A Stream of Stars

Fic: Inhale, Exhale (The Ripples in a Lake Remix)

2014-06-26T15:59:56Z

Written for the bsg_remix 2014, and posting for posterity.

Title: Inhale, Exhale (The Ripples in a Lake Remix)
Characters: Laura Roslin, Bill Adama, Dr Cottle, Layne Ishay, Natalie, Caprica Six, Sharon Agathon, Hera Agathon
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Rating: T
Warnings: canon character death
Summary: A butterfly’s wings and a breath of air; musings on life lived.
Original Story: Pause, Review by obsessive_a101

On her first day of treatment, Cottle takes a break, retreating to his tiny office for a quick cigarette. He watches her through the crack of the door, eyes closing, chest rising and falling as she takes slow, deep breaths, forehead wrinkling as she tries to push down the nausea churning in her belly.

The auburn hair spreading like a waterfall over her pillow reminds him again of his eldest daughter. The sparkle in the green eyes and the quick wit always have too. It stopped surprising him a long time ago that he’s never been able to say no to her, no matter the weight of the request. She’s something special.

“How you can call yourself a doctor and keep filling your lungs with smoke like that, I’ll never know,” the familiar refrain coming round his office door before she does, her bare feet whispering against the carpet.

“When you get that medical degree, young lady, you can criticise my decisions about my health.” He leans back in his chair as his girl ruffles his hair, the worn argument comforting and well-practised.

Those he couldn’t save haunt him, sometimes. Never matters much that there was nothing he could do, their faces are still there, on the edges of his vision.

He peers out the door again, considering going to distract his favourite patient. He saved her once, despite his better judgement, and he’s never regretted it. He only hopes he can do it again.

The door closes quietly behind him. Just a breath of smoke curling from it, the cigarette stubbed out and crumpled in the ashtray has barely been touched.

* * *

He remembers the air on Kobol; the heavy, fecund lushness of it, ripe with portent and mystery. The way it made her hair curl damply around her face. He remembers rage, and the way it faded into gratitude, for him, for his son, for her. He remembers starting to trust her.

He remembers the air on New Caprica, in the summer, scented with wildflowers and the soft smell of smoke. The way her hair gleamed red gold in the sunlight, a cloud around her face. He remembers duty, and the way it faded into comfort, for him, for her. He remembers starting to want her.

He breathes the air in sickbay, the sterile nothingness pumped from the air filters. The way it makes her hair hang limply around her face, a dry curtain already growing brittle. He thinks of arguments, and disagreements, and how loving her is still worth it.

He doesn’t think of the air in an oxygen tube taped under her nose. He doesn’t think of no hair at all. He doesn’t think of the endings he can’t deal with.

* * *

Open. Attach. Pump.

Insert the cannula. Retract and withdraw the needle. Catheter – medically taped to place.

Ishay runs through it in her mind, methodically, the way she always has, the way she has since school. One step after another step after another step.

A wince of pain, and she apologises to the woman in the bed. She’s never dealt much with the president before, her regular medicals always having been overseen by Doc Cottle, and she’s a little wary, not sure how to speak to her. She tries to be breezy, airy but respectful, and she hopes it comes across that way.

“Did you do your medical training in the military?”, the president asks, making polite small talk as she is no doubt trained to do.

Ishay is never sure how to feel about this woman. She’s seen her at what she hopes is her worst, and her own vote went to Baltar, but there’s a part of her that can never forget that this woman is the reason this fleet exists. This woman is the reason she has the tiniest of chances at a life and a love and a future.

She’s gentler, the next time the president comes in for a treatment.

* * *

He reads to her of all the lives they never lived, all the stories they were never able to tell, the places they never saw. In their minds, they’ve had forever, hale and healthy and free to be whoever they wanted to be.

It’s not enough. Not for him.

Her eyes sparkle as he describes landscapes, love stories, and adventure, her body curling in on itself in the way it never is allowed to in public. She’s always been so tall, so strong, so indomitable, and it’s only with him, in these moments, that she allows herself to assume any air of fragility, of smallness.

It’s only with her, in these moments, that he lets himself be fragile too.

* * *

Hera dreams.

Sometimes she dreams of bright lights and hard fingers, a pain in her tummy that stabs and aches. Those dreams make her whimper in her sleep, until Mommy or Daddy gets up and brings her into their bed, where she snuggles between them, holding tight onto their arms.

Sometimes she dreams of bunny rabbits and fairies from the stories Daddy reads to her.

Sometimes she dreams of her other mommy, and of Rara, and of warm blankets in cold air, of cuddles and of Rara singing and mommy running her fingers through Hera’s hair.

There’s a place she goes in some of her dreams, a big room, all red and gold and full of stairs. She’s lost, in there, but it’s a game. There’s Mommy and Rara and the blonde lady, and they all love her, so she runs because she knows they will come too. She wants them all to come too.

She loves them as well.

* * *

Natalie has died twice before, a burst of pain and a momentary flash of terror for the period of nothingness she knew awaited her until she was downloaded. She’s come to view it as rebirth, a time of quietness and peace before she is able to begin her life all over again, wiser and stronger than before.

This kind of death is so alien. The human president’s dark hair is not natural, her limbs thin, her skin sallow and drawn over her cheeks. This slow fading away into a shadow of what one was, and then to be gone, forever. She wonders if this is the way she will go, once the resurrection hub is gone. She wonders if she will deal with it the way this woman has, this outward grace and inner fear.

She wonders what lies beyond. She wonders who she will see there.

When it happens, in a burst of pain, and a flash of terror, there’s a moment when she sees a boat, and a shore, and distant figures waving. For a moment, she wonders if one day, she’ll meet Laura Roslin there.

* * *

Athena runs, chasing her daughter up and down the stairs, round and round the corners, following the childish laughter she knows so well. She’s lost her before, and she’ll never forgive, never forget.

Caprica stands, waiting with arms outstretched for the tiny body to run into them, ready to take her away from the danger, this, that, the world. Ready to save her in ways she can’t save herself.

In their waking moments, they connect, with each other and with her. There’s something there. Something on the edge of consciousness that binds them together. They don’t understand.

* * *

On her last day, Bill sits by her side, holding her hand, a tiny hub of calm in the midst of the bustle of people preparing to depart.

“I wish I could have given you the world,” he says, as he runs his fingers over the fine bones of her wrist and she smiles at him, a tired smile filled with more love than he ever thought one smile could hold.

She breathes in, breathes out, before replying, her voice cracking in the middle. “You did. Just look out the window.”

“No, Kara did. And you. You got us here. I just came along for the ride.” He tries to keep his voice light, airy, but pretending not to feel is something he’s never been good at.

She squeezes his hand, not as tightly as she used to, and he barely dares to squeeze back, afraid of hurting the delicate bones and paper-thin skin. The sparkle in her eyes never fades, even now.

“You gave me your world, Bill. It’s enough.”

Maybe it is.

* * *

Laura Roslin sits at the side of a lake and breathes. It feels good to take air deep into her lungs with no pain and no fear.

She submerges her bare toes in the coolness, looking down at her face reflected back at her. The water ripples gently out from where she disturbs it, and she watches the tiny waves and eddies move through the reflection and out further into the lake.

Remembering all the lives that touched her own brings her peace. The good and the bad, and the everything in between. Those already here await her, but she drifts for a while in the memories of those still to come, and feels content.

Fic: Spring Thaw / Bad Day / Lessons

2014-05-20T18:48:39Z

Reposting for posterity. I have a bunch of comments to leave for all of you other awesome people too!

All written for the bsg_epics 2014 Prompt War.

Title:Spring Thaw
Characters/Pairing:Laura and Maya and Isis
Rating: G
Wordcount: 361

The lake at the foot of the mountains north of the settlement froze over two weeks ago, but everyone has been warned off it until now, when Tyrol and a couple of his old deck crew had done enough tests on it to finally pronounce it safe. It's six months to the day after the groundbreaking ceremony, and while food is short and coughs and colds are rife, people are in the mood for some kind of celebration. Maya bundles Isis up against the cold, still wrapping her in a third layer of clothing when Laura comes to call, rapping her chapped knuckles against the pole next to the tent flap.

Together, they walk slowly through the snow, following the footprints made by dozens of others trudging the same path. They hear the crowd before they see it; whooping and squeals and the familiar laughter of New Caprica's children wobbling on makeshift skates across the ice or hurtling down the gentle slopes on homemade toboggans. It barely gets beyond twilight these days, morning or night, but the lake is surrounded by little lanterns, the snow beneath sparkling with the flickering lights.

Maya starts down the hill towards the bonfire where some of the older folks are huddled, but she only gets halfway down before she realises Laura is no longer following her. She turns, Isis wriggling in her arms, to see Laura at the top of the slope with her hands tucked into her pockets, just watching the scene below. They stand, for a few moments, before Laura shakes her head a little and follows Maya down the hill.

"Everything ok?" Maya asks, and Isis leans over, arms outstretched, for a cuddle from Laura, who takes her and presses a kiss to the child's reddened cheek.

Laura nods. "I was just thinking, this place is like that lake. We just needed to wait for things to become solid, and good, and for it to hold us safe." But Maya feels a chill unrelated to the cold run down her spine as she knows what Laura isn't saying; that soon enough, just like the frozen lake, she believes it'll all melt away.

