[identity profile] callmeonetrack.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] karathracelives
OKAY FOLKS, HERE WE GO!

Get your Kara Thrace Gen Fic Battle Gear On (helmets and flight suits optional) and Let's Get this Party Started!


This is a prompt-driven GENERAL fanfiction battle (much in the vein of the porn battles, but hold the smut).

General fanfiction may include allusions to romantic relationships, maybe even employ romance as an element to illustrate a larger theme, but, romance, or the lack of it, should not be the point of focus for the story.

Action-Adventure, Friendship, Humor, Angst, Comfort, all of these are good categories to explore. Kara could lead a mission, make a sacrifice, exact revenge, solve a mystery, confess a secret, come to a decision, teach a student, go on a quest, reflect on a mistake, celebrate a victory, learn a lesson, question an order, save a life, or roll the hard six (just to name a few options). The possibilities are endless.

The Fic Battle closes July 31 at 11:59 PM EST.

Please title your entries as such: Title, Prompt(s). (i.e. Shining from the Ashes, Dogtags, Regrets)

Fic can be posted in the comments in their entirety up to about 850 words (LJ’s limit is 4300 characters) or can link back to your own journal for longer fics.

Please be sure to “reply to this” for each ficlet when leaving feedback. Do not comment with anything but entries and feedback please.

A masterlist will be posted on or around August 1.


