Author has written 105 stories for JAG, Harry Potter, NCIS, Law and Order: SVU, Stargate: SG-1, Law and Order, Misc. Books, West Wing, CSI, House, M.D., Kushiel's Legacy series, TV X-overs, Buffy X-overs, Black Jewels Trilogy, Pirates of the Caribbean, and Numb3rs.
I hate doing profile pages (especially since I can't format anything on this stupid site), so here are some great quotes from fanfic!
On the other hand, one competent hedge fundie could probably own the whole wizarding world within a week. Harry filed away this notion in case he ever ran out of money, or had a week free.
"Anyway, I agreed to come back to London, as I needed a place to lay low for a while."
"Lay low?" Harry asked, aghast. Castor shrugged.
"Eh... I kind of accidentally blew up an old Soviet base I was invading to save my girl from the Russian Mafia. They're not too happy with me. Neither is my girl. Then again, she wasn't mine, persay, I was saving her for her parents due to PRAGS."
"PRAGS?" Harry asked with a blink. Castor nodded and counted off on his fingers.
"Protect the innocent, Rescue the captured, Attack the bad guys, Get the girl, Save the World." Castor blinked and frowned. "Nobody ever taught you the Hero's Code?"
"Hero's Code? I'm not a hero! I just-!" Harry began, before Castor flicked his forehead. "Ow! Hey!"
"Now now, that violates the Heroic Rules of Heroically Heroing Rule number 9: No moping. You're not an anti-hero, that's the Anti-Hero's Rules."
--Harry Potter and the Combat Butler (Chapter 1) by Andrew Joshua Talon
They all crowded around the fireplace with their tea, Dumbledore and Voldemort looking quite at home, Harry glancing confusedly between the two of them, and Argus looking supremely uncomfortable.
"Er, was there a point in you coming down here?" Harry asked after a few minutes.
Voldemort started in shock, and looked up at Harry.
"Ah, yes. I was supposed to kill you," he said pensively.
"No, no. Tom, don't you remember?" Dumbledore asked, sipping his own tea carefully, mindful of his long whiskers. "We made a truce. You don't kill anyone, I don't kill anyone."
"Well, Dumbledore, now that I think of it, that was hardly a fair truce on your part," Voldemort reasoned. "After all, who in this school do you have on your 'People I want Knocked Off' list?"
Dumbledore looked suddenly foreboding. "Well, there is the matter of my missing chair. I nearly joined the Narglites, you know. All that sitting on the floor really does something to a person's head."
"Yes," Voldemort said, eyeing him. "It’s the sitting on the floor bit that did it."
--The Chamber Strike by evansentranced
"One other item before I yield the floor," Ron said looking at his list. "Sometime during the last meeting, I don't know who it was, and I don't need to know. But someone jinxed the toilet paper in the boys' bathroom to be pages of Snape's diary. Not cool, guys. Seriously, not cool."
"Thank you, Ron," Harry said taking over the podium. "I think it's safe assume the culprit, whoever I may be, got his bottom spanked for being naughty. Now, time for today's learning. Anthony and I are going to teach you all how to hunt, kill, and cook a chicken using only the Unforgivables. Anthony, you get to be the chicken."
--The DA Missions: Agent Furry Fury by nonjon
They had all introduced themselves and Harry found that he was living with a Theo Nott, a Greg Goyle, and a Vincent Crabbe. And of course, Blaise, who actually had a last name (Zabini), and who could forget Draco Malfoy. He was the only boy Harry knew who had italics in his name.
Harry's sarcasm was clearly not appreciated, he vaguely wondered if he would get detention like he did in school. They always checked other and wrote "condescending tone" next to it, it upset Harry because in such cases they overlooked his fantastic vocabulary. It should be "condescending tone and diction."
"Well, my dear boy--"
"What are you, a pervert?" Harry demanded, "Because I can assure you, I'm not your dear anything...unless you pay in me in small countries and magical creatures. Then I'm sure we could work something out."
The older people appeared to not get it, but the vaguely ugly black haired man raised an eyebrow in question. Harry could tell the man liked him.
Or at least his sarcasm.
--So Sue Me (Chapter 1) by lunakatrina
No one could deny that Lucius had a talent for flattery and persuasion when he chose to exercise it.
It was almost his only talent, and always worth observing for the rarity value alone. Unfortunately, it was unlikely to be effective against Minerva, who thought he was as trustworthy as a rattlesnake.
This was unfair.
Lucius was far less trustworthy than a rattlesnake, which would only bite when provoked and would give warning before it did so. Lucius bit because he was bored, or because he felt like it, and chiefly because he bloody well could. And he didn't believe in giving you any warning. Where would be the fun in that?
"To be honest, Severus - you don't mind if I call you Severus, do you? - I'm not quite sure what to do with you."
"Er, you could let me go free...?"
"Very droll. It's important to keep a sense of humour, I always say. So it's good to see you aren't letting your present situation get you down." The Governor smiled broadly. "No, I was referring to our rehabilitation program. Strictly, of course, you haven't been convicted, so you aren't eligible for any of our courses, and I'm not sure I could recommend you starting any of the longer programmes, just in case you don't stay with us, so that rather confines you to arts and crafts."
"We have an arrangement with a Muggle provider of education, and I'm pleased to say we have quite a few prisoners studying to obtain some qualifications. Your friend Lucius has had time to complete a degree in his time with us, which was very gratifying. In many ways, it's a shame he wasn't able to stay on for another couple of years and complete his doctorate."