Title: Bad Day
Characters/Pairing: Laura/Kara
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 182

Laura’s in the shower when she first feels it. She’s terribly late for work and Kara is banging around in the kitchen making breakfast and it’s two weeks before the anniversary of that and she can feel her whole body tensing up in anticipation of it. And she just can’t deal with this on top of everything else.

Her fingers probe the outside of her breast gently. It’s tiny, barely there, and it can’t be anything important. Just can’t. She doesn’t have the time or the energy for this to be serious, and she snatches her fingers away and reaches for the shampoo. She massages it into her scalp so vigorously it almost hurts, and when the bubbles get into her eyes as she rinses it out, she relishes it, the sting taking over her thoughts for a moment.

Kara looks a little worried when she walks into the kitchen, rubbing her hair with a towel.

“Your eyes are all red. Everything ok?”

And Laura plasters a bright smile on her face and only half lies. “Soap in my eyes. Everything’s fine."

Title: Lessons
Characters/Pairing: Laura and the Roslin family
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 505

She was born in the midst of an attack, she knows. Her father used to tell her how her mother went into labour an hour before the first raiders ripped through the sky, tearing a path through the clouds to rain fiery destruction upon the city. They hadn’t dared leave their small house on the outskirts of the old quarter, huddling in the basement rather than heading for the hospital. Laura had emerged from her mother’s body into her grandmother’s hands as a bomb fell from the sky and brought the local temple to Hestia to the ground.

Her earliest memories are of rubble, of playing in the broken garden for the first time after the Articles of Colonization were signed and the first battlestars began their long patrols through the stars.

It wasn't until she was older that she understood why, no matter how much she begged, the baby brother or sister she so desperately wanted didn't come. Her mother just stroked her hair and held her tight, while her father tried to stretch their rations that bit further.

When Sandra was born as Laura pushed into her teenage years, and the longed-for second child was showered in gifts and toys in this newfound safety, Laura couldn't help but resent the fact that this tiny girl would never have to learn to sleep underground, stuffy and hot, or know how much she could come to hate the taste of watery soup when she'd had nothing else to eat for days. The joy in her mother's eyes when she held Laura's sister was almost an ache in Laura's heart, replacing, as it did, the fear and worry and exhaustion that she was so used to seeing directed at her. She felt unwanted, awkward, a burden to her parents without whom they could have had an easier time, whereas Sandra was wanted and adored. When the child was thrust into her arms every day after school, Laura would whisper her hurt into Sandra's tiny ear, refusing to love her, refusing to care.

It's her history teacher, when she's sixteen, who says the words that change her heart. "All of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again, but if we remember and learn from our mistakes, maybe we can change things enough to make a difference. The children who come after you will only know this from books and from vids, but you, you're the generation who lived through it, who grew up with it. You're the generation strong enough to make a change."

Laura goes home that night, and when her baby sister is slipped into her arms, she looks at her and thinks that her own experiences might make a difference. Maybe going through what she went through means she can change things for Sandra and others like her. Her sister's blue eyes lock on her own and for the first time, Laura doesn't hate her. Now she knows what she's here for. She'll be strong enough to change the world.

In which Clare makes icons

2014-04-23T21:26:23Z

Sorry about all the comments I owe today, and over the past couple of days! Been trying to get these finished, and now I'm sleepy, but replies will be coming tomorrow, I promise.

For the bsg_20in20 challenge. My theme was the Kobol arc:

10 Themes
.first.	.negative space.	.bright.	.dark.	.text.

.color.	.black & white.	.faceless.	.hair.	.last.

5 Category: Emotions
.sad.	.angry.	.happy.	.exhausted.	.sceptical.

5 Artist's Choice

In which Clare does a bit of iconing

2014-02-27T20:08:04Z

Made these for the challenge over at majorcrimes. Help yourself if you happen to want any!

In which Clare has made more iconses

2013-08-04T14:37:19Z

Caps from MajorCrimesTV.net.

Use 'em if you want 'em.

In which Clare is being vaguely artistic at the moment

2013-07-08T21:26:36Z

Some more icons, just because. Caps taken from MajorCrimesTV.net again, because I don't have hi-res versions of the show myself yet :(

Help yourself.

In which Clare breaks out Photoshop for the first time in a while

2013-07-07T14:00:58Z

Some Major Crimes icons from the first three season two episodes, because I was bored. All caps come from MajorCrimesTV.net.

Use 'em if you want 'em.

Fic: more Laura/Kara ficlets

2013-01-14T06:43:17Z

My final set of ficlets for the Ship War. I wrote twenty, all in all! My gawd, apparently I can write after all, if I don't give a shit about quality.

Here for posterity, along with the others.

* * *

Overrated, Laura/Kara, PG

She's leaning against the pillows in that uncomfortable bed in sickbay straining to focus on a book when Kara comes in, closing the curtains with barely a whisper. It always surprises her that the girl is so light on her feet when she wants to be. She always associates Kara Thrace with noise, with bold actions and loud, vibrant laughter, and the soft, gentle, quiet side to her still catches Laura unawares sometimes, even now.

Kara squeezes her foot under the blankets as she moves up to the side of the bed, hopping up to sit on the edge, leaning forward to drop a quick kiss on Laura’s lips.

“I thought you weren’t coming today?" Laura tilts her head, then grimaces a little, masking it as quickly as she can with a smile. All her muscles have been aching recently, and she’s trying to get used to moving as little as she can. “You were ..." she concentrates for a moment, trying to remember. “... flying CAP, meeting with Bill and then getting some sleep. You promised."

“Yeah, well," Kara shrugs and Laura envies her easy movements. “Sleep’s overrated. I wanted to show you what I got for you." She holds out a small, wrapped package, and Laura tentatively reaches out to take it with the hand not hooked up to the IV. “Go on, open it."

The crumpled gift wrapping falls away easily enough, and Laura’s left holding a simple silver bracelet.

“Do you like it?" Kara’s eyes are wide and she looks impossibly young and nervous, trying to gauge Laura’s reaction. “It reminded me of you. Elegant, the way you’re gonna be when you’re better."

Laura wishes she had the girl’s optimism about the effectiveness of the poison flooding her veins, but the gift is beautiful, and she slips it over her wrist, the light catching on it and making it shine.

She reaches out her hand, taking Kara's and squeezing it. “It’s gorgeous."

They don't say any more. Just sit, holding hands, stroking thumbs over soft skin, until Kara moves to curl up on the side of the bed next to Laura, resting her head on her shoulder, closing her eyes and succumbing to some of that overrated sleep after all.

* * *

Sunrise, Laura/Kara, PG

They’re waiting for dawn to arrive before heading off back to the raptors. There's a tiny pink glow on the horizon, but it's dark and cold, and they're huddled next to each other, tucked beneath the same tarp, listening to the sound of snoring and the occasional tweet of birds awakening.

“My mother nearly called me Athena," Laura says, a complete non sequitur, as she looks up at the peaks nearby, hiding the tomb they emerged from just a few hours earlier.

“Yeah?" Kara’s poking a twig into the hard ground, over and over, digging tiny holes in the mud, then scraping the dirt off and starting again.

“Mm. Then she decided to name me after my great grandmother instead. But I’m dedicated to her. Never was much one for temples, though." Laura shifts, trying to find a more comfortable spot on the thin pile of coats and blankets they're sitting on.

“Ironic, huh?" Kara nudges her elbow. “Why'd she change her mind?"

“She decided the stories of what happened to her, the way she leapt to her death after losing everything, would be unlucky." Laura twists her mouth, looking away from the tomb. “Now, that's what I call ironic."

Kara drops the twig and slips her arm around Laura's waist. “Ah, but you see, there's a difference between you and the goddess, Athena."

“What's that?"

“She didn’t have me. You and me, we’ll get shit done, together. Right?"

Laura leans into the warmth of Kara’s side, kissing her shoulder gently as the sun breaks over the horizon

* * *

Love Letter, Laura/Kara, PG

They’re packing up boxes, ready to move Kara out of her old apartment. It's been a long time coming; despite the fact she's barely slept here in months, and even her mail gets delivered to Laura’s now, neither of them have been comfortable with the idea of anything permanent. Anything real. It's only because Kara’s landlord wants to sell the place that they reluctantly sat down one night to sort of, kind of, talk about it in maybes and perhapses and just for nows.

For Kara, it feels like the end of an era. She doesn’t know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. This battered two room apartment has seen it's share of pain and crappiness, and Laura’s place feels more like home than this ever has. But it terrifies the frak out of her to leave it, like she's losing her independence, losing her choices. So of course, she puts on a big show of not being able to get out of the place fast enough, throwing clothes into boxes, old paintings into the back of her truck like she couldn’t care less.

She’s standing in her almost empty bedroom/living room/studio, chilly, wrinkling her nose at the mould along the windowframe she never noticed til now, when Laura comes up behind her. Her hair is pulled back and up, and she’s dusty and sweaty and beautiful in a pair of old jeans and a shirt. Kara wants her, but right now, the last thing she needs is to be touched, to feel smothered.