A night out in Caprica City (w/ Lee or Zak)
"Agathon's just slow, sir"
air force
alcohol and bad choices
all the time in the world
ambrosia with a chaser
art classes
bad cover band
barefoot
battlestars I have known
becoming a flight instructor
being the CAG
best friend
bet me
birthday
birthday blues
bloodsucking fiends
blue skies
born a lion
borrowing clothes
boss
bounty hunter
breaking down the wall
buildings and bridges
bum knee
by the book
Cadet Zak Adama
canvas
careful planner
Catullus
caught singing on film during "Final Cut"
chasing the sun
cigar
circle of light
clenched jaw
coffee
coffee deficit
cold shower
compartments
cookie cutters
cooking for the old man (bonus points if Dee gets jealous)
Cool Aunt Kara
cornflakes
counting pushups
cradle and all
crossing the line
"Death becomes a learning experience"
destiny is overrated
detention
devout
"Did you just say 'please'?"
disorderly conduct/drunk and disorderly
divorce
"Do you always get what you want?"
"Do they call you 'Helo' 'cause that's all you're good enough to fly?"
doomed to repeat
dreams
dress uniform
drummed out of how many schools?
drunken stupor
escalation of trouble-making
eternal life
every action has an equal and opposite reaction
everything's grey here
faith in things unseen
falling into the deep blue ocean
falling slowly
falsely accused
fast cars
fate and free will
father figures
father's day
fear of the gods
festival of Aphrodite
fierce flawless
fighter
finding her faith
finding the arrow
fingers and thumbs
firecracker
first day on the Galactica
first flight
first frak, first fight (but not with the same person)
first kiss
first love
first tattoo
first time drinking
first time in a viper
first week on Galactica
fists
five careers Kara thought about besides the military
five times Kara's apologized and the one time she really meant it
five times Kara landed in the brig
fleet's magic luck charm
flight training
flying
foodfight
freezie pops
girls night out
girly bonding
giving up Kacey
going to the rifle range
going to the temple (either by choice or because she was made to go by a parent)
good at math
good bad ugly
good with people
goodbye
graphic novels
gun camera footage
halfway 'round the world
hands clasped 'til midnight
happy
Helo
her 1000th landing
hide and seek
hiding from the truth
high heels
"holding on when you need to let go"
hollowed out
home
honor thy mother
household pets
how she got her call-sign
how she got the idols
how to disarm (literally or figuratively) the hall monitor
"I can hear you, you know"
"I don't need directions"
"I don't want to be forgotten"
"I need a whole Cylon armada!"
Icarus
"I'd like to have a copy, just so I can watch me kick your ass."
identity crisis
if he tries anything
"If I'd known you were comin', I'd've baked a cake"
I'm no heroine
in pieces
in spite of it all
jackboots
jealous of someone else's mother
jealous of the moon
joyful girl
Kara inadvertently discovers silly putty
Kara takes ballet as part of her Pyramid training (bonus points if she likes it, EXTRA bonus points if the
pictures/film end up on Galactica)
Kara Thrace and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day
Kara's one and only experience babysitting
kicked out of the bar
"kicking ass and taking numerical designations"
killing
knuckle down
landing gear
last meal
laughing so hard
laughing when you want to cry
laundry day
Laura Palmer
learning to ride a bike
Leoben
let the warm rain wash the blood away
let's be war buddies
letters never sent
linger
liquid latex
listen up
listening to her father's music
"Live Together, Die Alone"
living with other pilots
long day
losing faith
losing hope/faith
lost in space
lost in the woods
lost woman song
loudmouth
loyalty
lucky charm
lying to herself
Madame President
"Maybe I'll get one of those talking bird things. Teach it to tell you off for me. Save my voice that way."
medal of valor (how did she get it?)
mentor
minerva
mobster
"Momma always said…"
monotony
morning routine
most embarassing moment ever
most popular
motorcycle
murder of crows
my IQ
names and dates and times
near-death experiences
needful things
never felt more alive
nightmare
"No fate but what we make"
Not a morning person
not a pretty girl
not ready to make nice
not supposed to like it
nothing but the rain
nuggets
numbing the pain
ocean
oil paints
old photographs
oneupmanship
Ophelia's flowers
orders she doesn't follow
painting the mandala
peace
people she wants to hate but can't
personal bubble
personal possessions
plaster/metal gods versus real ones
Playing the piano with Dad
playing with asteroids
PMS
prayer
prayers that never got answered
promised land
pulled the covers back up over her head and prayed to the gods that no one noticed her there
punch-happy
pyramid
pyramid cards/triad cards
rage
rank
razor
reading poetry
realizing Tigh is a Cylon
reasons to stay
reckoning
recycled air
red to black
rejoice
remembering the dead
risk v. reward
rockstar
role models
rotgut
rules are meant to be bent (not broken)
running
safe
salty sweat
scars and souveniers
scars, outside and in
second time around
shaky hands
Sharon Valerii
Sharon's bachelorette party
she never could stand a psychic
she refused to touch the piano, but she couldn't keep her hands off the paintbrush
she'd be damned if anyone was going to outshoot her
"She's in command."
shot glasses
showoff
sibling rivalry
silk sheets
sins of the father
sirens
situational ethics
skinnydipping
smell my feet
so much shouting, so much laughter
"So what'd I miss while I was gone?"
sometimes in the middle of the night
somewhere a clock is ticking
space between life and death
spies among the ruins
sports bra
star matter
stars
staying sane on New Caprica
stealing glances
streak of blonde
superhero
superior assholes
survivors
sweat, blood and tears
sympathy for the devil
tactics
"Tag, you're it!"
talking to myself
teacher's pet
temple
temple of faith
"That's not what your wife said."
the color black
the first time she tried to give herself a haircut in the ship's head was right before the worlds ended
the good points of…
the hills are alive
the lies she doesn't tell
the next life
the one night w/ the Major from (?)
the one time Kara lost her voice
the other tattoos
the tears she won't let fall
the true story of what was
the walls are coming down
things she doesn't regret
thinking outside the box
this feels like home
"This is me walking away"
thunder and lightening
to the teeth
top gun
train wreck
trying not to screw up too badly in class
two bottles down, one to go
two little girls
under her bird
unusual
up for the pros
up, up, up, up, up, up
vaulted over the low wall
veins in the back of her hand
washed away
watching Kacey sleep
wearing sunglasses indoors
what if she never came back
what ifs
what is and what never should be
what other postings did Kara have?
what really happened on the day when the Adama boys picture(in her locker)was taken and/or how/why Dee got it
"What the frak are you staring at, Adama?"
wheels
when Kara met Helo
when she's on the ground
whoops
"Why can't I keep my mouth shut?"
why she prays to Artemis and Aphrodite
why she sometimes wishes she were more girly
why she thinks the Picon Panthers are a bad team
willing to fight
winning Baltar's cash
wish upon a star
wishing for a sibling (or NOT wishing for one)
work your way out
wrestle
writing and illustrating a novel or comic book/strip to entertain the Fleet
"Your father's idea of pressure is nothing like my mother's."
zero G

BUNDLES...or feel free to use the words separately
(watercolors, slippery, nuance, leather jacket)
(waiting, umbrella, sunshower, pity)
(bruised knuckles, the great outdoors, compass, peace)
Page 1 of 2 << [1] [2] >>
From: [identity profile] rayruz.livejournal.com
The full fic can be found Here (http://community.livejournal.com/tulipfic/55726.html)

Teaser:

Advantages to having short hair:

1) It’s easier to manage when putting on your helmet, though you do end up with the matted mess afterwards.
2) Less to shampoo and less to brush means that much less time spent getting ready in the morning.
3) You don’t need anyone to hold it back when you’re on your knees, emptying your guts into the toilet.