Severus snorted. "What was Lucius studying?"
"Politics, philosophy and economics. He was particularly interested in Marxism, as I recall. It is a little disappointing that he was looking on it as a "How-To" manual of creating oppression, rather than as a critique, but you can't have everything." The Governor pursed his lips. "I think, in the end, he found it all very reassuring to realise that being the member of the ruling class allowed him to shape society to his ends."
They discussed the Horcrux retrieval some more, though it soon degenerated into an explanation to the Purebloods of Shacklebolt's reference to Heaven. ("It's a Muggle religion thing - where good people go after they die", "Who's good?", "Anyone who believes in the religion - everyone else is bad", "Sounds like Slytherin and Gryffindor", "Are all Muggle religions like that?", "No, just the stupid ones.")
Lucius looked around. Bella and Severus were encouraging him to say the truth. It was an odd idea, but if it was going to work, he was willing to try new things. He looked around again and confessed, "I can't take this treatment any longer. They force me to use soap, did you hear? Soap to wash my hair!" He shuddered.
Hermione almost laughed out loud, but Bella quieted her with a well-placed elbow to her ribs. Lucius was very serious about his hair, and she thought he would be useful for them.
"There, there, Mr Malfoy." Hermione patted him on the arm. "We're all suffering here. And I appreciate you telling the truth. I know it was a great effort on your part."
--Women on Top (Chapter 1), by Maddy-Riddle
The door to the dormitory was suddenly thrown open as Anthony ran in, Daphne and Steven on his heels. "Honestly. How could the two of you not tell us that Granger's the Heir?!"
Draco covered his red-rimmed eyes with both hands in a show of exhaustion, his voice as haughty as ever, though he was mumbling. "She's not the Heir, you dimwit, she's too busy being a Mu--"
Harry interrupted loudly, nudging Draco even harder, hoping he'd take the hint and shut the hell up while Harry talked over him. "--As shocked as everyone else. Not all Slytherins are evil, you know."
"Rubbish," said Daphne, lips pressed together in disbelief. "Women are more evil than anyone gives them credit for." Anthony turned a horrified grimace in her direction and her shoulders came up in an unconcerned shrug. "What?"
Dementors – the infamous guards of Azkaban – are scary as hell, take it from me. They force you to relive your worst memories, and steal from you everything that's good and right. They're kind of like politicians, really.
They are best known for their ability to suck a person's soul out by kissing him or her. This process is, imaginatively, called the Dementor's Kiss. Imagine snogging Snape. Now imagine kissing Umbridge. Well, it's worse than both.
--Harry Potter's Guide to the Dark Arts, by opalish
"You know," Harry said blandly, "all that twinkling can't be good for your health."
He had the dubious pleasure of seeing Dumbledore startled speechless, if only for a second.
"That sort of thing makes you go blind," he added, unable to stop himself. An odd strangled noise emerged from Draco's lips. Kingsley actually grinned, his teeth shockingly white against his brown skin.
"I don't understand," said one of the portraits - Armando Dippet was the inscription on the frame - in bewilderment.
"I'll explain when you're older," another portrait, Phineas Nigellus, drawled.
Professor O'Malley entered the classroom, carrying an object draped in an immaculate white cloth. It looked about the size and shape of a juice pitcher, but he handled it with the air of one bearing the Holy Grail. "I have a special treat for us today," he announced. "At great difficulty and expense, I have procured a precious specimen of one of the rarest of Muggle artifacts, one that has no precise analogue in the wizarding world, although perhaps the best way to describe it would be to say that it is a debased variety of cauldron..." He lectured on the history of cauldrons for about ten minutes, during the course of which about half the class fell asleep, and then reached forward with a hand that trembled slightly and an attitude of great reverence. The students who were still awake watched breathlessly as he removed the pall of white samite and unveiled:
Must ... not ... make ... a ... sound. I stuffed my knuckles into my mouth and tried not to look at the Muggle-born students in the room, who were having quiet hysterics.
"Sir?" asked James, looking up from the notes he had been scribbling earnestly. "Why does the Muggle cauldron have a hat?"
Professor O'Malley explained that the hat in question was actually a lid, and that it was a safety device. The Muggle cauldron was used for making particularly volatile potions, one of which – known as a "Cuervo margarita" – had been known to incapacitate fully grown wizards.
--The Adventures of Icarus, the Invisible Poltergeist, by After the Rain
Teaching as a profession seemed to be a haven for cynics and drama queens. Professor Snape, after all, embodied both.
--Asymmetric Perspective, by Alvira
"Actually, I think I'm generalising too much. What forms a significant part of many adolescent female fantasies?"
"Something horrific, no doubt," said Phineas.
"Marriage," said Dilys. "Or at least some kind of lasting relationship with a significant other, often accompanied by children."
"So I was right," said Phineas.
--The Italian Job, by Abby
"It would be you," she said. "We turn up to check reports of a homicidal alien in Harrods, and who do we find? Lucy Saxon."
"I asked myself, what would Harry do?" Lucy asked absently.
Ah, and there was the total disgust again.
"What, and you think he’d’ve stabbed it through the eye? Bit low-tech for him, isn’t it?"
"I didn’t have anything else," Lucy explained, unruffled, "And Harry liked sharp pointy things, especially if they were stabbing people."
She surveyed the dead alien.