But all Laura does is put the newspaper down by her hand on the table, folded open to the properties for rent. The lightest touch on Kara’s back, and a murmur near her ear. “I’ll come look at new places with you anytime you want. We might even find somewhere with some new and exciting mould to improve on this place. Add to your collection." The gentle humour in her voice warms Kara.

And then she's gone, taking another box with her, back outside.

Kara looks down at the newspaper, three or four places already circled. And she knows she won’t look at a single one of them, or anywhere else either. But she rips out the page anyhow, tucking it into her shirt pocket next to her heart, thinking as she does so that it's the oddest sort of love note she can think of, but that's exactly what it is.

* * *

Changing Minds, Laura/Kara, PG

The sleek silver dress she's pulled out of the closet is probably too tight and too short, but she really doesn’t give a frak. This is probably all a waste of time anyhow, getting back into dating. Marcy might insist it’s what she needs, but in all honesty, Laura can’t really see herself with anyone right now, or maybe ever again. She doesn’t much want to be doing this, but it gets Marcy off her back at the very least. It’ll probably go horribly wrong. So if a quick frak is the best that's going to come out of it, the dress is perfect.

She’s just checking the bottle of wine chilling on the side is cold enough when the buzzer goes at the door. She doesn’t rush. It’s not like this is going anywhere.

When she opens the door, the first thing she sees is a bouquet of flowers with a pair of legs. Then a face peeks out from behind them, and the flowers are thrust into her arms.

The bouquet introduces herself as Kara: bright hazel eyes, short blonde hair, and a gorgeous body hiding beneath a fitted shirt and neat black slacks. As Laura smiles, stepping back and gesturing the girl into the apartment, Kara nervously wipes the palms of her hands on the thighs, but the look in her eyes as she looks Laura up and down is hungry.

Laura pours wine, and they make small talk as they sip it, about the restaurant Kara booked, their jobs, their likes and dislikes. They stay well away from anything approaching family, and Laura's absolutely fine with that, but there's a quick intelligence and a lot of good humour under the surface in Kara, and she finds herself enjoying the chat.

They get their coats, ready to leave. As Kara opens the door to her car, holding it for Laura to climb inside, Laura makes a decision. If a quick frak is on offer here, Laura's fine with that, but maybe she’ll give this one a chance. Perhaps Marcy’s right after all.

* * *

No Love, No Glory, Laura/Kara, PG

They sit, side by side, on a patch of grass on a cliff overlooking the new settlement. There's a soft breeze blowing, bringing with it the scent of wildflowers, but it doesn’t rustle their clothing or send strands of hair flying.

“It's like watching an ant colony," Kara says, her fingers gently threading through the fall of auburn down Laura's back. “You almost expect to see a little trail of them carrying some dead spider or a giant leaf along to their nest."

“It's life," says Laura. “That’s what we fought for, right?"

“You think they’ll remember us?"

“Maybe. For a while. Some of them, anyhow." Laura leans her head on Kara’s shoulder, nuzzling against her neck. “It doesn’t much matter in the end, though, does it?"

“I guess not." Kara tugs Laura down until they’re lying on their backs on the grass, Laura’s hand coming up to shield her eyes from the sun. “Be nice to have a page in the history books though, wouldn’t it?"

Laura smiles. “We might not like what it said. And they’d never get it right anyhow."

“They’ll forget all our great deeds, you mean?" Kara wrinkles her nose, grinning.

“And our awful ones. And all the little, insignificant ones. Better it's forgotten."

“But we’ll remember, right?" Kara says. “I don’t want to forget a moment."

Laura rolls towards her, propping herself up on an elbow, then leaning down to kiss Kara, first on her nose, then her chin, then her lips.

“Yes, we’ll remember."

“Where do you want to go now, then, baby, now you’ve seen that they’re getting on ok?" Kara kisses Laura again, then sits up, then stands, pulling Laura to her feet.

The sun shines down on them, through them, casting no shadows. And as they start to fade, Laura says “How about Kobol again? Let’s go reminisce about that cave..."

* * *

Electricity, Laura/Kara, PG

Power’s out, again. It’d happened often enough in her old place for Kara to be used to it, but that had more to do with unpaid electricity bills than anything else. There’s some problem on the lines, though, and this is the third time this week she and Laura have been huddled in the dark on the sofa, playing triad to the light of candles to entertain themselves.

Not that she minds. Laura’s got a bigger collection of scented candles than Kara’s ever seen, and the air is scented with vanilla this evening. The candlelight in Laura’s hair is enough to put her off her game, and so she drops her cards, pulling Laura closer under the blanket that lives on the back of the couch. Laura grins and kisses her.

Kara thinks maybe she’ll go back to not paying the electricity bills.

* * *

Unsure, Laura/Kara, PG, (babyfic in Miranda!verse)

It’s their first night with her at home. After all the trauma of her early birth, they’re almost experts at dealing with her by now, six weeks later, but still it seems weird to Kara to not have a nurse on call every time she starts to panic about whether she's holding her wrong or feeding her wrong or changing her wrong or just plain being wrong. Now it's just her and Laura and this teeny tiny little creature that they’re suddenly responsible for, all on their own, and she can't sit still, constantly jumping up to check that the nursery still exists or that the crib hasn’t suddenly grown spikes or god knows what else.

Laura’s calmer, sitting in an armchair in the living room, her shirt unbuttoned as she feeds Miranda. But there's a tenseness to her shoulders too. Kara knows she's still unsure about all of that, not convinced she's capable, not convinced her body will work properly. Miranda’s drowsy little face is content, though, as she sucks, and Kara sits down next to Laura, touching the top of Miranda’s head as gently as she can.

“We can do this, right?" she asks, still amazed at just how tiny her daughter is.

Laura doesn’t look at her, but murmurs, “Yeah, we can do this."

And neither of them are sure, but at least they're unsure together.

* * *

Slow, Laura/Kara, M

Kara always likes to rush. She does everything the same way, in a blur, in a hurry, wanting to get it done and over and on to the next thing. Sex is fast and furious; she pushes Laura against walls and lifts her onto tables, tearing at clothes, pressing kisses frantically to skin, forcing legs apart.

Laura remembers being the same way, the fact of the whole world being ahead of her making her rush to experience everything all at once. But somehow, with age comes the need to savour, and she takes Kara's hands and holds them against her waist, nuzzling lightly at her throat, not letting go until she feels Kara stop trying to resist.

And then it’s soft, languid, like smoke curling up to the ceiling, or gentle surf lapping at the sand, something to bask in.

We've got all night she says, trailing a finger along Kara’s stomach. Take it slow.

* * *

All The President's Men, Laura/Kara, M

There are always rumours when you're in the public eye. Laura had experienced it back on Caprica; even a lowly education secretary was talked about once her face first appeared in the papers, and there had always been rumours about Richard.

Now she's president herself, and the rumours fly. She’s heard them all. Supposedly she’s sleeping with Adama to keep him onside, keep him sweet so that he doesn’t turn the might of Galactica on Colonial One and stage a coup. Zarek’s kept happy by her body in exchange for keeping the peace. She's sneaking the young CAG onboard every night to have her way with his youthful good looks. There’s any number of others.

Kara finds it hilarious. She loves to whisper the latest rumour in Laura's ear if she catches her in a spare moment in Galactica’s corridors, or pass her notes under the table at strategy meetings, or kiss them into her skin on the occasional nights they get to spend together.

Maybe once it would have bothered Laura, to be so spoken about, but now she’s grateful that it keeps them from alighting on the person who really shares her narrow bed at night. And Kara starts most of the rumours anyway, inventing new ones even as she pushes Laura's legs apart and renders them all moot.

* * *

Drunk Tank, Laura/Kara, PG

It's not the first time Laura's picked Kara up from the drunk tank. It's the first time she’s done it after Kara tried to drive home, and she’s rigid, her jaw set, her knuckles white around the steering wheel.

Kara leans her head up against the cool glass of the window, and she knows she might have frakked this up for real this time. Her clothes reek of stale alcohol, and her own hands are scratched and bruised.

“I’m sorry," she whispers, not even sure quite who she's saying it to. And Laura doesn’t reply, and Kara resolves that's it. No more booze. Ever.

* * *

Osmosis, Laura/Kara, PG, (babyfic in Miranda!verse)

There's brown slop all over the top of the high chair table. It's supposed to be some kind of stew, but Kara doesn’t even want to think about what it actually smells like. Miranda seems to like it well enough, though, if the way she’s grabbing for the spoon is any indication. She's covered in the stuff, in the dark silky strands of her hair, up her nose, in her tiny eyebrows.

Laura walks past, carrying laundry, as Kara tries to get another spoonful of slop balanced on the spoon, holding it out of Miranda’s reach. Miranda pouts, and then opens her mouth and squawks, reaching up for the spoon with both hands.

“And there you were, worried she might not take after you," Laura chuckles. Kara turns her head to stick her tongue out at her, and Miranda seizes her prize, happily smearing it further up her nose.

Kara groans.

* * *

Can’t Take My Eyes Off You, Laura/Kara, PG

Celebrating the fact that she's going to be stuck with Gaius Baltar as her vice president for the rest of her natural life isn’t really something worth celebrating, Laura, thinks, as she sits at her table, alone, stirring the drink Bill brought over for her before he went off to speak with Lee or Colonel Tigh or who-the-hell-ever.