Nevertheless, Kara heard an unfamiliar voice talking to her when the retching stopped. She hadn’t bothered sitting back up yet, but she listened to the voice. Female, scratched from screaming, and very, very naïve when it asked, “Are you alright?”

She wanted to shoot back, “Does it look like I’m alright?” but what came out was even more of her dinner, and she clutched the side of the toilet, firmly deciding against taking anymore bets from Racetrack ever in her life, or at least for another week.

When it finally stopped, she was cringing at the taste left in her mouth but also suddenly aware of a small hand pressed against her shoulder. She turned to see a babyface staring at her with dark eyes full of concern—must have been the rook—and when Kara could talk again she assured the kid she was fine.

“What happened?”

Kara wiped the side of her mouth with her thumb, groaning a bit as she felt her stomach churning once again. “Racetrack bet me twenty cubits I wouldn’t eat the oysters in the mess.”

The rook looked like she was trying not to giggle because it was common frakking knowledge that you don’t eat seafood in space—it’s called seafood for a reason—but Starbuck let it slide, mostly because she needed to lean over the toilet again as another powerful wave of nausea overtook her.

Starbuck found out the rook’s name was Sharon Valerii when she handed over a bottle of mouthwash with her name written on it in black marker. “Was it worth it?” Sharon asked.

“Every cubit.” Kara smirked and Sharon rubbed her back when she hunched over the toilet for the fourth time. At least this time it tasted like spearmint.
From: [identity profile] rayruz.livejournal.com
Gah, this is great. "the red of…" great set up for the ending right there.

"monochrome, monotone, and that monotony" And I'm really fond of the alliteration with this.

Excellent work. :)

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-15 02:18 pm (UTC) - Expand

Unreliable Witness, Helo, "Momma always said…"

Date: 2009-07-15 01:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com
"Hey. What have I told you about that?"

Kara rolls her eyes at Karl Agathon, giving him a Look. "You can't actually forbid me from saying that, you know. Captain now, remember?"

"Yeah, but shockingly, I don't care." Karl smooths her hair back, dodging the swat she aims his way. "Your mother was not a reliable character witness, Kara. And 'Momma always said' is not a phrase I want to hear out of you."

Kara glances at him again, softening very slightly. Karl's her best and oldest friend, and the only person left alive who knows just what Kara grew up with. He met her mother once, but once was enough; they'd been lovers at the time, and when he answered her door half-naked, her mother's reaction had been very predictable. Karl had been forced to pull Socrata Thrace off of her daughter and shove her, kicking and screaming, out of the apartment.

Ever since then, he's forbidden her from uttering the phrase "Momma always said" in his presence; Kara mostly ignores that 'rule', partly because she didn't like being censored but mostly because, secretly, she enjoys having somebody she could count on to defend her, even from herself.

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-15 01:52 pm (UTC) - Expand
From: [identity profile] rayruz.livejournal.com
(Just a drabble this time)

Boomer actually fired the first shot. Crashdown’d said something really frakking stupid—like that was new—and she’d loaded up her spoon with the remnants of her plate and catapulted the contents at the back of his fuzzy head.

Not even five minutes into the food flinging, a loud "Attention!" brought all activities to a halt. Apparently the CAG didn’t think this kind of behavior was acceptable.

Of course Apollo singled her out as instigator. Rather than give away the credit, Starbuck smirked and trailed her finger over the tip of his nose, leaving a streak of gravy in its wake.
Edited Date: 2009-07-15 04:39 pm (UTC)

Bad Choice of Words, best friend, rage, wrestle

Date: 2009-07-15 06:10 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com
"He's only the CAG because his father's the Commander."

Kara went still, a certain sign of danger; Crashdown, drunk and annoyed, didn't notice. "Really?" she said carefully, putting down her coffee. "Is that what you think?"

"Sure. And the uptight bastard isn't even grateful for--frak!"

Kara smiled coldly, leaning over Crashdown and pulling his arm painfully back, shoving him harder into the table. "Crashdown, I mostly like you," she said, her voice low and lethal in the rec room's sudden silence, "but when you say stupid shit like that about somebody I've been friends with for a while now...well, I'm afraid there are gonna be consequences."

Crashdown paled slightly, glancing up at her as best he could from his very awkward position. ".....friends, Sir?"

"Yeah. For...oh, three or four years now, guess." Kara paused, pretending to consider. "In fact, I guess you'd say he's the best friend I have left. So you really shouldn't be talking about him like that, should you, Crash?"

"...no, Sir," Crashdown managed, swallowing. "Sorry, Sir."

"Glad we understand each other." Kara started to release him, then paused. "Oh, and Crashdown?"