"Do you like my shoes?" Lucy asked Martha vaguely.
Martha glanced down.
"I think they're feminine torture devices for feet," she said bluntly.
"Thank you," Lucy said softly, pleased.
--How Lucy Saxon Saved the Day (Much to Martha Jones' Disgust) by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
"There is an elephant in the console room."
Her mouth fell open. Okay, she could forgive him for not knocking in this particular case. "What?" she asked a moment later as she got over her surprise. "You can’t be serious."
"Oh, you'll find I never joke about pachyderms, Rose," he told her firmly.
"Too much like picking on a family member?" she asked.
She grinned as he tried to work out whether she was insulting his nose or his ears and it deepened when he realized her zinger included both. "Oi, Rose!"
"Think on that the next time you call me an ape, then."
--Another Day, Another Elephant (Chapter 1) by amberfocus
He smiles softly at the memories attached to this silly hunk of metal that weighs so lightly on his fourth finger. "Which brings us to the end of this little video diary, because I doubt I'm going to have much more time to learn anything else of interest, and I wanted to make sure that I stressed the most important thing I've learned last, for effect. So pay attention you, because you're bound to get this one wrong if you try working it out on your own." He stands up and moves in front of the chair, doing his best part-human impression of his old Oncoming Storm look. Crossing his arms, he faces the camera head on, challenging the him that isn't there, that he can't see, that he knows won't listen to him unless he manages to convey with his stance and manner that he is absolutely serious.
"You don't need a piece of paper to show someone you'll always be there for them. You don't need a sparkly trinket to prove your affections. You don't need three little words to convince them that you're no longer the master of your own heart...hearts...whatever. But even still, every once and a while, it's good to hear. It's nice to be reminded." He leans down, his face only inches from the camera's eye, and speaks with all the conviction his pitiful human frame can muster.
"And it bloody damn well needs saying."
I hate you and I wish you'd burned to a crisp with all the rest of our people and I hope I get the chance to set you on fire myself one day, soon, the Master thinks, pointedly. Also, we're out of crackers.
The stunned mental silence is definitely worth the price of admission.
--Human Women by orange_crushed
"I never was much for jousting," the Doctor mused, "although I did enjoy the whole bard atmosphere."
Rose leaned against the TARDIS and folded her arms over her chest. "Now see, I woulda thought you the action man type rather than sitting around listening to stories. Seems, I dunno, tame for you."
He wasn't sure whether to be insulted. "Hey, I'll have you know I listened to some of the greats, Shakespeare, Homer, Keats, Byron was a freak though and Freud? Talk about issues! But I can do intellectual as well as the next man."
Rose turned to Mickey who had just walked in. "Mickey, when I say 'Homer' you think what?"
"Simpson," Mickey replied and the Doctor looked away.
"Okay, so maybe not the next man."
So for your birthday we landed at Granny Jackie's for some tea and cake, and all sorts of people showed up. Uncle Jack walked in and you pointed to him and said "Ja!" very loudly, which caused that ego I mentioned at 6 months to grow even larger. At this rate, by the time you're seven, it'll be the size of a small moon. So stop now, before it's too late. For your birthday, he got you a book called "Pat the Bunny." I fear that the fluffiness of this interactive book will encourage you to want an actual bunny.
No pets on the TARDIS. I mean it, young lady.
"So. Bit of a tiff?" Sarah Jane asked Rose.
"Oh, not at all." Rose raised her voice so that it would carry through the open window out into the garden. "THE DOCTOR'S JUST BEING A TOTAL GIT."
He yelled back. "OH! A GIT, AM I? WELL, MAYBE I'LL JUST LEAVE THEN! VROOOP. VROOOP. VROOOP."
"YEAH, YOU'RE MAKING TARDIS NOISES WITH YOUR MOUTH."
Sarah Jane put a hand to her head and mustered all her energy not to sigh. "I'll just fetch us some tea."
--Tea & Domesticity by mrv3000
He never did find the cream. The milk was almost gone, so he decided to forgo it. Two strong cups of coffee later, he felt far more awake and far more able to try and understand just why they were doomed. From what he remembered of Rose's expression, he suspected that he knew just why they were doomed and suppressed a world-weary sigh.
It was a surprise again, was it?
He needed more guns.
--Holiday (Chapter 1), by dark_aegis
"Physics lesson?" Ianto asked, holding it carefully.
"In a sense. This hat. I like this hat. And I'm going to make you buy it and take it home. Where you are going to give it to me."
"And I will keep it until I disappear, and then when I return to the Hub in a month, it will be there on the rack, waiting for the next rainy day."
"Listen, if you want a rain hat, there are better -- "
"The point is," Jack continued, "Do I like this hat because it reminds me of itself, three months ago when you will give it to me, or do I like this as a hat qua hat, and the temporal displacement is simply incidental?"
Ianto squinted. "Did you just say hat qua hat?"
"Which brings up the question of whether our lives are predestined and if they can be changed."
"It's a hat, Jack."
"I think the Rift exists in Cardiff because only the Welsh are so practical in the face of existential headwear," Jack said.
--All That I Ain't Got by sam_storyteller
Rodney scrunched up his face. "You've been getting weather reports?" he asked.
Teyla inclined her head in assent. "When trading with others, it is helpful to learn of the challenges they face. Were the jevis gone, we would know that there would be no blass seed come fall."
