Killer Frost Quotes

Just another part of that Spartan killer instinct. I can slay the ladies just as well as I can reapers.

Since coming to Mythos, I'd almost been run through with a sword and mauled to death by a killer kitty cat. Dirty looks didn't faze me anymore.

I’ll give you this, Spartan. You sure can kiss. Feel free to lay one on me anytime you want to." “Well, I do aim to please,” he drawled. “You should see what I can do with my hands. And other parts of my body.” I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? You’ve been cut open like a fish, there’s a psycho-killer Reaper after us, and you’re still hitting me up for sex?” Logan shrugged, but the devilish light didn’t fade from his gaze. “Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying.

Open sesame,' I joked. Silence. Apparently, the Reapers weren't in a joking mood.

I am naturally a Nordic — a chalk-white, bulky Teuton of the Scandinavian or North-German forests — a Viking berserk killer — a predatory rover of Hengist and Horsa — a conqueror of Celts and mongrels and founders of Empires — a son of the thunders and the arctic winds, and brother to the frosts and the auroras — a drinker of foemen's blood from new picked skulls — a friend of the mountain buzzards and feeder of seacoast vultures — a blond beast of eternal snows and frozen oceans — a prayer to Odin and Thor and Woden and Alfadur, the raucous shouter of Niffelheim — a comrade of the wolves, and rider of nightmares

It's about time you guys got here,' Oliver quipped. 'Alexei and I were starting to think you'd gotten lost.' Daphne sniffed. 'Please. We weren't lost. We were shopping.' 'That doesn't make it any better,' Oliver retorted. In fact, I'd say that makes it worse.

It's not my fault you left her all by herself,' Oliver teased. 'You know that's how Gwen gets into trouble.' 'I would stick my tongue out at you, but it's too cold,' I grumbled.

We are the killers. We stink of death. We carry it with us. It sticks to us like frost. We cannot tear it away.

Nickamedes stared at me, his blue eyes bright. Then, he did something I never imagined he would do in a million years. He stepped forward, reached out, and hugged me tight with one arm. “If I am ever lucky enough to have a daughter, I hope that she’s just like you, Gwendolyn,” he whispered

Still, I couldn't help looking at Daphne in morbid satisfaction. 'What did I tell you? Our first double date? Officially ruined.

Yeah, you're probably right,' I said, forcing myself to smile at him. Logan grinned back at me. 'Of course, I'm right. I'm always right.' I rolled my eyes, leaned over, and lightly punched him in the shoulder. 'And now you sound like Vic.' 'No, he doesn't,' Vic piped up from his spot in the chair I'd propped him up in. 'I am much more confident than the Spartan is.' He sniffed. 'And with good reason.

No pain, no death, is more terrible to a wild creature than its fear of man. A red-throated diver, sodden and obscene with oil, able to move only its head, will push itself out from the sea-wall with its bill if you reach down to it as it floats like a log in the tide. A poisoned crow, gaping and helplessly floundering in the grass, bright yellow foam bubbling from its throat, will dash itself up again and again on to the descending wall of air, if you try to catch it. A rabbit, inflated and foul with myxomatosis, just a twitching pulse beating in a bladder of bones and fur, will feel the vibration of your footstep and will look for you with bulging, sightless eyes. Then it will drag itself away into a bush, trembling with fear. We are the killers. We stink of death. We carry it with us. It sticks to us like frost. We cannot tear it away.

I didn’t want to pry, yet I wanted to know how this frosted-blond petite woman murdered her sister and where in her body she was storing the two sandwiches she had just demolished. She couldn’t have weighed more than one hundred pounds and she was about five-foot-six. This woman/ killer was a testament to my theory that the crazier you are, the more calories you burn. That’s why psychos are always so skinny.

I know about Trina. You bitch.” Shoulders hunched, Peabody carefully pinned up murder. “It’s a special night. You’ll look really good, and you won’t have to do it all yourself. We won’t want the NYPSD to fall short of the Hollywood crowd, right? Team pride!” “Rah fucking rah.” “Really, Dallas, it’ll be good, it’ll be chilly, and we’ll look abso-mag by the time . . .” She trailed off again, face lighting up. “We will look mag. And if we take down this killer at the premiere, with cams everywhere, it’ll be all over the screen like the flying baby. And we’ll look completely frosted.” “It’s so good you’ve got your priorities in place, Detective.” “Catching killers, that’s what we do. But if we get to do it at a big celeb event, there’s no downside to looking most totally excellent.

I've been developing killer updated versions of things like Black Forest cake, now with bittersweet devil's food cake, a dried-cherry conserve, and whipped vanilla creme fraiche. I've perfected a new carrot cake, adding candied chunks of parsnips and rum-soaked golden raisins to the cake and mascarpone to the frosting. And my cheeky take on homemade Pop-Tarts will be available in three flavors- blueberry, strawberry, and peanut butter and jelly- and I've even ordered fun little silver Mylar bags to pack them in.

Sloane looked on from behind a veritable mountain of Oreos. “I’ll sit this one out,” she said. “Also, I’m entertaining the idea of eating some of my poker chips. Can we agree that an Oreo missing its frosting is worth two-thirds of its normal amount?” “Just eat the cookies,” I told her, eyeing her pile mournfully—and only partially joking. “You have plenty to spare.” Before joining the Naturals program, Sloane had been Las Vegas born and raised. She’d been counting cards since she’d learned to count. She sat out about a third of the hands, but won every single hand she played.