".....Sir?"

"If you ever insult the Commander's professionalism like that again, I'll give you an enema with the nose of my viper. Clear?"

"..........crystal. Sir. Sorry. Sir. Pleasedon'thurtme. Sir."

"Good boy."

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-15 06:37 pm (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-15 06:42 pm (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-15 07:49 pm (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] cosetteferaud.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-15 09:02 pm (UTC) - Expand
From: [identity profile] beccatoria.livejournal.com
20.

La Salle had a hell of a right punch. She swirls the water around her mouth and spits it, pink, into the sink.

It's not breaking the rules she loves, it's that it doesn't scare her.

She's gonna end up the oldest lieutenant in the fleet, without even a war to get her a medal and a bad case of freaky-bug-o-phobia. Just a file full of disciplinary notices.

Her fingers slip into her mouth and come out red. In the mirror, she traces the circular outline of the fluroescent light. Yellow and red and the blue-grey bulkhead.

Better being a pilot in hack than some washed-up artist. Right?

She thinks about it the whole way to the brig.

*

17.

The letter says that if the medical reports indicate anything less than a full recovery, they will, regrettably, have to withdraw her scholarship.

All day, stuck with that letter on the table and her leg in plaster, she has nothing to do but stare at her mother's damn medal on the wall.

*

8.

When he realises that Kara is never going to put her hands on the piano keyboard without a physical altercation, the school counsellor changes tack. He gives her a blank notebook and tells her to write. Kara knows he means her feelings, which is why she writes about everything and anything else.

She didn't expect to like it. The counsellor arranges for a local sports reporter to take her to a Pyramid match, and later to go on a tour of the newpaper's offices.

The way the ball flies straight across the court, that first goal, she knows she doesn't want to be a reporter anymore.

*

3.

Kara's favourite movie is "Sally the Friendly Cylon."

"When I grow up," she says. "I wanna be a robot too."

Her mother spits that the armistice was one thing but this is just propaganda. She takes the movie away and Kara never sees it again.

Her father lifts her up onto the piano stool. "Kara," he says. "People don't grow up to be robots. You just are one, or you're not. It's not a job."

"What's your job?"

"I'm a pianist," he says. "Here," he takes her tiny fingers, too small to learn any instrument, really. "Let me show you."
Edited Date: 2009-07-15 06:50 pm (UTC)

A Bet, punch-happy, Helo

Date: 2009-07-15 08:09 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] le-mru.livejournal.com
"Hey, Adama! Say, if I punched you right now, would you punch me back?"

"Would I what?" Lee stumbles over a cobblestone. They've just left a little crowded pub in the old part of the city, and he inhales greedily. The chilly – if not very clear – air of the night is way better than what goes for air inside.

"Would you punch me back," she repeats loudly, as if his hearing was impaired in some way, "if I punched you first."

"What made you so punch-happy all of a sudden, Starbuck?"

"It's a bet." Starbuck stops, turns and flashes him a grin almost too wide to be possible.

"What kind of a bet?" he inquires.

"One I made with myself. Come on! How old-fashioned are you?"

"A little," he confesses. It's the middle of the night in the Athenian Old Town, which means dozens of people walking around and dozens of cameras watching the streets. "Can't it wait until tomorrow? We can have a sparring session if you want me to kick your ass so frakking much."

"Just do it." She swaggers over to him, her hands on her hips, her eyes bright (it's a shame not to drink when the beer's so cheap, she said around an hour ago when he wanted to stop on his fifth). "Punch me in my pretty face."

"Come on, this is ridiculous."

"Just do it, if the lady wants it so much, Apollo," says Agathon. At seven feet's height and about two tonnes' weight the smug bastard can hold a whole lot more liquor than any given Adama.

"No, Helo. I know she's going to draw some kind of perverted pleasure from that, I'm not going to—"

Kara punches him and it's so hard and so sudden that he sees stars. Then he regains his balance and punches her back in the exact same spot she's punched him, and she takes a few steps back and massages her jaw. There's a weird expression on her face – part triumph (and satisfaction, it's so obvious she liked it), part wariness, as if she expects him to hit her again.

Agathon breaks the uneasy silence by clapping his hands.

"Congratulations! How do you feel now, Starbuck?"

"Awesome. It wasn't so hard, was it?" She punches him lightly in the shoulder, all lazy smiles and a swagger. The wariness and anxiety has vanished without a trace and she's the wild, disorderly Starbuck again. He feels a wave of relief wash over him and slings an arm over her shoulder.

"Well, I have to say I do feel a little dirty. Are you sure it wasn't a part of some fantasy of yours?"