She could call Billy over and make her escape, claiming tiredness. It wouldn’t be hard; it's been a long few days and she barely gets any sleep anyhow. But now she's found a reason to stay, and it’s standing by the bar, ordering a drink, in a gorgeous blue dress.

Laura waves Billy over, but rather than asking him to order her shuttle ready, she sends him to order her another drink instead.

If nothing else, the view just improved.

* * *

So much fun, guys! Just got to wait to see how we did, now! ♥

Thanks to all of you who joined in, or cheerled, or commented, or anything else :)

Fic: various Laura/Kara ficlets

2013-01-12T22:05:49Z

My ship war round-up for today:

Snowfall, Laura/Kara, T

It rarely snows heavily in Caprica City, so when they’d woken that morning to huge white flakes settling on the ground outside the window, Kara had squealed, actually squealed, leaping out of bed, throwing on some clothes and racing outside like an overexcitable child. Laura snuggles back down beneath the blankets, no desire to go out to join her. She feels the cold way too easily these days.

When Laura finally emerges from the warmth of the bed, she watches her out of the window, building what she assumes to be a snowman, though the shape was .... a little off, to say the least. A half hour later, she’s showered and dressed, making breakfast; pancakes and toast and coffee. It's all laid out on the table, so Laura goes to the window, leaning out of it to call Kara in to eat.

The snowball that hits her smack in the face is pretty soft, thank the gods; the high pitched surprised shriek that emerges from her mouth startling even her.

Kara's standing right below the window, the crack of her smile so wide, another huge snowball ready and waiting in her hand. Laura's eyes widen and she ducks, the snowball flying over her head and landing somewhere behind her on the floor of their bedroom, half of it splattered over the edges of the coverlet of their bed.

Kara’s laugh echoes round the little courtyard down below their apartment, as Laura peeks back over the edge of the windowsill.

“Captain Thrace, that’s inappropriate behaviour for indoors”, Laura calls down, ducking again as a third snowball sails past her ear and lands on the dresser, knocking Kara’s hairbrush onto the floor.

“Why are you still indoors then?” Kara shouts back up, bending to pack yet more snow together.

Because it's cold, because breakfast's ready, because I have a pile of papers to grade. None of which seems like a particularly great reason, so Laura shuts the window right as snowball number four crashes against the glass. Her hat and scarf and gloves are hanging by the door, and she pulls them all on along with her coat, and then sneaks out of the side door on the ground floor, knowing that Kara will be waiting around the front.

Her own first snowball goes wide, but the second gets Kara in the back of the head as she stands idly by the main entrance to the apartments, two snowballs at the ready. And then it’s on, snow everywhere, down Laura’s top, all over Kara’s hair.

It ends with Laura somehow being pushed back against Kara's giant snow ... thing, which collapses, Kara on top of her, and then there are kisses, cold noses rubbing against each other, wet gloves grabbing each other’s arms.

By this point, at least three other people have come down from the apartments to play in the snow, and there are children about building snowmen and it's far less fun than it was when it was just the two of them making marks in the pristine whiteness.

“You know the only reason I opened the window was to let you know breakfast was ready?” Laura whispers into Kara’s ear. So they get up and wander back inside. The coffee is cold and the pancakes need reheating, but it tastes so much better now. Laura sips her new cup of coffee, enjoying the way Kara’s eyes are sparkling and her damp hair clings to her cheeks, watching Kara do the same thing back at her. It’s not a surprise at all when Kara finishes her last piece of toast, then leaps up, coming round behind Laura to wrap her arms around her and kiss her cheek.

“Wanna go warm up again, snow baby?” Kara nuzzles against her ear. So they do, not noticing the damp patch on the coverlet at all.

* * *

Razorblades, Laura/Kara, T

Today's the day Laura wakes up and decides she can’t pretend her hair isn’t falling out anymore. None of the new styles she’s been trying out work to cover how thin it's become, and her hairbrush is so full of strands that she has to spend five minutes picking them all out over the trash, her throat burning with pent up tears. Kara doesn't say anything about it over breakfast, but there's concern in her eyes as she sits across the table.

In her lunchbreak at work, she surfs the net, making an appointment for two days time to go get a wig fitted. It puts her off the meagre lunch she brought with her, and she pushes it away.

When she gets home that evening, she digs around in the drawer, finding a pair of silver scissors and putting them on the counter in the bathroom, beside the new razor she bought.

She’s been standing there, staring at her reflection the mirror, unable to pick either implement up again, for fifteen minutes when Kara appears behind her in the doorway, holding a glass of scotch in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other. She looks at Laura, then down at the counter, then comes up behind her and puts the drinks down next to the shining scissors.

“You want some help with that?” Kara murmurs quietly, her hand on Laura’s waist. It’s thirty seconds before Laura can bring herself to cover Kara’s hand and nod.

A stool is fetched, a towel round her shoulders, and then Kara’s dampening her hair and making the first few snips, bending after each one to drop a kiss against Laura's cheek, ear, neck, jawline. The more Laura wants to squeeze her eyes closed, the more she forces herself to keep them open, watching as the one beauty she’s always let herself be proud of flutters down around her feet. It hurts almost physically.

When Kara gets to the point of lathering up her hair, readying the razor, Laura reaches over for the wine glass and takes a deep draught.

Kara's slow and careful, the complete opposite of the way Kara treats herself. After she finishes, wiping away the remains of the foam, she takes a step back from Laura, letting Laura get used to the sight of her bare scalp in the mirror.

They stay there, in silence, for what seems like forever, Laura slowly reaching up to touch her head, feeling the unnatural smoothness, the contours of her scalp, the way her face looks gaunt and hollow. The tears pricking at her eyes don’t fall, but she can see the glassiness of them in the mirror.

“You look adorable,” Kara says, quietly, from behind her. “Like ... so beautiful.” When Laura doesn't answer, Kara picks up the scissors and hands them to Laura, nudging her to the side. “Stop cluttering up the stool, you. It’s my turn.”

That makes Laura drag her eyes away from her reflection, and she looks up at Kara, speaking for the first time since they started this whole thing. “What?”, her forehead wrinkled, her voice scratchy.

Kara’s earnest face gives way to a slight smile. “You look cute. I wanna look cute too. Just be careful, like I was, right?” When Laura doesn’t move, Kara takes the scissors back, reaching up behind herself and sawing through her short ponytail, til her hair hangs in loose, straggly golden stands around her face. “If you don’t want to do it, that's fine, but I’m going to end up looking like a freak if I can't reach the back of my own head.”

And somehow, Laura ends up standing behind Kara, wielding the scissors herself, while Kara winks at her from the mirror. It takes her mind off her own cold scalp while she focuses on snipping away at the silky strands, carefully shaping it around Kara’s head. Then Kara hands her the razor with a new blade attached, and Laura bites her lip as she carefully scrapes away the stubble left, the soft skin of Kara’s scalp slowly being revealed.

When Laura finally pulls the razor back down on the counter, Kara pulls her onto her lap, and they sit like that for a few minutes, looking at the pair of them in the mirror.

“You have a nicer shaped head than I do. No fair,” Kara says, and for the first time all day, Laura bursts out laughing.

The rest of the evening is spent the same way, laughing. Kara’s ears stick out a little, and it makes her pout. Laura can't get used to looking so pale, now her fall of auburn locks is gone. When they go to bed, Kara can’t stop kissing the top of Laura’s head, and it turns out to be a sweet spot for Laura, making her giggle and sigh.

And when they ventures out together the following morning to the market, hand in hand, Laura wearing a deep red headscarf around her brow, Kara with the world's dumbest beanie hat pulled down over her ears, it doesn’t matter if they get the occasional funny look. Laura just looks over at Kara, and Kara grins right back, squeezing her hand.

* * *

Correspondence, Laura/Kara, M

First night of Laura being away on that frakking week-long training course, and Kara can’t sleep. The bed feels empty and way too big, and even stretching right out like a starfish to try to enjoy the extra space doesn’t help. She tosses and turns, gets up at one point for a glass of water, then again half an hour later to use the bathroom, then again for a second glass of water.

Then she tries sleeping on Laura’s side of the bed, shifting over and curling her hands under the pillow to try to find the scent of Laura’s hair in the fabric.

The crackling sound from underneath pushes at her curiosity, and she lifts it, finding a pale blue envelope tucked underneath, her own name scrawled on the front in Laura’s looping handwriting. She tears it open, finding a letter inside.

Kara,

I knew you stole my pillow as well as my share of the blankets. No wonder I always wake up freezing, using you as my pillow instead.

I’m guessing you’re having trouble sleeping. I probably am too. Hotels are no fun when you're on your own. I’m sure I’ve tried the minibar and used the pool, but I’ve spent most of the evening sitting in my room, bored, flicking through tv channels wishing you were here, and trying to find ways to entertain myself.

Anyhow, I know you always sleep far better after you come. So I’m going to leave you some instructions, and I want you to follow them, then you’ll sleep absolutely fine.

There's one of these for every night I’m away, but they're hidden away, so you’ll have to look for them. Here's a clue for tomorrow night’s letter - it’s with a bunch of my things that you like more than I do. No peeking, though. I’ll know if you find all my letters at once - I know everything, remember?