"Right. Blass seed," Rodney nodded, rooting in his tac vest for his hand-held scanner. "Heaven knows we need more alien grains turned into teeth-wrecking pancakes. I swear I almost lost a molar on those Zavish beans."
"Blass seed's different. Makes you strong," Ronon put in. "Good for your sperm."
John raised an eyebrow. "Huh."
"Good, how?" Rodney asked.
"Makes good babies." Ronon shrugged. "Big ones."
John blinked and tried to find something intelligent to offer. "Huh," he said again.
"And big is good?" Rodney asked, seeming unable to let the matter go. "Isn't big, you know, problematic for the woman who's having the kid? She's gotta –" He gestured, presumably to intimate the entire messy business of labor.
Ronon shrugged. "The malasha helps."
"And what's that?" Rodney asked, perplexed. "Grain alcohol? Raw opium to dull the pain? A large hammer with which to invite unconsciousness?" Teyla's recent pregnancy had not made Rodney noticeably more enlightened in matters of labor and delivery.
Walsh carefully peeked at a notecard in his hand. "Yes, women! Hey, you know what women talk about a lot? MENSTRUATION."
"I know, right?" Henderson said. "Man. They're always talking about all those cramps, right? WEIRD."
There was a commotion in the hallway. "--won't say it, I refuse to perpetuate damaging and untrue stereotypes about masculine refusal to accept perfectly normal aspects of biological activity--"
"And how about all those TAMPONS!" Walsh shouted.
"--get eaten by the fucking wraith??" someone growled outside, just before Flores stumbled into the room, a mulish expression on his face.
"Time of the month," Morin hissed.
Flores steeled himself. "Never trust anything that-- um. Anything that--"
"That what?" Walsh prompted.
Flores glared. "Never trust anything that bleeds for seven days and doesn't die," he spat out. Without another word, he stormed back out of the room.
John levered himself out of the pod even as he said, "McKay, I blew myself up today and woke up in a revolution."
"Last week, technically. You blew yourself up last week. You just haven't been stable enough to wake up until now."
"So what have you been--" John shook his head. "Never mind. I don't want to know."
"I'll explain it all after coffee." Rodney stopped short in the hallway. "Oh my god. I cut off diplomatic ties with our only source of coffee, didn't I?"
"You think of that now?"
"Fog of war and all, Colonel. I'm not exactly a career subversive." Rodney shook his head. "Well. We'll figure something out. Did I mention we have two ZPMs now?"
"No," John said, "and if you stole them from the US Air Force, I don't want to know about it."
"Nonono," Rodney said. "Not stealing. Stealing is wrong. We, um, traded for them."
"Caldwell," Rodney said quietly.
"What? He's an enemy of the state and we needed to power the shield somehow!"
--While You Were Out by Mad Maudlin
Rodney gaped. "But-- you-- you did a handstand!"
"Because I was trying to impress him!" Carson countered. "Rodney, are you trying to tell me you had romantic feelings for Lucius?"
"Of course not. I'm one hundred--" In a violent attempt to overthrow him, his brain flashed to an image of Sheppard in his new leather jacket. "--Ninety percent heterosexual. Maybe eighty. Okay, definitely seventy-five percent heterosexual."
Carson looked worried. "Seventy-five percent heterosexual? What does that even mean?"
"It means I'm less gay than Lance Bass, but more gay than Justin Timberlake."
--Them Other Boys Don't Know How to Act by eleveninches
"I'm almost there!" Daniel called.
Jack glanced briefly skyward in irritation. "You know, Makepeace's archeologist played hockey in college, Daniel!" he called back.
"Makepeace's archeologist also misread important cultural signs on P2X-300 and came home married to Makepeace," Daniel snapped.
--Face-off, by surreallis
If they were living in a cheesy action movie, he thought, it'd go something like this: Sam would go to the bar to buy a drink and be hit on by some big, burly guy with a beer gut and a bad comb-over. She'd tell him to buzz off, but he'd persist because that's what big, bad, burly guys do. So then Daniel... Jack glanced toward Daniel and sized him up. Yeah, his balls were bigger than his common sense so he'd definitely try for the rescue. So then Daniel would try to interject politely on Sam's behalf and rescue her from The Behemoth who can't take no for an answer. The Behemoth would then punch Daniel, sending him flying over tables and spilling beer everywhere. Then Jack would have to ride forward on his white horse and be all badass with The Behemoth. He'd use some tricks he learned in Black Ops and there'd be pureed Behemoth everywhere, and Sam would kiss him and maybe even sleep with him to prove her heartfelt thanks. And maybe Daniel would too even though he'd have a sore eye and Sam was actually his girlfriend.
--More Than We Are: Part II--Gravity Catches, by surreallis
"Weird," Oz said.
"What's weird?" Xander asked.
Oz held waved his hands in front of him from his spot on the couch. "It's like there's a whole new energy to the room. Usually, it's the five of us. Me and Will on the couch, you guys over there and Giles sort of wandering. Cordy here is acting as a sort of. . . metaphysical counterweight that's really throwing off my perceptions of spatial relations in the area."
There was a long pause, where everybody tried to figure out what the hell Oz had just said.
"Does. . . that actually mean anything, Oz? In English, I mean?" Buffy asked.
Oz nodded, looking thoughtful. "I'm not used to having six people here."
Jack was no idiot, and he'd done a lot of research during Chem class last year. He knew that marijuana wasn't a hallucinogen. His last conscious thought as he swirled down into the hallucination was that this couldn't possibly be happening.