"We'll know if she shouts your name in her bunk", Agathon supplies.

"Oh, please," she snorts, breaking free from Lee's grip. "That wasn't about that."

"What was it about, then?" asks Lee. Starbuck waves her hand at him and places a cigarette between her lips. It's not easy to light it in the strong night breeze so they stop and wait for a minute.

"I don't think you're going to get anything more on the subject," Agathon murmurs.

"Whatever, Helo."

It's not until they exchange punches on the hangar deck - before the Caprica incident - that he understands what it was all about.

Re: A Bet, punch-happy, Helo

From: [identity profile] le-mru.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-15 08:36 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: A Bet, punch-happy, Helo

From: [identity profile] le-mru.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-15 08:49 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: A Bet, punch-happy, Helo

From: [identity profile] le-mru.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-15 08:57 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: A Bet, punch-happy, Helo

From: [identity profile] le-mru.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-15 09:16 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: A Bet, punch-happy, Helo

From: [identity profile] galianoir.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-15 08:42 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: A Bet, punch-happy, Helo

From: [identity profile] le-mru.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-15 08:43 pm (UTC) - Expand

To Call Your Own, battlestars I have known

Date: 2009-07-15 08:20 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] shah-of-blah.livejournal.com
(Guys, I have no idea where this came from. Why is it in second person? Why...I don't even know.)

When you get your first battlestar posting straight out of flight school, the days until your new assignment seem like a curse.

Hotshot, hot to trot, you’ve been called. Starbuck, always bursting her britches (and other people’s too). You have an eager fanbase waiting for some spectacular exploits to spread far and wide throughout the fleet. Who are you to disappoint them?

The Triton wasn’t your first choice, but you figure a battlestar’s a battlestar, and these days in between just cannot pass quickly enough.

As soon as you set foot on board, you know you’re going to hate the LSO, and the CAG, and probably the XO too for good measure. That’s okay—they’ll probably hate you too and it’ll make life a lot more interesting. You’ve got your bag over your shoulder and as much swagger in your step as you can manage while the NCO leads you to the bunkroom. Girl’s gotta make an entrance, after all, and it’s just a shame you had to hitch a ride on that hunk-of-junk they call a Raptor.

From that moment on, you make this battlestar your territory. Your time on the Triton is about moment to moment, going from one event to the next and ignoring the time in between. You define your stay by your first flight, first full colors, first frak and first court martial. It’s about the stunts you pull and the stories you know are trickling through the ranks. You don’t write to anyone back home and no one writes to you, but you never have time for that bullshit anyway.

You may not have friends on the Triton, but you do have cronies, which you think you prefer.

The court martial is an annoyance that caps your posting at one year, but you always wanted to go out with a bang. The Triton won’t forget Kara Thrace, and you won’t forget the Triton either.

Two years later you board the Battlestar Galactica. It’s not like before, but that’s okay. You’re not like you were before either. Galactica’s old and battle-scarred. You feel a kinship with the old girl that eases some (though not all) of your loneliness.

You spent a year on the Triton, a year of flying, laughing, frakking and frakking up. You did all of those things on the Triton but you think maybe you lived on the Galactica.

The worlds end and you and the old girl keep on living.

Your time on the Pegasus never seems real. Every moment there is just counting down until your inevitable return.

The war’s been going for two years now, with no end in sight. You’ve taken up space on seven of the Twelve Colonies, plus New Caprica to boot. You’ve known eight worlds and three battlestars, but only one of them has ever been your home.

You’ve lived there and you expect to die there (or flying with its patch on your shoulder). You’re sort of right in the end. Pilots joke that Elysium wouldn’t take you and Hades kicked you out, but you don’t say what’s really going through your mind. That you just can’t let Galactica go. And you’re Kara Thrace, who sees everything through to its bitter end.

War Scars, scars and souvenirs

Date: 2009-07-15 10:31 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ivanolix.livejournal.com
Kara had scars like glaciers; impossible to miss on the surface, but merely a distraction for what lay underneath.

"Wouldn't have expected so many scars from someone who lives in a metal tube all day," Anders commented after their impromptu pyramid game on Caprica.

The comment didn't faze Kara. She'd had years to shape scars to her bidding.

Scars on bones were hidden, fingers appearing long and slender and strong. She could almost forget the pole to the forehead that had healed just wrong, leaving a cowlick that flipped her hair to the left. The welt left on her shoulder she had covered up with a pyramid tattoo during minor leagues, frustrated enough to demand solid black marks.

"Wasn't always a pilot," Kara replied to Anders absently.