Sweet dreams, baby. See you soon,

Laura

Below Laura's signature is a list, starting out with “Get out of those scrappy tanks and shorts I know you’re wearing, until you’re naked, just the way I like you.” Kara grins, doing as Laura instructs.

Half an hour later, she’s satiated, wet, and drowsy. As she starts to drift off to sleep, she glances towards Laura's underwear drawer, already anticipating the next letter.

* * *

Soothe, Laura/Kara, T

Kara has nightmares. Laura first discovered that on Kobol, the first night the group slept out under the stars and Kara came off watch, tucking herself under a bedroll just a few feet outside of Laura's small tent. She awoken to hear Kara whimpering under her breath, and Laura poked her head outside to find Kara curled tight in a ball, her fists clenched so tight that Laura could see the nails digging into her skin. Unsure of what to do, Laura hadn’t touched her.

The second night it happened, Laura had found herself crawling out to Kara’s side, stroking her arm gently and murmuring nonsense words of comfort quietly. Kara had woken with a start, pulled away, but once she'd come back to herself, had awkwardly thanked Laura, obviously uncomfortable with being touched (by the president? By Laura? By anyone?)

It's all different now. Now when Kara’s nightmares catch her sleeping mind, she herself turns into Laura’s arms, reaching out for Laura’s hand in her sleep. Even when Laura herself doesn’t wake up, she always knows in the morning what's been going on; Kara’s head tucked so close under her chin, Kara’s arms wrapped so tightly around her waist.

* * *

Patterns, Laura/Kara, PG

Sometimes they paint, side by side, standing the spare room with the big windows that they turned into a studio.

Their styles couldn’t be more different. Kara likes bright colours, splashes of emotion, abstract and vibrant. Her paintings say nothing and everything at once. She leaks all her hurt, her joy, her anger and her desire onto the canvas until it coalesces into something she can deal with, tangible in oils.

Laura paints languid watercolours. Delicate details of places they’ve been, people they’ve seen, dreams she’s had, stories she's read, all hazy and otherworldly. She captures her thoughts in soft colours, her hopes in tiny brushstrokes.

Laura loves Kara’s work. Kara adores Laura’s. Both knowing that painting is how they communicate the parts of themselves that won’t form into words.

* * *

Different, Laura/Kara, PG

The coastline to the west of Caprica City is relatively unspoiled; certainly compared to the tourist trap beaches of the eastern side. It's not much of a surprise, as the beaches themselves are rockier and harder to reach, and the wind coming in from out to sea can whip the waves high into a mass of froth and seaweed. On calm, sunny days, though, the light sparkles and glitters off the water and the only sound to be heard is that of the seabirds and the faint rustle of a breeze through the grass growing near the sand dunes. It's wild, and untamed, and suits Kara down to the ground.

Laura's cottage is perched on a low cliff overlooking one such beach; a small, white cabin with large windows, off the beaten track. Kara notes the lack of neighbours as the car sweeps up the country road leading to it, and realises why Laura insisted they stop for groceries on the way.

The invitation had been sudden; a phone call last night after Kara got back from her three weeks of training aboard the Solaria. Laura had sounded tired, a budget crisis and a minor school scandal having apparently conspired to give her a week-long migraine. Kara hadn't even known this place existed until then, which seemed an oversight after almost a year of dating, but then, she supposes, there's a lot of things she doesn't know about Laura, and a lot of things Laura doesn't know about her either. Kara's always wanted to keep this special, free of the taint of all that frakked-upness of the past, and so a lot of things just never come up.

When she tumbles in through the front door carrying Laura's neat black case and her own battered hold-all, she can't get over the decor. Though the cottage is fairly nondescript on the outside, inside, the place is so very Laura it hurts. Stripped wood floors, white walls, a large fireplace taking up half the wall of the main room. Bookcases along the other walls, except for the one in which a huge window gives an unspoiled view down to the sea.

The sofa is large and comfy looking, and Kara grins widely, dropping the cases to the ground and reaching for Laura's waist as she comes in, struggling under the weight of all the groceries she's brought.

"I guess you've frakked in every room of this place already, but not with me. We could make a start on that sofa once you put those damn bags down." She winks, tickling the soft skin of Laura's hip.

Laura gives her a crooked smile and slips away, walking towards what Kara assumes must be the kitchen, taking the bags with her.

As she disappears through the door, Kara hears her softly say "I don't bring people here," and it stops her in her tracks.

* * *

Bribery, Laura/Kara, T

Kara frakking hates these formal dinners Laura drags her too, now and then. Ever since Laura’s promotion to Superintendent of Schools, she’s ended up having to attend all kinds of political events the Mayor invites Laura to, all dressed up, making polite conversation with people she can’t stand, watching Laura move effortlessly around the room and not being able to go up to her and touch her the way she wants to.

“No one gives a frak about me, Laura. They won’t care if I’m there or not.” she complains when yet another silver-edged envelope lands on the doormat.

“You don’t have to come every time, but it’ll look weird if you're not there sometimes. Come on. For me?” And Laura knows Kara finds it almost impossible to say no to her, and so here they are again, getting out of the car, Laura in another of those sleek fitted dresses, low cut, black this time. It sets off her hair perfectly.

Kara climbs out after her, handing the keys to the valet, slipping her hand briefly into the pocket of her trousers.

Happy that Laura’s underwear is still safely there, she holds out her arm to Laura, and they walk in together, Laura’s lips pursed in a smirk, Kara for the first time, entering a mayoral party with a smile on her face.

Hee!

In which Clare pimps stuff

2012-12-05T16:52:25Z

So at the moment, I'm so totally head over heels for Laura/Kara again, and I think mermaidfangs is as well. They're so amazing.

I know everyone is busy with Yuletide and Pentathlon and gift exchanges and so on, but I thought I would pimp this out again, as it's not remotely ever going to be closed.

(click the banner to get there)

If any of you have more Laura/Kara urges, please feel free to keep playing. Drop off prompts or pick prompts up and see what you come up with, and let's see if our gorgeous Goddesses can get more awesomeness written about them or graphics or icons produced of their beauty? There were some amazing fics and ficlets and graphics produced previously. You guys are awesome.

The Masterlist of fic written for the party so far.

Fic Party Masterlist

2012-06-29T09:56:29Z

We've actually got enough fanworks now that I figure I ought to start a masterlist. I'll link to it over at the side as well, so that you can easily find it when you want to explore.

If you post something new and I don't put it onto the masterlist within a day or so, please PM me and remind me. It'll only be because I have a memory like a goldfish.

Please keep adding more! I ♥ all of them so much.

Fic

by astreamofstars

Bedtime Stories

by fragrantwoods

by letterstonorah

by marzipanilla

by newnumbertwo

by rirenec

They Met Over A Dog

by rococoms

Legacy

by wishflsinfl

by word_vomity

Today and Nothing More

Graphics and Icons

by eagerness_83

by astreamofstars

Hugging Hands

Fic: Threnody for Aurora

2012-06-28T15:01:43Z

My long-griped-about Leefic is finally up, if anyone wants to go and be amazed that it took me this long to put together something that is less than two thousand words in total, heh.

Title: Threnody for Aurora
Author: astreamofstars
Rating: PG
Character(s): Lee Adama, Bill Adama, Sam Anders, Kara Thrace, mentions of others
Pairing(s): Kara/Lee
Summary: Two months in the life of a man in mourning
Prompt(s): Lee tries to deal with his grief over Kara's death in Maelstrom
Warnings: Mention of canon character death
Word Count: c. 1850 words
Beta Thanks: Thank you to both scifishipper and letterstonorah for looking over this at such a late point in the ficathon!

Laura/Kara Fic Party!

2012-06-24T09:14:54Z

I'm posting this a day earlier than I said, as I think a lot of stuff is happening tomorrow and I wanted to get this out there :)

Ok! letterstonorah and I declare the Immortal Goddesses Fic Party open!

Here's the plan.

What we'd like are prompts. Lots of prompts. HUNDREDS of prompts. Any kind of prompts you like - single words, song lyrics, phrases, scenarios, acts, themes, tropes, emotions, entire plots, anything. Any rating is fine.

Keep each prompt to its own comment, please.

And then we all just fill prompts. Check the prompts, pick one, two, five, twenty, fifty, that you like and create fanworks focused on Laura/Kara that fit them, then post as a comment reply to the prompt. If you create something too large to fit in a comment box, or if you'd just rather do it that way anyhow, then feel free to post to your own journal and just post a link to the fanwork as a reply.

Although we’ve called this a fic party, any kind of creative response to the prompt is ok, so while we all adore fic and hope to see lots of it, we'd love to see graphics, icons, mini fanmixes, picspams, pieces of meta or anything else you want to create too.

Fics don't have to be long! Drabble size is absolutely fine if you want to just get a feel for it to begin with. If you want to write epics, though, believe me, no one will complain...

It's fine for more than one person to create something for the same prompt.

It's also fine for you to create things for your own prompts, so if you have a story you really want to write that doesn't fit anything here, leave yourself a prompt and fill it.

If you want to leave anonymous prompts and fic for whatever reason, you can do that. I think I've arranged the settings so you can.