Serial-Killer [10w] He wasn't a true serial-killer; more of a Frosted Flake. ʕⓧᴥಠʔ (”)-(”)=ε/̵͇̿̿/̿ ̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿ ̿ (””)_(””)

TRICIA’S LEMON CUPCAKES ½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature 1 cup granulated sugar 2 large eggs, at room temperature 1½ teaspoons pure vanilla extract 1½ cups all-purpose flour 2 teaspoons baking powder ½ teaspoon salt ½ cup milk Zest from 1 lemon Juice from 1 lemon Crystallized sugar (optional) Preheat the oven to 350ºF (180ºC; gas mark 4). Line a 12-count muffin pan with paper or foil liners. Set aside. Using a handheld or stand mixer, beat the butter and sugar together on medium-high speed in a large bowl until creamed (about 2 to 3 minutes). Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl as needed. Add the eggs and vanilla. Beat on medium-high speed until everything is combined, about 2 minutes. Continue to scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl as needed. Set aside. In a medium bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt. Slowly add the flour mixture to the butter mixture in three additions, beating on low speed. The batter will be thick. Beat in the milk, lemon zest, and lemon juice on low speed until just combined. Do not overmix the batter. Spoon the batter evenly into 12 cupcake liners, filling them about two-thirds full. Bake for 18 to 22 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. Remove from the oven and allow to cool completely before frosting. Frost the cooled cupcakes with lemon buttercream frosting. Sprinkle with crystallized sugar, if using. If topping with lemon zest, do so right before serving. LEMON BUTTERCREAM FROSTING 3 tablespoons butter, at room temperature 2 to 3 teaspoons lemon extract 1 teaspoon milk (more as needed) 5 drops yellow food coloring (optional) 1 cup confectioners’ sugar (more as needed) Lemon zest (optional) Beat the butter, lemon extract, and milk together until smooth. If using, add the yellow food coloring lemon zest. Beat the confectioners’ sugar into the butter mixture until desired consistency is reached. You may decide to add more sugar at this point. Note: You will want to at least double the recipe if using an 8B tip to pipe the icing. Yield: 10–12 cupcakes

Gavin, are you a serial killer?" I looked at him with mock suspicion. Gavin's green eyes widened for a moment, then a mischievous smiled brightened his face. "I have never killed a Frosted Flake in my entire life.

What if Stephan had also killed people? What if he was the killer?

The power held by corporate giants was terrifying even before the CEO decided to leverage that power for their own murderous ends. A supply shortage. A profit-driven business decision. Cost cuts or poorly thought-out policies that reduced safety margins, forced people into unemployment, or added more pressure to frontline workers already stretched thin. A price hike of an essential medicine. (Wolfram hadn’t forged new ground there.) These things, especially in the health and medical industry, routinely killed far more people than the average serial killer could ever aspire to. And yet so few of them resulted in criminal charges. Indirect manslaughter for profit was far more societally acceptable than one person purposefully ending lives on a smaller scale.

These things, especially in the health and medical industry, routinely killed far more people than the average serial killer could ever aspire to. And yet so few of them resulted in criminal charges. Indirect manslaughter for profit was far more societally acceptable than one person purposefully ending lives on a smaller scale.

Nadine would never forget this death because it had been her eighth birthday. Arleen had come home late, striding into the trailer in wet underwear carrying a boxed cake so warm the frosted flowers had melted off the top. To this day, those innocuous cake boxes with the clear-plastic tops made Nadine’s stomach clench.

But this wasn't a normal vampire killer. This was his Kitten, and he loved every part of her, even the duplicitous ones.

Night had fallen, and I was in the kitchen making a yummy peanut butter and jelly sandwich when I heard the doorbell. I jumped and my heart gave a little kick. This was so a horror-movie scene--bad weather, and a girl cut off from the outside world. Only killers didn’t usually ring the doorbell. Still, I opened a drawer and took out the meat cleaver Mom used for cutting chicken. The doorbell rang again and kept ringing. “All right already,” I muttered as I hurried down the hallway. I hesitated when I saw a large shadowy form behind the etched-glass window of the door. I’d turned on the porch light, and whoever was there blocked most of it. “Ashleigh!” The figure banged on the door and I nearly dropped the cleaver. Josh. My beating heart should have returned to a normal speed, but it didn’t. I wasn’t ready to face him yet. I jerked open the door. “What?” Covered in frost and snow, he edged past me. “Geez, it’s cold out there.” “And you just brought the cold inside.” I shut the door. “What are you doing here?” “My dad called and--what the hell is that?” He pointed to the cleaver. I angled my chin. “I was in the middle of cutting my peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” “With a meat cleaver?” “It’s quick and makes a perfectly straight cut.” He grinned. “Yeah, right. You’ve obviously watched too many movies. Who’d you think I was? Freddy Krueger?” “What are you doing here?” I repeated, not in the mood for his sarcasm or teasing. Plus I was feeling a little silly holding my weapon of choice.

We are the killers. We stink of death. We carry it with us. It sticks to us like frost. We cannot tear it away.

There were only two maps. My mother had one, the delegates had the other. No one else could have traversed the Oscala. The killer was in this cave with me. My vow is furious and heartfelt. I will find out who killed Kedrick and rip the life out of them.