His first conscious thought on waking was that, of all the stupid shit to see on your first trip out of reality, he saw a fucking Nissan Versa in a Las Vegas airport parking lot.
His second thought was that his spirit walk had come, and Dad was going to be really pissed that he didn't graduate high school first.
There was one time DiNozzo and his pals brought him in for a line-up. The police said that he'd run over a poor little old lady with his new motorized scooter. That was entirely untrue. She was no poor little old lady. He'd called out a warning, and she'd still whacked him with her purse and her cane! She was an ol' meanie.
In the line-up, DiNozzo told them all to shout, "Move over, old lady!" Slouchy, being a stickler for facts, shouted, "That's not what I said! I said, 'Get outta my way, old lady!'"
Slouchy still can't figure out how Tony knew he did it.
--The Sad Story of Slouchy Sanford, by sammie28
"Wait. If I'm on Gibbs' couch... why are you here?" This didn't make any sense. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe last night had been a dream. Or a nightmare. But he didn't think so. Not even his subconscious was twisted enough to come up with something called a Rocky Mountain Bear Fucker.
Kate was still glaring down at him. In Gibbs' living room. Wearing a bathrobe. "Oh. Oh! How long has this been going on?"
"None of your damn business. What the hell are you doing on the couch?"
He was still trying wrap his brain around the fact that Gibbs and Kate were... together. "I knew you guys were making out in the elevator last week! You denied it, but I knew!"
"Dinozzo, focus." Wow, who knew Gibbs' personality was sexually transmitted? "Why are you on the couch, and not – wherever it is you should be at six a.m. on a Saturday?"
"Six a.m.? You woke me up at six a.m.? Why?!" She was evil. Satan, Hitler and Regis Philbin evil. No one should be awake at six a.m. on a Saturday.
Gibbs sighed. "You're right. He's out of it."
Tony tried to respectfully suggest that he felt just fine in Marine, but Kate told him to watch his language. He tried geek, even though he didn't usually like conceding to a working knowledge of McGee's particular dialect. Still, if he got his point across to McGee, McGee could convey it to everyone else.
"McGee," he said carefully, not wanting to screw up his pronunciation, "tell them that I might have cleared my hard-drive, but there's still the imprint of everything underneath and full system recovery is starting." He thought about karma and added an "I wish you good health" in geek: "I hear the latest ComCon tickets are cheap on E-bay."
Gibbs and Kate looked at each other and said, "Definitely delirious," just as McGee said, "Hey, that actually kind of made sense! . . . Or, um, not. Delirious. Right."
--Found in Translation, by Sequitur
Caitlin Todd is cuddling with him.
...She is going to kill him when she wakes up.
His mouth tastes dry and dead from the alcohol but his head is pleasantly clear and is therefore fully capable of understanding just how horrible this situation is for him and his prospects of one day passing on his genes to continue the family line. She's going to kill him, castrate his dead body, and then rejoice. He just knows it.
And he'd had such hopes of terrorizing the world for years to come-- he'd even had a little movie playing in his head of a mini-version of himself poking a mini-version of Gibbs with a stick over and over again, then stealing his lunch money. Of course, then mini-Caitlin would come and beat him up for making her boyfriend cry, but didn't you always beat the crap out of the boy you secretly liked?
--Flight (Part 6), by b_cavis
"Rabb." Webb never took his eyes off Mac to acknowledge the other man's presence.
"Hey, Harm. Where's Jenny?" Mac shifted on Webb's lap, and looked past Harm for the blonde agent.
Harm's forehead wrinkled, and his eyes widened, as he took in the sight before him. "She's still in Reno... what the hell happened while I was gone?"
"Elvis? I'm supposed to understand what that means?"
Webb shrugged. "It's Vegas, Rabb. Elvis is the answer to everything."
--The Vegas Strip, by RedWriter
The West Wing
Toby clenched his fists, his patience already worn out from being in this costume for far too long. "I am not a clown! My name is Toby Ziegler and I am Director of Communications for the White House! I don't make balloon animals and I generally don't talk to children!"
"Do you have one of those small cars that twenty clowns can fit in?" the boy asked, unfazed.
Toby shook his head, speaking through gritted teeth. "No, I have a medium-size car, called a BMW, that five clowns, called politicians, can fit in."
"Can you juggle?"
"NO! No, I cannot juggle! Listen to me carefully, you glue-eating mongrel: I am NOT a real clown! I am pretending, it's Halloween! You're dressed like Superman, but you're not really Superman, right?"
"Yes, I am," the boy replied.
--At the Pleasure of the President, by Steph
Will raised his free hand. "Uh... who's 'he?'"
"Jack Reese," Josh answered, not taking his eyes off of Toby. "Believe me, I'm having this conversation with her in about fifteen minutes."
"Okay," Will said, more to himself than to the others, who weren't listening to him anyway. "But I don't know who Jack Reese is."
His curiosity was evidently not a concern to his companions, who skipped directly to another point in the conversation without bothering to provide directions to the unintiated.
"You're going to yell at Donna right now," Toby surmised with a pained sigh.
"I am, indeed. For I am Josh, Doer of Stuff. Possessor of 760 Verbal."
"God, Toby, why haven't you stolen this man for your writing staff?" asked Danny.