Although shippy is preferable, we’re ok with gen too, so long as the focus is on Kara and Laura and their relationship with each other, not just a K/L or A/R story with a bit of bonus Kara&Laura conversation, if that makes sense. Other characters are also ok, so long as there is a main focus on Laura/Kara. Either canon-based or AU stories are fine.

There's no right or wrong way to write them! So don't worry if you've never written the pairing before. Most people haven't. We're all figuring it out together, but the one thing we can probably all agree on is that they are beautiful and wonderful and lovely. So ... create your own versions of them and share them with us, and that's absolutely fine.

Please make sure you put appropriate ratings and warnings on any fic you write, in the comment header. I’m not really going to mod this, except to delete anything spammy or that I think is totally inappropriate, so if you write something that is likely to be very triggery, please put it under a cut on your own journal and just link to it here.

Please try to leave feedback on the fanworks posted.

At some point, if we get a lot of participation, I’ll make a start on some kind of masterlist, but it’ll depend on whether it looks necessary.

There is no deadline and I don't plan to close this thread. I'm going to link to it at the side of my journal and I would like to ask you guys to track the post so that you will get notifications when new prompts are left and when new fic, etc, is posted, so that you can write, read and respond, otherwise, the way LJ works, this will be out of sight, out of mind after a day or two.

Nora and I are hoping this might go on indefinitely, so you can continue to leave prompts and create fanworks for as long as you like. Weeks, months, whatever. Keep coming back and checking it out whenever you feel like writing the pairing, and point other people in this direction if you think they would enjoy it. Nora and I might periodically put little reminders that this is here on our own LJs.

In short

- Leave prompts
- Read prompts
- Create fanworks for prompts
- Post fanworks
- Rinse and repeat.

Any questions - ask them as a response to the first comment in the thread. Aside from that, please start prompting!

I hope you all have fun ♥

In which Clare can't stop organising stuff

2012-06-20T15:10:55Z

Yo, peeps.

Ok, so as you all may have noticed, I've developed a bit of a Laura/Kara thing recently (yeah, no shit, Clare) and a lot of other people have read my bit of writing and read Nora's lots of awesome writing about the two of them and have commented on how they too have started shipping them, a bit or a lot.

And why wouldn't you? They're awesome.

So.

We were thinking about having some kind of mini-ficathon, probably just here on my journal, where all of you who have decided you like them and might think about writing them in the future could have a go at ficleting for them. I'm not sure what form it would take, yet, but maybe just people throwing out prompts and other people writing short, quick ficlets for them, I don't know. No major pressure - just fun and squeefulness for the Immortal Goddesses.

At any rate, who here would be interested? There's no point if there aren't that many people likely to take part, but if there are a few, we'll see about doing something.

Let me know? Roll call, please. And also let me know if you have any ideas for the form you'd like it to take.

*huggles*

In which Clare is giggling so much

2012-05-17T14:41:16Z

Ok, so the fabulous deborah_judge put together an Epics Ship War over on bsg_epics the past couple of days and it was the most fun thing ever. So. Much. Fic!

I managed to dredge out of my brain two A/R ficlets and, totally randomly and out of nowhere (and it's all down to letterstonorah who is insanely persuasive and so much fun to get all excited with) FOUR Laura/Kara ficlets. IDEK. I didn't even ship them until, like, Tuesday. The other THIRTY FIVE Laura/Kara ficlets were Norah's.

I DO however have a lot of new prompts for my other ships too now. I have Laura/Lee ideas popping out of my ears, but there was no point writing them for the challenge because I couldn't have competed, so I stuck with the ships that stood a chance.

Anyhow. Here for posterity. The first one is kinda rubbish. The Sammy A/R ficlet is a scene from a much longer Laura&Sam crack fic (but yes, it's A/R really), so that might well get finished at some point.

----------

Things Bill Adama Knows, A/R, PG

This is what Bill Adama knows.

That he has loved Laura Roslin since the day that he was born. Since before she was born. Since the day the universe burst into being and the stars formed and the first inkling of life began.

That there has always been a Laura-shaped space in his heart, waiting for her to fill it, and though it has taken him sixty years to recognise it for the gaping hole that it is, that takes nothing away from the fact that it has always been there, just waiting, biding its time for her to step into it and make him whole.

That she will leave him, and when she leaves him, he will crumble in on himself around that hole, because his heart is so used to being supported by her body and her mind and her soul that it doesn’t know how to prop itself up without her anymore. That she’s the strong one, and always has been, no matter that her body is so fragile. That it seems impossible that she cannot command her body to heal itself simply by the strength of her will, and have the universe fall into place around her desires.

This is what Bill Adama knows.

----------

Frakkin' Sam, A/R, PG13

Admiral’s Quarters
Battlestar Galactica

Bill wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard her right. They’d been having a quiet dinner together, talking about the problems with the lack of new supplies for ship repairs, and discussing a book she’d borrowed from him, and he’d been admiring her legs in his favourite skirt and hoping she was in a good enough mood for a bit of fun before she had to go back to Colonial One because it had been a while since they’d had the chance, and then his brain caught up with his ears and he spluttered.

“Say that again?”

“Sam Anders is organising a pyramid tournament and I’m going to be on his team.” She took a delicate bite of the algae-based concoction that passed for dinner that evening, somehow making it look edible.

“What?! Tell me you’re joking, Laura.” She had to be joking. Didn’t she?

She shook her head, putting her fork down and looking at him. “No, I’m not joking. It’s a good idea, it’ll boost morale. And Sam wants me on his team and I want to play.”

(Tall, handsome, young) Sam Anders wanted Laura on his team. Bill just bet he did. All that touching (with those arms) and tackling (and those muscles) and team talks (whispering and giggling and huddled away together) and Laura in a tight little pyramid strip (and team showers? Oh gods, team showers. And post-game rubdowns. Zeus’ balls!) and ...

She was snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Bill?”

He glowered at her. She and Mr Anders had been far too friendly for his liking back on New Caprica, with all those dinner invitations with Kara and cosy chats and going for walks and messing about on the pyramid courts together, while he’d been stuck on Galactica half the time. Granted, when he wasn’t on Galactica, he was usually in Laura’s bed, but Anders had been on the planet all the time. And gods only knew what had gone on in the four months after he’d jumped away and Kara had been locked away in that house. Laura was very circumspect about the whole thing. Ok, so he knew they’d been blowing up cylons and getting thrown in detention most of the time, but there was always comfort frakking? Wasn’t there? Anders would have had to be mad to pass up the chance. And it was obvious he and Kara had been having problems recently. And now Laura wanted to get all cosy with him again. Playing pyramid?

He wasn’t happy about this. Wasn’t happy at all.

“What?” She was frowning at him.

“It’s inappropriate, Laura.” Maybe he could talk her out of it. And then suggest a little one-on-one practice of their own...

“Do you not think I’ve thought it through? Maybe back on Caprica, it would have been inappropriate for a president to do something like this, but there’s less than forty thousand of us left, Bill, and people need to see that I’m as human as they are. I’ve lived alongside these people. Taught their children, washed my clothes alongside them, showered alongside them ... take that look off your face, it’s not like I had a choice ... so a few games of pyramid aren’t going to ruin my reputation, are they? And anyway, if it’s alright for you to get up in the ring and get yourself beaten bloody, then it’s alright ...”

She was leaning forward a little, making her points, and that blouse was the white crossover one that he liked, and ...

“Bill?”

“Huh?”

“Oh, for frak’s sake. I’m playing, and that’s that.” And the expression on her face said that arguing with her about it wasn’t going to get him anywhere except the couch. On his own.

“Well ... I want to play too. You and I can set our own team up.” There was an idea. Then he could provide the team showers and the rubdowns.

She shook her head a little. “No can do, Bill. We need to use your starboard flight deck for the courts because it’s the only place big enough to fill with spectators, and I’m going to ask Saul to be the referee, so you need to stay out of it. You need to be neutral so we don’t get any accusations of bias. Anyhow, that moustache is against regulations for pyramid. Sam told me.” She picked up her glass of water, smirking a little at him over the top of it.

Frakkin’ Sam told her. Frakkin’ Sam wanting him kept out of it. Frakkin’ Sam trying to get Laura all to himself.

“Well, you shouldn’t be on Anders’ team, Laura.”

“Why not?” She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Uh...” Because he’s young and has that six-pack and those arms and he likes to drape them around your shoulders and you giggle when he does ... “Because ...”

Dammit. There must be dozens of reasons it was a bad idea other than that, surely?

She looked at him pointedly for a long moment, before speaking slowly, as though he was a five year old. “I’m going to play pyramid, Bill. I’m going to be on Sam’s team, Bill. And you can stop being such a big baby about it, Bill. Thank you for dinner, it was lovely. And now I need to be getting back to my shuttle.”

And she got up, packing her papers back into her bag, ruffled his hair and then went to the hatch and opened it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Admiral.” And then she was gone, leaving just a trace of her perfume on the air.

Frakkin’ Sam ruining his perfectly planned seduction. Frakkin’ Sam.

----------

Daphne, Laura/Kara, PG

The first time Laura sees it, it’s one of her bad days, where her legs are like jelly and her muscles ache, and she’s had to ask Billy to postpone all her meetings until tomorrow in the hopes, small as they are, that she’ll feel better. One of those messages was to Kara, who, in true Kara Thrace fashion, arrived on the next raptor shuttle. And now, here they are, in Laura’s bedroom, Laura’s head against Kara’s thigh, Kara’s fingers stroking through Laura’s hair. Mostly in silence. There’s not much more to say.

