"I can't even TELL you how incredibly insanely JEALOUS I am of my own daughter."

Dirk Strider was one of the most promising candidates for the Pan Pacific Defense Corps that anyone had ever seen. He had the drive, the skills, and that self-destruct instinct that everyone knew was looked for in a Jaeger, but which no one talked about. There was just one problem with him. Of the hundreds tested, not one single person was drift compatible with him. Not one person could match him, could mesh with him. No one measured up to his excruciating standards. So he built one.

'Neural handshake at 100%,' Mycroft says crisply. 'How do you feel?' It's astounding. There is so much to see in Sherlock's mind-- the tiny details, the analyses of different kaiju forms, their advantages and their structural weaknesses. It feels amazing. John stretches a hand out to brush against the blue bursts of memories between them, and Sherlock pushes through towards his own. They exist as a perfect balance within the drift, calm yet stormy, pushing and pulling. John feels invincible. Wherein John is a war-weary soldier thrown back into the fray, and Sherlock is one of the top kaiju analysts.

After the massive brawl in the cafeteria is contained they tell him in cold, disappointed tones that the guy whose nose he broke for being an intolerable shitwaffle (which started the whole thing) was the same guy who they summoned him here for, for the way their scores match so strangely well on paper. -- Collection of ficlets and oneshots in the Pacific Rim 'verse, or almost.

Dragging a ten ton vault around on a giant tether was one thing; fighting alien hell beasts from another dimension was something he still didn’t think they were completely qualified for.

Ranger Mori and Ranger Ackerman are drift compatible, but outside the Jaeger they rarely exchange words.

"Let's go steal a Jaeger," Parker said, smiling a wolf's smile.

The SNK characters' happy reincarnated life is rudely interrupted by kaiju marching out of the Pacific. They are 100% done with this crap.

They move together as one. He’s never felt something like this before, not even when he piloted Road Warrior. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm of sorts when the person next to him is just as broken as he is, her shattered pieces aligning just so with his. That he can make sense of, that he understands. The more they fight together, the more they pilot War Rig, driving the jaeger like it’s an extension of them both, the more he feels whole. [Or simply, the Mad Max: Fury Road/Pacific Rim AU that no one asked for.]

Xena returns to the New Zealand Shatterdome after five years.

He lands butterfly-light in a swirl of hair and glittering gauze, and the ceiling crashes to the rink all around him. His ears are ringing with heartbeats, his efforts, the cries of the crowd. The rink wobbles under him -- must have landed a bit wrong but he can work through it. Only there are things strewn all over the ice; people usually know to wait until the end to throw roses and tokens and -- Not applause. Screams. The light is wrong because a fourth of the ceiling projectors are missing. The sky is dark. No stars. Something gleams behind the broken sky. And moves. Something he can't -- won't -- something. Something that's looking at him.