--Solecism, by Ryo Sen and Marguerite
He turned back to Wilson. "It's a wedding. Her niece. Shotgun, we think, but you never know with the Country Bear Jamboree."
Wilson laughed, "You can't call them that to their faces." He saw the look on House's face. "You can't. They might actually have shotguns. So where is this shindig?"
House rolled his eyes. "Gatlinburg, Tennessee."
"Where?" Wilson had never heard of the place.
"It's somewhere between Knoxville and Deliverance. If I hear banjos, I'm hauling ass out of there."
Everyone, raise your glasses -- good, good. Now put them down again, because you're all here to toast James Wilson, talented doctor, handsome groom, faithful husband. There's no such man. You probably all know there's no such man, except maybe Julie's friends -- hi -- but you're here to celebrate anyhow. Hey, who could blame you? There's free cake, free wine, and if the marriage ends before six months are out, they might return the wedding gifts and you'll get your money back. All in all, not a bad bargain.
--A Toast to the Happy, by wisdomeagle
The three ducklings were huddled around the board, intent. "Patient shows all the symptoms of a severe case," Cameron said, leaning back a little. "The question is, why is the illness so far progressed?"
"Prolonged exposure? Ten years is a long time." Chase scribbled that down.
Foreman shook his head. "Dr. Cuddy has known him equally long, and she doesn't show a single symptom."
"Not everyone's immune system is the same," Cameron said. "Keep it up there, Chase. Could be similiar backgrounds. Both hardworking doctors, heads of their department. Professionally, something is bound to show up."
"Yes, but we're talking personally, not professionally, or we might as well put ourselves down as terminal," Chase mused slowly. "Similar morality?"
"Oh, c'mon. House doesn't have a moral code. He's got a moral Spark Notes set," Foreman scoffed.
--Diagnosis: Wilson, by L.M. Griffin
And when Jesus had been cast out into the wilderness, the Tempter came unto him and spake, saying: "That didn't go so well, did it."
"Thanks, Crowley," said Jesus sourly, staring into the distance.
"Well, at least you went and got baptized. He must've been pretty happy about that."
"Yeah, he gave me a dove," said Jesus. "Thirty years of missed birthdays, and he gives me a dove."
--Compassion (What They'll Write), by lily22
"I don't see why we can't just go to the wedding," Lisa complained. "Why do we have to work, Jack? It's such a small event and there's only a half-dozen civvies on the guest list. Everyone else is with UNIT, for pity's sake. His best man's Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart! He's famous!"
"Yeah, Jack," Owen agreed. "And why aren't you his best man, anyway?"
Jack glanced warily out at the Doctor. "If you must know, it's because he really is a dangerous person. Not in himself, just things follow him. I want to be prepared for anything from jilted ex-lovers – for either of them – all the way up to full-scale invasion fleets. There's no telling what might show up to see the Oncoming Storm properly domesticated. Now can we go? I still have the cat from hell and those Tribble things on my desk, and the wedding's tomorrow."
"Not 'til you tell us why you're not best man," Gwen said, teasingly.
"Would you believe they fought over which one of them got me?" he asked cheekily.
"Yeah," said Owen, and then fell into very bad voice impressions. "'You take him!' 'No, you do it!'"
"Very funny," Jack complained.
"You're not leaving 'til you tell us," Lisa told him. "And I have the keys."
"Because the Church of England ordained me in 1897," Jack finally admitted, to the wonder and terror of all. "I'm conducting the ceremony."
Gwen gaped at him and shook her head. "I'm converting to Catholicism," she decided.
"He's about as subtle as a brick to the head," Owen said, watching as Jack made a beeline for the rubbish bin.
"We're a top secret alien fighting organization that has its name written on the side of its transportation," Ianto said absently. "We're not into subtle."
"Did you seriously just use a quote from Gilmore Girls in conversation?"
Ianto, Gwen and Tosh all looked at Owen with varying levels of incredulity.
"You watch Gilmore Girls?" Gwen asked, sounding as if all her Christmases had come at once. "Gilmore Girls?"
Owen glared at Ianto. "Bite me, alien boy."
"General O'Neill, all ships reporting ready. Would you like to say anything?"
Jack looked at the man blankly for a moment. "Huh?"
"Well, we're about to embark upon the most important mission in the history of the fleet, probably," the Colonel explained. "I thought you might want to say something. You know to inspire the troops."
"Right," O'Neill replied. "Open a channel to the fleet."
"Channel open, sir."
The speakers flared to life on the Titan as Jack O'Neill's voice sounded out.
"Attention fleet, this is General O'Neill," he started. "Colonel Pendergast has remarked that I should say something deep and inspiring on the eve of this historic mission…"
There were a few moments of silence; Carter couldn't help but smile.
Some things never change... she thought.
"Yeah, I got nothing."
He turned to Weir and Woolsey, "I'm going to go before I say anything else that makes your job here harder than it already is. If anyone wants me, I'll be introducing Thor to the concept of Pimp My Ride. Good day."
"Wait, crap, crap. You're in Cardiff, aren't you?"
O'Neill groaned. "Don't tell me, you've run into a guy called Captain Jack Harkness, right?"
"That's who he says he is," John agreed, feeling relieved that O'Neill had heard of him.
"Black hair, blue eyes, looks like he should be sweeping a heroine off her feet, grin like... like... damn it, I can't think of anything that doesn't sound like innuendo, because he makes everything sound like innuendo. Even hello. Especially hello."