It’s the bandage on Kara’s wrist that catches Laura’s eye, and she touches it gently. “Did you hurt yourself?” Her voice sounds rough and scratchy to her ears. Her mother’s voice, from those long-ago days in the sunny room in Caprica City General.

“No. Well, yes, but I meant to.” Kara’s fingers are soothing, slow, and there’s a part of Laura that always marvels at how peaceful the girl can be sometimes.

Laura worries. She’ll always worry, that there’s a part of this girl that has a death wish that she hides under bravado and passion, and so she tugs feebly at the bandage. “Show me.” And Kara, after a few moments of hesitation, does.

But the lines on Kara’s wrist are not the deep, red scores that Laura has feared. Instead, elegant black lines in a pattern that she almost recognises curve on the tender skin of Kara’s arm, and Laura traces them in wonder.

“What is it?”

And Kara’s eyes are wide and young and sorrowful as she answers. “It’s a laurel leaf. I needed something ... Laurel leaves are evergreen, you know? They never die.”

And the tears that start behind Laura’s eyes are immediate, and she pulls Kara down to kiss her, knowing that there’s nothing she can say to make it better.

*~*~*~*

Three days after her cure, and Kara’s hands are all over her and her lips can’t stop kissing Laura’s hair and forehead when Laura notices the bandage on Kara’s wrist again.

“You changed it?”

And this time, Kara peels off the bandage immediately, a wide smile on her face, and Laura sees the twining gracefulness of the stark leaves around the paleness of Kara’s arm. All the way around, and she looks up, questioningly, to Kara’s face.

And Kara smiles, that wide, Starbuck smile, and touches Laura’s cheek gently.

“It tried to beat you and you won. I had to change it. A crown of laurels. For victory.”

----------

Ghosts, Laura/Kara, PG

They both live in a world full of ghosts.

All those souls weighing down on Laura’s shoulders, both the living and the dead, haunt her at every turn, reminding her of their presence and their needs and their sad, disapproving voices. She can’t block them out. Won’t. But sometimes she needs to take a break, take a breath, so that she can plunge back into their grasp and keep on negotiating a path through their midst.

Kara’s ghosts are different. Their faces are clearer, less nebulous. Zak’s. Her mother’s. And she tries to hide her face in Laura’s shoulder and Laura’s chest so that she can’t see them, but they won’t let her go, and she knows it. But sometimes she can stave them off for just a little while.

Maybe that’s why they cling so hard to each other when things get quiet and the ghosts come out to play.

----------

Enigmatic, Laura/Kara, PG

Sometimes when Laura looks at Kara, for a moment, it’s no longer Kara she sees, but a being made of light and air. An angel, waiting, hovering, filling her with strength, pushing her onwards and onwards. She flies amongst the stars, seeking, searching, guiding Laura on the path she’s forging in her desperation to find humanity a new home. An angel who sweats, cries, laughs, fights, but an angel nonetheless. Laura doesn’t know what she did to deserve the gift of this guardian watching over her, but she touches Kara in gratitude every chance she gets, hoping that her kisses and her trust will be enough to thank her.

Kara keeps her secrets, and Laura won’t pry. She just watches in wonderment, and holds her tongue.

*~*~*~*

Sometimes when Kara looks at Laura, it’s like she sees past the mortal flesh and blood woman in front of her and can see who Laura really is. All her life, she’s worshipped Artemis and Aphrodite, attending temple when she can, praying to her figurines when she can’t. But suddenly, it’s Athena who holds her attention, in the guise of this red-headed goddess. She listens to Laura’s press conferences and hears the voice of wisdom in her, she watches Laura try to hold their little civilisation together with her bare hands, she bows her head to this patron of heroes and she whispers her prayers silently into her goddess’s skin at night.

She worships with everything that she has, but she keeps quiet. It’s Laura’s secret, and Kara will never tell.

----------

Untitled, Laura/Kara, PG, warning for death

Kara stands stoic, staring ahead of her, because that’s what she does. Somewhere inside, she’s screaming, ready to punch someone, but Laura made her promise and so she’s shaking with the effort of keeping it all inside, her nails digging into the palms of her hands.

Lee’s eyes are shining a little, and the Admiral’s voice is gruffer than she’s ever heard it, but none of them can be feeling what she’s feeling, like there’s no way the universe can really still be going now that laugh no longer exists. She’s been here before, but practice doesn’t make perfect in this case, and this is one thing she doesn’t want to be good at.

There should be choirs of angels, rending of clothes, something, anything but this quiet echoing room full of people shuffling their feet and clearing their throats and a box in the centre that holds Kara’s heart.

But there isn’t, and Kara stands stoic, watching as the doors close and Laura drifts out into the stars, waiting for the moment she can go back to her bunk, drown herself in a bottle of whiskey and try not to join her.

----------

*dies*

*revives*

Those pictures of Mary, and of Mary and Jamie, at the TNT Upfronts are the Best Thing Ever.

*dies again*

Fic: Thirty Three

2012-05-07T20:03:20Z

Ficlet written for an episode prompt over at laura_lee_bsg. Just because it's, like, wordz. And I feel I must celebrate wordz at the moment in the hope it will encourage new wordz to emerge, so I'm putting this here for posterity.

Title: Thirty Three
Characters: Laura, Billy, Lee (mentioned)
Rating: PG
Word count: c. 800

Minute eighteen, cycle ... she doesn't even know anymore. One hundred and seventy something.

The cabin is full of people trying to catch a moment's rest before the next jump. There's a man in the corner who has perfected the art of sleeping through them now, and he's been snoring for the past three hours. The sound reverberates through her, jarring her tenuous concentration on the paper in front of her, and the words begin to swim across the page, making sinuous patterns that seem to mean something, but she can’t decipher them anymore.

Pushing back her chair, she slowly, achingly, gets to her feet, her muscles screaming in protest. Billy starts from the doze he’s been drifting into, looking up at her with a sleepy, questioning expression on his face. “Madame President, I...”

She shakes her head a little, gesturing him to settle back down again. She just needs to stretch, needs to give her sore muscles a workout, even if it’s just by walking to the bathroom.

There’s an empty seat in the next section, next to the window, and she settles into it on her way back. Minute twenty five, and her body is already starting to anticipate the jump, the sharp stab she knows she’ll feel in her left breast when that feeling of contraction occurs. With everything that’s going on around them, she’d expected to be able to forget about the cancer, but that ache keeps bringing it back to the forefront of her mind. Every thirty three minutes, another reminder, like a slow heartbeat. Cancer. Terminal. Cancer. And every time, she has to fight the urge to curl up in a ball and give in. Just stop.

The window is cool against her cheek, the stars no longer beautiful, but just vast, twinkling in the emptiness. They make her feel small, irrelevent, and she finds her exhausted mind starting to wonder whether all of this is worth anything. Whether there’s any point to her trying to hold this tiny civilisation together when they’re on the verge of annihilation at any moment.

Minute thirty one, and the alert fighters begin to pour from the dark bulk of Galactica. So few. She watches them weave in and out of the fleet, and this, this she finds beautiful. Humanity, fighting back, clinging on to life in defiance of the vastness of space that threatens to swallow them whole.

It’s his face she pictures when she thinks of humanity’s bravery. The stubborn set to his jaw, the intelligence and gentleness in his eyes, the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips when she helped him to his feet. Captain Apollo. Lee. The realisation startles her for a moment, and then she gives in to it, remembering the smiles he gave her that brightened the room, the way she knew what he was going to say before he said it. The urge she’d had to reach for him before he left, to thank him for being the steadiness at her right hand when she said those words, to ask him to stay.

She wonders which ship is his. She wonders if he’ll make it through the next attack, and the next, and the next. And the thought that he might not makes her heart ache as sharply as her breast as the captain announces the jump and that sickening feeling washes over her. His ship, whichever it is, disappears from view, and she finds herself gripping the arm of the chair, counting the minutes until that flash and the darkening of space tells her Galactica has jumped back into view.

The tiredness of her body is almost an afterthought as she makes her way back to her desk, her eyes seeking out Billy who is on the comm to Galactica. He gives her a little smile, and mouths “no casualties”, and she realises her heart has been hammering in anticipation of bad news.

She settles back into the uncomfortable desk chair that is her seat of office, gazing at that page on her desk that had eluded her before with a renewed determination to make some sense of it. She’s not going to give in. She’s not going to stop. Because this tiny civilisation needs to stay together for people like him. People with their whole lives ahead of them. People so full of beauty and bravery that they are the very reason humanity deserves to survive.

And when this is over, she’ll call him back here and reach for him. She’ll thank him for being the steadiness at her right hand. And maybe she’ll ask him to stay.

In which Clare is bossy

2012-01-17T16:17:46Z

People?

We are having a Love Day over at Epics today.

Plenty of people already have threads on them, that you can go and add to.

Plenty of space for more threads for other people.

