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For Kayim, Star Wars Rebels, Hera, Being the team mom was hard some days1.The Ghost crew all stare at the new list of Ship Rules, guiltily avoiding catching anyone else’s eye, for this is a shared punishment and for their collective crimes, Hera has put the Holonet password behind 12 layers of personal encryption:
No clipping toenails in the lounge (Zeb, this means you especially);
No, Sabine, you may not redecorate the common areas without the Captain’s express, written prior approval;
Anyone who doesn’t put the toilet seat back down will be cleaning the head (and the landing gear, exhaust systems, ventilation, and Chopper's wheel housing) for the next month;
Since someone (Ezra, I know it was you) ate all my frozen chocolate cream, there won’t be any more on the ship until we eat all the fermented, curdled thala-siren milk…
and so on.As they peruse the very long list, Sabine muses, “I could try to splice through…” but Ezra shakes his head and points at the final warning: “If anyone even tries to hack my security, I’m cancelling our premium channels and it will be basic cable until Coruscant Prime goes supernova.” 2.Sabine wrinkles her nose at the smell coming from the galley, just foul enough that she knows she should investigate, in case it's a toxic leak or something corrosive. Turns out, it is both toxic and corrosive; Zeb is sitting on the counter using a trowel to dig into the enormous tub of greenish fermented, curdled thala-siren frozen milk (and it's the disgusting imitation "lite" variety, not even the real thing -- Kanan bought it on sale at the wholesale club and it's been in the freezer ever since). "I'm taking one for the team," Zeb says with a grimace as the frozen slime drips from the trowel.
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Kayim, Expanse, any, fireJim remembers reading in one of Father Ceasar's real books with paper pages about how humankind once thought of fire as a gift. The faded red and orange illustration with flaking gold leaf on the edges was of Prometheus delivering life-giving light and warmth to shivering humans in the cold dark; the next page, a lesson in the perils of defying authority, was stark black, white and red, with Prometheus chained to a rock and Zeus' eagle tearing his liver out. In space, Jim thinks Zeus was right to mete out punishment for fire is the enemy, not the lifesaver, as lethal as the cold, dark hard vacuum outside the Roci's hull and he feels only relief when the suppression system cycles from the worrying yellow of malfunction to soothing green and hears Amos call, "Looks good, Cap!"
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Metonomia, Anthropomorphism; the Great British Bake Off tent; I contain multitudesI am redolent with the very best of what Britain is, thick with not-exotic anymore scents of curry, saffron, chorizo, ginger, turmeric, and coriander, all mixed with the aromas of simmering jams of English summer stone fruits, stirred by those with accents as thick as custards, as they labor in challenges from treacle tarts, to naan and pita, and handpie variations from every country in the (or formerly in) the Commonwealth and Colonies. And yet, it is like Dickens, too, for the best of England within me is also also the worst. Amid these cacophony of delicious smells lingers the malodor of Empire, and lurking deeper still, the Breadxit that will fall as surely as a tower of tempered chocolate on a too-hot day.
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Sholio, Any fandom, any characters, IN SPACE!! It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single pilot in possession of a good ship must be in want of a navigator. "My dear Captain Bennet" said his own navigator to him one day, “have you heard that Captain Bingley has berthed a fine ship, the Netherfield Park, at the port and I am thinking of what an excellent thing it is for our five navigators; therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes.” “I see no occasion for that - you and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better for Captain Bingley might prefer you." "My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of spacefaring but I do not pretend to be any thing extraordinary now for when a navigator has five grown up navigators, she ought to give over thinking of her own adventures."
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Betony, The Mummy, Evy/Rick, Hogwarts AU 1."Mrs. O'Connell is such an excellent and very knowledgeable librarian," Hermione mused, "so it is odd." Ron helped himself to so enormous a serving of pudding that Harry had to make the observation that had been perplexing the Hogwarts students since the start of the term - their new Librarian, Mrs. O'Connell was very competent, which made the methods of her husband's Defence Against The Dark Arts class so very peculiar. "It's not that 'run' and 'don't touch that’ are bad advice, exactly, but shouldn't we be learning something more?" 2."Well, I suppose run, don't touch that and that latest one, scream back could even be sound advice depending upon the circumstances," Hermione replied thoughtfully. "It's more than that," Ron finally managed, having swallowed his pudding and washing it down with pumpkin juice. "My brother Bill says the only reason he's alive today is because the O'Connells' lessons, don't say or touch anything in a tomb unless you're ready to deal with the consequences."
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Vialethe, LotR/Narnia, Éowyn/Peter, we will take the best parts of ourselves/and make them gold
It is embarrassing, mortifying, excruciating and totally unbecoming the High King of Narnia – which would sound far more imposing when the Edoras herald reels it off if he wasn’t still outgrowing armor every three months. But how can anyone blame him for the Lady Éowyn is a fierce Shield-Maiden so skilled she disarms his own Sword-master, rides a horse so fluidly even the Centaurs remark upon it with approval, and she is beautiful as the spring flowers that… and Peter hates wasting good parchment on rubbish and doggerel that, even were he the finest bard of the Known Lands, couldn’t do justice to her... everything. And worst, she knows of his helpless infatuation but Peter cannot resent her (and maybe loves her even more) for offering him nothing but the kindly decorum of a generous host, though her smile and the feel of his hands over hers as he drank from the parting cup occupies the whole of his thoughts on the long ride all the way back to Cair Paravel.