She didn't notice that he didn't ask a follow-up question, meaning it wasn't a surprise.

It had looked like the Six added a new scar to her eyebrow.

"What is that one, number 30?" Helo had remarked. He didn't guess why she had them.

"Depends on if you count them individually," Kara answered. And she started at the back of her neck as they walked.

One just under the fringe of her hair. A cheap throwing range and knives and a boy too frightened afterwards to ask her out, less from his mistake and more from the way she grinned when her hand came back bloody.

Three in a line on her right shoulder, a grassy pyramid court's doing. Her opponent's cleated shoe had almost been put on a plaque by her teasing team.

The side of her wrist bore the remembrance of a practice wilderness campaign and a hot poker that had tipped.

One of the scars on her stomach told of an honorable appendectomy. Others would join them that spoke of less honorable doctors.

Zak had left his mark on one finger. She could easily recall sucking the little slit her cleaver had made when he caught her unawares in the kitchen, the iron taste not so bitter in his presence.

A whole set on her hip and upper thigh were a missed parachute landing, some double-scarred since that planet with her pet raider.

One on her upper calf came during her time as military instructor, and that student had shaken leaf-like every day she limped thereafter.

The left knee bore two long silver-white marks, a neat testament to some of her worst days. Pyramid had held her life, each game a vital combination of fluid actions, powerrul strikes, and more and more jabs into her mother's army-loving heart. Kara didn't plan to serve, she planned to shine.

The crack of bone, more than one, had Kara screaming more than the pain. It was her career shattering, she knew, even before the hospital and 14 hours of reconstructive surgery. Her team had championships to attend; she ended up watching them while wound up on pain meds and still too young to drown her sorrows.

Those two scars were her pledge to the military, as soon as she recovered enough. 18 months wasn't soon enough.

And last, there's that one toe she dropped a broken shot glass on.

Helo knows them all, and he laughs about them. Just "war" scars she's collected. And he's right. She won the war against her mother by making her mother's marks on her meaningless compared to the ones she gathered. Kara hallows each of her scars.
Edited Date: 2009-07-15 10:34 pm (UTC)

Re: War Scars, scars and souvenirs

Date: 2009-07-15 10:50 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] rayruz.livejournal.com
Wow. Wow wow wow. This is impressive. It's just fantastic, all the stories the scars tell... what an appropriate way to flesh out our girl.

Re: War Scars, scars and souvenirs

From: [identity profile] le-mru.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-15 11:10 pm (UTC) - Expand

Second Time Around

Date: 2009-07-16 01:17 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] somewhereapart.livejournal.com
She doesn’t realize this is the end until she watches the Old Man and Laura fly off in their raptor. Then suddenly she knows, like a switch is flipped, like a veil lifts and the world around her seems suddenly clearer. Brighter. She wonders if this is what Sam felt like when he realized he was a cylon. She wonders for the millionth time what the hell she is, because she knows she’s not a machine, but now she’s certain she’s not quite human either.

Lee’s voice startles her back to the present. “You know, my very earliest memory of my father was him flying away in a big plane, and wondering when he was coming back.” Her heart clenches, aches for Lee because she knows what’s coming and she knows she can’t stay. “He’s not coming back this time.”

“No. He’s not.” Quicker is better, she decides. Better to tell him now than to wait until they’ve settled here. Better he finds his way on his own. “Neither am I.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” she tells him and it’s the truth, but its not. She knows she’s going home. Where or what that is… she has no clue. “I just know that I am done here. I’ve completed my journey. And… it feels good.”

She tries to smile for him, tries to reassure him, and he almost quirks a smile back but she knows they’re both lying. Her pulse pounds with the uncertainty of it all, and with the certainty that this is painfully unfair to Lee. It’s almost funny that here at the end of things, no more commitments, no more barriers, no more brothers or spouses or regs or anything to stand in their way… now is when she has to go. Typical. Can’t catch a break in this frakking universe.

She knows her time is running out. She can feel the world contracting, like the moment before an FTL jump. Won’t be long now.

The silence is long and stifling, and she has to break it because she doesn’t want this to be about loss. “So what about you? What are you gonna do?” She hears the cliché in her head before she says it, and knows it sounds trite and stupid, but she can’t resist: “Today is the first day of the rest of your life, Lee.”

“Well, I always thought when this was all done that I would, uh, kick back. Relax. Spend the rest of my days doing the absolute minimum humanly possible.”

She listens to the sound of his voice more than his words as the breeze whips her hair against her face and she wonders when she last stood in the wind and sun. The algae planet had blazing sun but no breeze, so that leaves New Caprica. She wonders if she was ever really on New Caprica, or if the real Kara Thrace died in that burnt out viper on Earth. Figures in the end, it doesn’t matter.

