the first to arrive… but that was odd too given that M'gann, Connor and Red all lived in the facility.
Ever cautious, he took in his surroundings. Red's tools were on his pegboard. The truck that Connor was always tinkering with was still in pieces. The bioship lay resting in its dock.
So why was he on edge?
He dismounted his bike and made his way out of the garage, into the training area.
The lights were already on as he entered… which was odd since they were motion controlled. He moved forward toward the kitchenette area where the team would meet to eat and joke around. He moved silently, despite the cavernous size of the room, his footsteps made no sound.
Opening the refrigerator, he found M'gann's vegetable platters, and Conner's pizzas. He reached in and pulled out a can of cola.
The air rippled slightly to his right, but giving no indication that he had noticed, the young man continued to move toward the stairs that led to the living quarters. "Yo, Connor? You up yet?"
Silence was his only answer. "Get up you lazy bum!" he shouted, as underneath the cape that covered his shoulders he gave the soda a few rapid shakes.
With a single smooth move, he opened the can, causing it to spray violently, revealing the cloaked form moving to aim its weapon.
The man known as Robin drew his collapsible staff from his belt, expanding it to its full length as he did so. The natural swing of the staff hit the dripping silhouette upside the head, dropping the nearly invisible man to his knees. Robin did not pause, swinging into the now kneeling man with another stroke.
MOVE! His training screamed as he rolled to his right as the beam of a pulse weapon passed through the space he had inhabited. His left hand sought his belt and pulled a handful of small spheres, tossing them along the vector the beam had come. He closed his eyes and continued to move. The flash bangs did their jobs and Robin was sprinting toward the garage, tapping the back of his left glove as he did so. He heard his bike startup, its defensive systems coming online.
He had taken two of the attackers out, but there would be more. If they had taken Connor and M'gann… He had to move, put distance between himself and those chasing him. Distance was his friend.
His bike had already turned itself 180 degrees so that it was facing the garage exit. Robin leaped onto the seat and kicked the bike into gear even before he hit the overrides for the doors. More beams… from two, maybe three, different sources. He hit the access to the shore highway at 80 mph as the beams stopped and bullets replaced them.
Whoever these people were, they were not playing nice any longer.
They would be mounting a pursuit, but as long as they did not have airpower, he was not worried.
Then he saw that what they had was worse than airpower. They had a flier. The flying man was following him at height, beyond the reach of his weapons. Weaving in and out of traffic, he forced the flier to keep his distance. They didn't want a scene then? Good, he could use that.
That was when a fist hit him on the right side of his head.
He swerved, trying to see who had hit him. He had been tagged pretty well, but he had been hit a lot harder before. It would take more than a single cheap shot to…
There. They had a speedster? Then he saw the runner's eyes. Wonderful, a Velocity 9 freak. He hated fighting metas. It always got messy.
"You think you're fast Bird Boy?" the runner screamed over the sounds of his own speed. "Let me show you fast!"
Robin took another shot to his head and shook it off. His left hand found the tee-handle of his grapple. This would never work against Wally, but Velocity 9 gave its users speed, not the awareness to go with it. The gas-powered grapple drove itself into the pavement, anchoring the speed freak's right foot to the asphalt.
Imagining he could hear the man's leg snap, Robin gunned his bike into more speed. His only safety from the flier would be tall buildings. Half a mile to go.
Happy Harbor's Welcome sign was well to his rear when Robin reached the first of the town's multi-story buildings. He hit the release on his cape and let it flutter away. Part of him wished the flier would swoop down and pick it up. The chemical destruct matrix would give him a nice little surprise.
The mask and gloves went next. They too would dissolve to nothing; the electronics in the gloves sparked as they hit the roadway, and screamed an electronic death rattle as they did so.
A hidden switch caused the bike to change from black with a stylized red trim to a plain dirty white. He was going to miss the bike, he had only had this one a month, and it was a dream. Nevertheless, it was better to abandon the bike than to end up captured because of it.
He pulled into an alley, and leaped from the bike, shedding his tunic as he did so. He popped the hidden collar of his under shirt out so that it now appeared to be a black rugby shirt, a pair of black gloves and a pair of shades completed his disguise.
"Not bad kid," a man said. "Really good to tell you the truth. You almost lost me a couple of Times."
Robin turned to face the flier. Metas tended to have specific powersets. As a rule, fliers did not tend to be faux-Kryptonians, despite the cape this one wore. "You know who I am and who I work with," Robin said in a threatening monotone. He had not worked with the Batman this long without learning a few things. "Do you think you're the first Superman wanna be I've faced? Do yourself a favor and take off. Take the bike, it will make your boss happy. Half a mill in the electronics alone."
"Oh, I’m taking the bike alright," the flier said, running his hand down the frame, a smile on his face as he imagined the payday just as Robin had intended. "My team is ten minutes out, and you're staying here."
"Ten minutes?" Robin asked as he triggered the bike's defenses. "Good to know." The bike exploded, the shape charges ensuring the explosion erupted from the frame at the left side. Directly into the flier.
Robin made his way to the fallen Meta. "I'll be leaving now. If you're smart, you'll turn yourself in to the police and tell them where the rest of my team is. If I have to find my friends myself, I'll come looking for you." He reached down and pulled the injured man to his eye level. "There's a reason Metas don't operate openly in Gotham. This is me, caught unprepared. I shredded your weapons people, I disabled your speed freak, and I've taken you out without raising a sweat. If I have to come looking for you, I'll be ready. Think about that. I'll be ready for you. You aren't ready for the big leagues, flyboy."
The man known as Robin allowed the flier to fall to the ground, exited the alley, and vanished into the crowds of Happy Harbor.
- For anyone who cares, I've also got an original piece or two over at fictionpress.com...
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