Go squee and make people's day. That's an order :P

In which Clare feels a bit greedy

2011-12-04T18:06:59Z

Lots of people seem to be doing these :)

1. Post your Holiday wishlist to your LJ. Items can be fannish or not, small or extravagant. Have fun!
2. Look around your flist and grant any wishes you can to OTHERS. This includes sending actual gifts if you want!
3. Re-post your wishlist two weeks before the holiday as a reminder.

Fic

-Laura fic of any kind, either gen or with any of the numerous people I ship her with.
-Fluffy extended Adama family fic. The fluffier, the better.
-Recs for non-Laura-focused fic you guys think I would like, from what you know of my tastes.
-Someone who would be willing to work with me on pulling together a proper plan for this damn epic fic that has been percolating in my head for over a year now and is no closer to getting written than it was then. I need someone to bounce ideas off and who can help me figure out what scenes I need and what plot points will work, because I'm so bad at it.

Graphics and vids

-A new header for my journal. I don't have anything in mind for images, so surprise me! You guys know what kind of things I like.
-Laura/Lee vids. Particularly one to Run by Snow Patrol because it is stuck in my head as an L/L song, for reasons unbeknownst to me.
-Laura/Bill vids. Also one to Snow Patrol - Dark Roman Wine
-Someone to point me in the direction of some really good and easy to follow vidding tutorials, because I'm determined to get this damn Laura/Gaius vid I started finished soon, but I've kinda lost the thread of what I was doing now.

Other Stuff

-Suggestions for fun and different crafty-type things to do with a smart four year old.
-For you guys to all have awesome holiday periods :D

In which Clare prepares to ramble

2011-10-07T20:19:45Z

Stolen from scifishipper and plaid_slytherin and hobbit_kate

Comment with the name of a fictional character (or two, or however many you want), and I'll come up with three facts about my personal canon for them.

Just BSG, because although I love ASOIAF, I have no head!canon for anyone there. It's complicated enough just following canon.

In which Clare apparently doesn't know what's going on in her own head

2011-09-22T10:33:22Z

Ok, so, I adore Laura, as everyone here knows, and I have shipped A/R since I first watched the show. Love the relationship between them. I've also always liked the idea of Laura/Lee, and when we all signed up for Ship-Swap, I thought it'd be cool to get some Laura/Lee written because a lot of people were asking for A/R, and scifishipper wrote me the gorgeous Caravan of the Heavens which was just beautiful. I've also been helping plaid_slytherin bounce ideas around for her Bill/Saul, Laura/Lee epic The Road Diverged, which has been very interesting.

I've just realised how very, very much I ship Laura/Lee. OMFG. I love them together so damn much. They're so good for each other, and so supportive and so adorable and so gorgeous together and I wish that there was more fic about them and I would love, so much, to see what might have happened in the show if they'd been together and ... wow.

How did I not realise how very much I loved them before? Jeez. Now I feel kind of dumb.

A/R shippers, please don't throw me out of fandom. I don't love them more than A/R, but I'm starting to think I love them kind of equally (which is probably squicky, what with me shipping her with both father and son, but you know ... meh. I don't care. It's not at the same time!). I still love Daddy Adama lots too!

Laura/Lee shippers, all three of you ... I am all out of awesome fic. Please write some. Please? I will love you forever and ever.

By the way, this slightly embarrassing confession about how dumb I am is leading up to an "embarrassing confessions" day at Epics sometime soon. Be prepared.

In which Clare talks about writing - day twenty eight, twenty nine and thirty

2011-09-09T10:08:50Z

OMG, my feet hurt today. But it was worth it for all the compliments I got all day! Must do that more often.

... I'm back in my scruffs and am limping around the office in my socks today.

Have the final three today, because I won't post these over the weekend. OMG, I finished a meme!

----------------

28 – Have you ever collaborated with anyone else, whether writing together, or having an artist work on a piece about your fic?

Nooooo, but I would actually love to collaborate one day. I think it would be a really interesting way to learn more about the process of writing, about planning and structure and so on, because that’s really my downfall. I have ideas coming out of my ears, but developing them into a coherent plot is something I really struggle with.

29 – What is your current project or projects?

Two Ship-Swap fics: an A/R fic provisionally entitled Twelfth Night, and an as-yet-untitled K/L fic.

Then The Cloths of Heaven - my season four Opera House rewrite.

Somewhere down the line, The Beautiful Game - my Laura/Sammy pyramiddy thing, and a 'Laura's first days as president' piece that wishflsinfl suggested over at Epics.

30 – Do you have a favorite fic you've written? What makes it your favorite? And don't forget to give us a link!

I think I like Everyone Knows the best, which is my first fic from the BSG fandom. It’s not technically perfect by any means, but it was Laura the way I saw her right from the start, and I don’t think my viewpoint has changed on that. It’s about an aspect of Laura I think often gets sort of overlooked in fic, because usually she’s either being a badass, or she’s being romantic or sexy, or she’s being a bitch, and so I like having that little moment of ‘this is what it’s all about for her’ written down.

In which Clare talks about writing - day twenty five

2011-09-06T10:16:50Z

Ok, so Sharon Raydor and Gavin Whatshisname are totally BFFs. Sharon smirking at all Gavin's jokes was cute, and that shot of the two of them in the murder room, eating whatever those strawberry liquorice things were, tilting their heads in sync was adorable. I hope I'm right, and they keep Gavin around occasionally for Major Crimes. They could be a great comedy duo.

---------------------

25 – Music – Do you listen to music while you write? Do you make playlists to get into a certain "mood" to write your fic? Do you need noise in general? Or do you need it completely quiet?

If I listen to music when I write, it’s usually instrumental soundtracks rather than anything that has lyrics, because I start picking up the lyrics too much otherwise. I sometimes get ideas from songs, though.

I do like to have something in the background when I’m writing, but very quietly. Just something to take the edge off the silence, but nothing to distract myself from what I’m doing.

I’ve never made a fic playlist. I might try that!

In which Clare talks about writing - days twenty two, twenty three and twenty four

2011-09-05T10:10:48Z

I just booked a hairdressers' appointment for this lunchtime. I'm planning on getting my hair cut shorter, because although I like my hair longer, it's really fine and it's getting horribly straggly at the end, so I figure if I get it cut shorter, it'll hopefully improve the condition and I can grow it again and it'll look better.

However.

I'm terrified because I have no idea what sort of style I want it cut into, and I think I'm going to come out looking ridiculous. Gah.

Oh well.

I'm a wuss, this is known. I might take my colleague with me to hold my hand through it.

ETA: My neck is cold, but my hair is ridiculously shiny.

-------------------

22 – Have you ever participated in a fest or a Big Bang? If so, write about your favorite experience in relation to one. If not, are there any you've thought about doing? And if not, why not?

Is a fest something like the bsg_remix? I participated in that this year, and it was a lot of fun, though I did what I always do when I have a deadline, and ended up panicking over my fic at the last minute. I still don’t quite know what I think about the fic I produced for that, but I was fairly happy with it, I guess.

It was the first time I’d had anything properly betaed, and icedteainthebag and somadanne were amazingly helpful with it.

I’m in the midst of Ship-Swap at the moment, and that is both wonderful and frakkin’ terrifying!

23 – When you post, where do you post to? Just your journal? Just an archive? Your own personal site?

Everything goes here on my journal. There are a few things crossposted elsewhere, to ar_drabbles, or Survival Instinct, or AO3, but that’s only when I remember. Which is rarely.

24 – Betaing – How many betas do you like to use to make sure there aren't any major flaws in your fic? Do you have a Beta horror story or dream story?

Like I said, I’ve only really used betas once so far, but having two was great! I think that’s probably my ideal, because they both liked and disliked different things, and picked up on different aspects of the story to comment on. It gave me a better understanding of what needed changing and what was simple personal preference. I think using just one beta would have probably left me in a situation where I just changed everything that my beta told me to change, which would leave me with a story that suited the beta rather than myself?

In which Clare talks about writing - day twenty one

2011-09-01T14:18:18Z

Nearly forgot today.

-----------------------

21 – Sequels – Have you ever written a sequel to a fic you wrote, and if so, why, and if not, how do you feel about sequels?

I wrote a sequel to a ficlet once, for a ficlet challenge, but that’s it.

I like sequels if I liked the original, generally. MOAR is always good as far as I’m concerned. I think sequels are often better if the author had at least an inkling from the start that the fic might need one and so planted seeds in the original that can be picked up on later on. Sequels that seem tacked on just because an author has fallen in love with the universe are sometimes less good, but it all depends, really.

In which Clare talks about writing - day twenty

2011-08-31T09:34:51Z

Those of you preparing for DragonCon, I hope you have a fabulous, awesome time. Take a ton of pics and write up reports of every moment for us, won't you?

And tell Eddie I still have a book I want him to sign if he ever makes it anywhere close to my vicinity.

And give Mary lots of hugs from me.

------------------

20 – Do you ever get bunnied from other people's stories or art in the same fandom?

Occasionally, though I’m not sure I’ve ever used any of the bunnies I’ve got from there. I think I sometimes pick up tiny ideas from other people’s stories that I want to include in some minor way in one of mine, but I’m paranoid about plagiarism, so I generally just write down bunnies I get from other people’s fics and put them aside until I’ve worked them through enough that they have totally become mine. Which doesn’t happen often.