In the end, she’s just Kara. And she realizes there’s no place she’d rather spend her last few minutes of existence than a grassy field with Lee Adama, safe in the knowledge that the fight is over. She wonders if he’ll ever know how proud she is of him, of them, of the work that they did and the journey they made. All of them, but Lee especially. The words stick in her throat.

“And now that you’re here?” she asks him, voice tight under the pressure of keeping herself grounded. This isn’t the moment. Not quite yet.

“I want to explore!” She smiles, thinks Now and Good luck on your journey, Lee Adama, and as he’s talking about mountains she closes her eyes and wonders if its easier the second time around. Then she figures she doesn’t remember the first, so how would she even know?

When she opens her eyes, she’s standing on a wide, lush riverbank and Zak is grinning at her.
Edited Date: 2009-07-16 01:19 am (UTC)

Re: Second Time Around

Date: 2009-07-16 01:21 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] rayruz.livejournal.com
THANK YOU FOR USING THE RIVERBANK.

It was the very very first thing that made sense to me after the finale... and I think it's beautiful that Zak is there...

She knows her time is running out. She can feel the world contracting, like the moment before an FTL jump. Won’t be long now.

Great image.

Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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Re: Second Time Around

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bloodsucking fiends (urban fantasy AU)

Date: 2009-07-16 04:57 am (UTC)
ext_18106: (Kara cartoon)
From: [identity profile] lyssie.livejournal.com
Kara Thrace killed vampires for a living. It wasn't the most glamorous career, but she was good at it and it paid the bills. Besides, there was a nice feeling to keep people protected from the creatures of the night and the monsters under the bed. After a long night of stalking and staking, though, she needed a break.

Dropping her leather jacket over a chair, she dropped herself into the other chair, briefly considering propping her feet on the table before deciding Maggie would object.

Her dreams were stiff with sweat and other things, but she was too tired to give a shit and just hoped her roommate wouldn't notice.

It had been one hell of a night. A vampire nest in north Caprica City, then rumor of another further south. The rumor hadn't panned out, but she'd nailed two creepy-crawlies trying to stalk her before a call came in about an attack back to the north--

She'd missed one of the masters at the northern lair and he was a bit angry.

Kara'd barely had the energy to skewer him with two crossbow bolts before sawing his head off with her favorite chainsaw. Cleaning her tools before packing them in her trunk had brought her to dawn and she'd headed for home.

Shifting in the chair made slightly squelchy noises, and Kara wondered if she'd stick to it if she sat there too long.

"You get Leland's last page?" Maggie Edmonson looked bright and fresh, as though she hadn't spent the night coordinating hunters and fielding crank calls. Maggie had been a hunter until a vampire had broken her leg in a lucky strike. Though her physical therapy was mostly done, the physician was refusing to clear her for active duty until at least another six months had passed.

It was good for Leland Adama, their captain, since Maggie had a sort of sixth sense and could coordinate hunters better than their last dispatcher had. She just sort of hated not being out there anymore.

"Which one?" asked Kara, refusing to move.

"The one after the attack in the north."

"No? I took care of the master, though," Kara moved enough to pick up the glass of water Maggie'd set near her hand. She swallowed a large gulp, grateful.

Maggie frowned, "I was sending Kat up to relieve you, did you see her?"

"No." But Katraine wasn't the most reliable officer in their division--Kara wasn't sure what her problem was, but she was starting to wonder how long she could keep screwing up before Leland benched her. Then again, Kat made seven available hunters for night duty, so maybe that would be a bad idea.

Leland would be certain to have words to say if she suggested he bench Kat. Rubbing a hand over her eyes, Kara said, "What'd he want?"

"You're getting blood on the floor," Maggie replied, sounding resigned.

"And the chairs," confirmed Kara, finally looking at her roommate again. "I don't know how you put up with me."

Maggie rolled her eyes and went to the fridge, "You want breakfast?"

"Nnng." Was Kara's comment on that as she dragged herself to the feet, "Shower, then bed."

"If you fall over in there, should I leave you?" Maggie called after her.

"Yeah."

-=-

There is one day going to be more, but not in any reasonable amount of time.

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-16 02:19 pm (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] lyssie.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-17 12:44 am (UTC) - Expand
From: [identity profile] zenzero42.livejournal.com
Oh this is beautiful. I adore the relationship between Kara and Adama, I think it's one of the most deep, beautiful and interesting in the show. So I love when someone is able to say something new about them and to explore their realtionship.