"That's, uh, a really good description, sir," John agreed and Jack grinned at him, raising his eyebrows. "So Torchwood does consult with the SGC, then? I mean they seem to know a lot about us sir," John said, getting to the important question of whether Jack was on the up-and-up or not.
"When we can't avoid it, yes. Don't worry about it, Sheppard," O'Neill said with a sigh. "Jack ruffles the feathers of the command types a lot, mostly on purpose, but he's one of the good guys. We think. But we gave in and gave him clearance anyway, mainly because he always seemed to know everything whether we told him or not."
"That's good to know."
"Oh, and tell him to stop trying to steal our scientists."
"Because that's what Santa does to bad boys and girls," Xander said. The troop of Cub Scouts stood in rapt attention before him. Their faces paled as most of them stood in silence. One of the boys in the back began to cry quietly.
"Xander!" Dawn yelled. "They just asked how you lost your eye. There's no need to scare them."
"Sorry, Dawn," Xander turned back to the Cub Scouts. "Don't worry. Santa will never think you're bad as long as you follow my advice. So remember what I said. If you stand by your friends and work together, there's nothing you can't do. Even the weakest person can provide crucial help, so don't exclude them. And always remember the number one rule. What is it?"
"BROS BEFORE HOS!" the boys chorused.
--Wonders Never Cease by phoukabro
While Chase and Cameron joined the Atlantis expedition because they could both make things light up and sparkle and were, when it came down to it, attracted to shiny things, Foreman's thought process had been more of a more mathematical nature, reasoning that: (am unemployed) + (advanced imaging technology) + (great alien dental plan) + (House would kill for this opportunity) + ((can’t get much farther from House than this)) = totally taking the job.
Sam looked down at it over his shoulder. "Okay, that's weird," he said, under-fucking-statement of the year.
Dean jerked his head up at the owl. "How the hell did anybody know we were--Christ, I'm talking to a freaking owl," he said, cutting himself off.
The owl hissed impatiently and held out its claw. Dean held back the letter. "You're not getting it back, Woodsy, it says it's for me."
The owl didn't give a hoot, more like a sigh, and then it burst off the TV set right at him. Dean fell back windmilling on the bed, letter still clutched in his hand. The owl pecked at his front jeans pocket--"Holy fucking Christ get it off me!" Dean yelped while Sam just stood there laughing--and yanked out his money clip. It shook it furiously, scattering twenties and hundreds everywhere, until finally it had just one twenty left clutched in its beak, and then it took right off back out the window, flipping its tail feathers at them as it swooped up and away.
"Great," Dean said. "I've been mugged by an owl. Shut up, bitch, it's not funny."
BtVS/The West Wing
"Technically, if you're going to be gallivanting about with Toby for an hour every day, that should be a pay cut."
"And more insubordination! Mocking your superior's vocabulary."
"I seldom think of you as my superior, Josh."
"I would remind you that I hold your future job security in my hands."
"True. However, in my hands I hold a three-foot-long edged weapon. I can't help feeling that the balance of power in this relationship has shifted."
"Well, that all depends on a number of things," she replied. "First, are you intending to take over complete control of the entire federal government, or just establish dominion over a major section of the Western United States, and second, if you are, can I have the Pacific Northwest?" she asked.
"You seem to think very highly of yourself, don't you, Miss Rosenberg?" Xander asked her with a wide smile. "Two states? Hmmm, I don't know. What do you think, Buff? Can she have the Pacific Northwest?"
"I don't know, either, Xan," the Slayer answered, joining in the game. "That seems like an awful lot of responsibility for just one person. Are you going to have anyone helping you, Will?"
"I was thinking about asking Tara to help me out on that," the redhead told them. "How about it, hon? Want to help me rule despotically over Washington state and Oregon?"
"I, uh, don't know, sweetie," the reticent blonde smiled back at her, sharing in the humor. "Would we have to s-spend all our time ruling with an iron fist, or could we just do it p-part-time?"
"Hey, guys, can I have Southern California?" Dawn chimed in. "Like from L.A. on down?"
"No," Buffy told her, with a satisfied smirk. "You have to finish high school first, Dawn. Have you ever heard of any despotic iron-fisted ruler who didn't finish high school? Your jack-booted thugs will never respect you if you don't finish high school."
Indiana spied it before Giles did. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
Giles finally found it: a high-priced jeep was hidden in the brush. He wasn't thinking when he opened his mouth and it showed. "I think so Brain, but if we killed all the vampires the mosquitoes would just take up the slack."
Adam nearly fell over laughing and Indiana looked confused which made Adam laugh all the harder.
--Grief Therapy by PaBurke
"I feel like I should whisper in your ear: 'Sic transit gloria mundi.'"
Buffy looked over at her, confused. "You're going to vomit all over Gloria on a bus this Monday?"
"Ah, Oz... he came to your funeral, you know."
"Really?" Buffy asked, her eyes sparkling.
"Yep - he even gave one of your many eulogies."
"Jerk," Buffy muttered as she shrugged off his shoulder and began heading towards the door where the others were waiting. "Now I know you're lying."
"Are you kidding?" Xander countered as he hurriedly dogged her steps. "It was really moving - a little long, but moving nonetheless."
PROBLEMS I AM ALREADY HAVING WITH THIS BLOODY SCHOOL:
1. The grounds are entirely too big for a lazy bastard like myself to navigate on foot. And the only alternatives to 'on foot' are brooms and ghastly flying horses that eat meat and cigarettes.