Peter knows something is amiss the moment they descend the treacherous mountain pass and step into Rohan; Narnians are sensitive to magic and they all feel something ill and dark at work, even the dumb mares they bring each year to be covered by the stallions of the Horse Lords are snorting and fretting. Only their wary ill ease prevents a devastating loss when the Narnians unexpectedly come upon an uncommonly bold orc band in the Westfold; Peter is shocked that King Théoden appears no longer concerned with defending his own borders and more shocking still, no Rohirrim ride out to their aid – Théodred and Éomer and their Éored are nowhere to be seen on the empty plains. Lonely and watchful, the Narnians finally gain a sullen welcome at Edoras; the foulness they have felt hangs especially thick around Théoden who, in the last year, has aged a hundred from an illness he does not think Lucy’s cordial would mend and Peter sincerely hopes that he was never perceived as haunting Éowyn’s steps as Gríma does now. 3. The visit is hurried and grim, and his conversations with Éowyn, Éomer, and Théodred all conducted in whispers, for war is coming, Edoras is thoroughly corrupted from within, Gríma’s spies are everywhere and Peter is anxious to return home to guard the passes that he can no longer assume Rohan will, or can, protect. It tears his heart to see Éowyn so burdened and alone – and he loves Éomer and Théodred as near brothers but they do not see her pain and assume it to be a woman’s thankless work. Peter has learned enough self-control to not offer Éowyn shelter in Narnia when she would abandon her duties no more than he himself would; instead, he confides in a whisper over their linked hands and the parting cup, “The Talking Horses have spoken with Shadowfax and he will instruct your herds; should your people need shelter in Narnia, tell them to follow the horses.”
Vialethe, LotR/Narnia, Lucy/Aragorn, and if a lion roars/would you not listen?
When Aragorn sees her for the first time, she is dancing in a glade in Lothlorien, though no Elf (or any human woman he knows) would sway and writhe as she does in such wild, joyous ecstasy, arms and breast bare to stars; her wine-stained mouth opens in a fierce, consuming smile and then she twirls away and out of reach to the music of a drum pounding a rhythm he has never heard in all of Middle-Earth. Aragorn almost does not live to see her a second time for he is pinned down by a leering, stinking orc and though he can feel the pounding of an approaching horse galloping into the fray, he sees nothing but sharp teeth and red eyes and then hears the screech and feels the collapse of weight against him as a jeweled knife with a Lion's golden head, expertly thrown, pierces his would-be killer through the throat. The third time he sees her, they are in the Houses of the Healing, tending the wounded and dying of the Pellenor Fields and amidst the darkness and Black Breath, she is a light and gently teases at his surprise, “What, my Lord, did you not know that the hands of a Queen also may heal?
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Betony, movie fandom, Any, book characters react to their depiction in the movie (or vice versa) "But, but, but..." Faramir stammered, for the Two Towers (extended edition) had rendered the eloquent and gentle warrior and scholar as speechless as he was immune to the temptation of the Enemy's Ring. "So much for that 'I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway,'" Sam agreed now reconsidering his previous "handsome is as handsome does" assessment. The steward of Gondor managed the remainder with his typical equanimity until the final affront befell during the Home of the Horse Lords documentary when his runaway charger galloped right out of the camera frame, causing Faramir to sputter, "I ride better than that... don't I?"
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Syrena_of_the_Lake, Indiana Jones, any, Medusa (why did it have to be snakes?)Hearing the angry hisses and shambling, dragging steps, they raced back down the passageway, whirled around a corner and threw themselves against the tomb’s wall. “Quick, get a mirror!” Indy cried, fumbling for his whip, for all the good that would do. Having run out of patience with Jones two sirens, a succubus, and three harpies ago, Marion pulled the sword from her scabbard with one hand, hefted the mirror with other, and snapped, “You’d better be asking me ‘cause I’m always prepared for demi-goddesses who can turn you to stone if you look at them and not because I’m a girl.”
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Jjhunter, Vorkosigan saga, any, if only there was a virtual garden program for pre-testing dinner party guest lists With Gregor, Laisa, Team Koudelka, Mark, Simon, Lady Alys, and 30 Counts and their Ladies coming to dinner, Miles did wonder at the timing of Ekaterin’s decision to undertaking her spring planting schedule and he watched as she shuffled squares about a large oval on her comconsole, moving radish next to chervil and carrots and pushing black walnut far to the end.
“On the advice of both Imp Sec and Lady Alys, I've developed my own cipher when making seating charts,” Ekaterin corrected mildly, her brow furrowed in concentration as she moved beans next to radishes and away from onions, “so I don’t put dill next to tomatoes, marigolds very effectively quell pests, it’s best to leave thyme alone, and mint cannot be left unsupervised.”
“Wouldn’t that cause gas?” Miles asked as she liberally sprinkled cabbage throughout the seating chart but Ekaterin shook her head and explained, “Quite the opposite, dear, cabbages get along with almost everything, except beans.”