"Claudia. Inventor. Technowiz guitar player. Singer, hot redhead (I'm only human). Self-referential, narcissistic badass. Warehouse agent, fanfiction author (allegedly). I like all these things, because they describe me.
But if there is one thing I like less than anything else in the world, it is when I go online, browse through the crazy fandom of Warehouse 13, and stumble upon Artie/Claudia shippers' fics, which usually involve me having sex with him.
People, this is not me. If you actually believe that I, Claudia Donovan, would have sex with the person I consider to be my father, you should be bronzed. I don't use the term lightly, as I was bronzed by Para-freaking-celsus once."
Artie looked over Claudia's shoulder. "Shouldn't you be working?"
"Sorry, Artie, but Fruit Wars is just so addicting!"
"She's lying," Steve said, walking in the room.
"GODDAMMIT STEVE!"
"Let me see that..." Artie grabbed the computer. "You're writing fanfiction? Wait... people actually write about... oh my god, this is an outrage!"
"And I'm writing this fanfiction in response." Artie settled down. "Keep writing. I'm heading out."
"Why?"
Artie looked dramatically over to Claudia as he packed his Tesla and set it to overkill power. "I'm stopping them." He walked out the door, through the Umbilicus, and to the car.
"He says that a lot, doesn't he?"
"I've gotten used to it. You should probably meditate or something now, I know I would if I knew how to do it."
"Or something. I'll edit it."
The fanfiction Claudia wrote concluded as such:
"So, the moral is, if you suspect that Artie and I are... ew, you know what I mean – then think again. The youngest member of the team (me) and Artie, who can retell the story of the Big Bang because he was most likely there when it happened, having... ew? That's just... awful. Now stop reading, your presence on my fanfiction is slightly corrupting my awesomeness. Goodbye."