2. There is a giant squid in the castle's pond- sorry, lake. Ordinarily I wouldn't care, but it waved to me as Dumbledore led the way up to the castle. Look, you're a bloody freshwater kraken, would you mind showing a little dignity? I dunno, devour the local birds or something. Nothing with that many tentacles should be acting like a puppy.
3. The paintings move. Not a repetitive loop, either. I mean move. And talk. Damn things are sentient. According to D'dore, all wizard pictures are like that, including photographs. (Wonder if I can lay my hands on some wizard porno?)
"Sam went out after Ginevra. I got you another drink. Looks like you could use it."
Hermione lifts her head. "I can’t drink, because I’m dead. I died of embarrassment. Go put on some black clothes and mourn me."
"Please." Dean sprawls back and drinks from a pint of amber beer. "So you slept with one of her brothers. You think that’s embarrassing, I got some stories that’d curl your hair."
"It’s curly already. And it was more than one of her brothers."
"No disrespect to the kid, but that still seems like a fairly minor offense. You want to work your way down the family line, that’s your business."
Hermione makes a face. "I think you just called me a slag. Thank you so very much. For your information, it occurred precisely one time—which was also the only occurrence of that particular behavior in my entire life. Since I’m dead of embarrassment, I don’t mind admitting that fact."
"Let me know if I’ve got the math wrong here," Dean says, "but if you slept with more than one brother but have only done it once in your life--"
"Yes. That would imply exactly what you think."
"Right on," Dean says with some amount of admiration, raises the pint in her direction, and drinks from it again. "And here I thought you Brits were repressed."
Harry Potter/Addams Family
"Yes, you have to go back some time, because the story isn't finished yet. I have read it in the cards," said Aunt Morticia. "Voldemort may be gone, but he's not dead. What's the first rule about enemies?"
"Make sure they're dead before you turn your back on them," chorused the three children.
Harry Potter/The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy
"Don't worry," Mandy assured the headmaster. "He's perfectly harmless."
"I am not harmless!" protested Grim, affronted by the idea. "I am de Grim Reaper, death itself give form, feared by all, wielder of de scythe, de only true constant of dis universe and one of de oldest and most powerful beings in all of creation!"
Mandy listened to Grim's proclamation before turning back to Dumbledore and blandly repeating, "He's harmless."
Clearing his throat, Dumbledore peered at Grim and asked, "You aren't planning on reaping any students, are you?"
"Not unless it's their time," replied Grim.
"And if it is their time?"
"If dey gotta go, dey gotta go."
--Something Grim This Way Comes by Ruskbyte
Harry Potter/The Colbert Report
"That's nothing," Lee Jordan said, leaning across the table. "With us, he brought out a list of famous witches and wizards through history, and made us shout out whether we thought they should be brought back, or left dead! No one knew what to say when he got to Nicholas Flamel, though."
"My gran is furious he's our new teacher," Neville said, glancing around as if he expected a Howler from that formidable lady to arrive any minute. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "She's on notice, my gran, you see."
"What'd she do?" Ginny asked, eyes wide.
"Don't know," Neville said. "Gran won't tell me, and when I got up the nerve to ask Professor Colbert after class, all he'd say was that she knows why."
Luna Lovegood had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. "He gave my father a Tip of the Hat," she said. "The Quibbler, my father's paper, always gives proper attribution to quotes. Unlike the Daily Prophet, which got a big Wag of the Finger for not mentioning him in their article on Truthiness. It serves them right, too."
--Harry Potter and the Eagle of Truthiness, by Christine Morgan
"Sir, the SGC has plenty of other qualified astrophysicists that can take care of things while I'm gone."
"Yeah, well, we need you. Send one of the 'other qualified astrophysicists' off to Atlantis."
"We can't, Sir. I'm already packed and set for this mission. Be it for better or worse, Sir, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I'm not going to let it fly by."
"Carter, dying is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."
Sam crossed her arms amusedly. Jack shrugged. "Okay, so maybe not so much. But if we lived normal lives, it would apply just fine."
--Daedalus Rebound, by Bringer of Doom
Angua led Remus back outside. They were shortly followed by Vimes, Carrot, Corporal Littlebottom and Detritus. And his crossbow.
"With all due respect, sir..." Angua began.
"Yes, Sergeant?" snapped Vimes.
"Where are we going? Why so many people?"
Vimes glared. There were some things he wouldn't allow any man (or woman or troll or dwarf or werewolf) to face alone.
"We're off to see the wizards," he said darkly.
--Minimal Grounds For Disaster, by The Raven
Granny's first glance of Voldemort confirmed her worst suspicions.
"Red eyes, pale complexion and wossname. Megalomania. You've never pulled your nose out of a book, have you, my lad?"
"Doesn't look like he ever even made it out of the house," Nanny said, giving him a critical look. "On the other hand, he probably has plenty of experience pulling his tonker."
Voldemort drew his wand and said, "I could kill you where you stand, old woman!"
"Oh. Well then," Granny said. "Dearie me and possibly lawks."
"Do you know who I am?"
"Some chap named Tom Marvolo Riddle."
"I am Lord Voldemort!"
"Pish. Takes more than an anagram to make royalty, my boy."
Nanny nodded. "Have to have a birthmark and a sword, at least."
--Harry Potter and the Improbable Use of Chaos Theory, by debchan
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