I always thought that Kara's first instinct was to tell Adama the truth about Zak but something stopped her and then, when the bound between them was created, it become too difficult and heartbreaking for her to tell him the truth.

I don't know why but this line just makes me cry “Call me Bill.” She nods, even though she knows she never will.
And so the end. Thank you again.

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-16 02:24 pm (UTC) - Expand

freezie pops (sort of)

Date: 2009-07-16 01:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] rose-griffes.livejournal.com
Kara always gets along better with the boys than with the girls. The boys aren't scared of messing up their clothes and going fast.

She's ten years old--skinny, elbows and knees sticking out whenever she moves. But she adjusts fast, learning how to make this new version of her form fly when she plays sports with the neighborhood boys. Bruises that don't come from her mother dot her arms and legs, but she loves the rush of quick movement and winning, so it's worth it.

Clark claims it was his idea, but later she finds out he learned about it from some cousins. Take a big flat container--a roasting pan, maybe--fill it with a couple of inches of water and freeze it. They take the blocks of ice and tote them to the grassy hill near the base where their parents live. When she finds out about it, Kara grabs an old towel and runs to join them.

They sit on the ice blocks, towels used to keep their clothes dry and for cushioning, and slide down the hill. Soon Kara's the fastest, leaning back until she's almost lying on the ground, legs straight in front with feet carefully held up high enough to avoid dragging them on the grass and slowing her down.

It's amazing. They ride down the hill over and over, shrieks filling the air. Gradually their clothes get coated in dirt and the towels are soaked with mud. Kara loves it.

When the ice starts to melt and break up, they break it into chunks and toss them, first down the hill, then at each other. Kara's covered in dirt and scrapes and water. It's still too hot outside, but this was worth it.

Then Mama sees her muddy towel and clothes and Kara can't use that left arm to hold her balance. She stays in and reads books until the marks are gone, and by that time the boys have moved on to a different game.

Date: 2009-07-16 02:17 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com
First reaction - poor Kara. Her mother sucks so hard.

Second reaction - being a tomboy myself, I totally love this story and the idea behind it. I live out in the country, and my grandmother owns a sizable piece of hilly property that used to be a chicken farm; one of the bigger hills has a pond at its base, and we used to slide down it on the lids of metal trash cans and go flying into the water at breakneck speed. This made for a nice trip down memory lane as well as a very enjoyable read. Well done!

Re: freezie pops (sort of)

From: [identity profile] frolicndetour.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-17 04:59 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: freezie pops (sort of)

From: [identity profile] rayruz.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-17 01:15 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: freezie pops (sort of)

From: [identity profile] workerbee73.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-18 09:52 pm (UTC) - Expand
From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com
Brief Author's note: This is a crossover with Buffy the Vampire Slayer which is probably going to serve as a jumping-off point for a longer fic; when I saw 'firecracker' and 'coffee' in the prompts list, I knew I had to do it, since the former was Faith's mother's nickname for her and the latter is....well, they do mention Starbuck's in Buffyverse canon.



Three weeks into Basic Flight, and two of her Nuggets already have their callsigns.

The first is Cadet Zak Adama, who, despite his famous name, is not exactly blowing Kara away with his superior flight skills; she has the feeling that he's not going to make it through her class, despite the tutorials he's getting from the pretty brunette who's sitting next to him (and pretending not to notice the way he's looking at her). The other students have dubbed him Hermes - partly because his older brother is Apollo, but mostly because, as the Academy grapevine has it, he's had quite a bit of luck with his tutor.

That brunette, Cadet Faith Lehane, is the other Nugget who's acquired a callsign; her classmates took to calling her Firecracker soon after the first day, and Kara's decided that it suits her. She feels a kinship of sorts with Lehane; the girl's at the top of her class in Flight and Unarmed Combat, and somewhere near the bottom in all the others, and Kara can appreciate somebody who's better at the physical than the intellectual. Also, Lehane has a peculiar closed-mouthed nature when asked about her past which makes Kara suspect that they have similar parental issues, though she can't imagine asking.

She does, however, plan to ask the girl why she cracks up every time Kara's callsign is mentioned - and what the frak coffee has to do with it.
Edited Date: 2009-07-16 02:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] rayruz.livejournal.com
I'm so glad someone realized what was going on with the firecracker prompt! That was mine. I stuck it up there since I'm working on a BSG/Buffy fic with Faith. Needless to say, I love this. Faith needs to show up in the BSGverse more often, IMO.
Edited Date: 2009-07-17 01:20 pm (UTC)

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Serious Business, sports bra, girly bonding

Date: 2009-07-16 08:14 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ivanolix.livejournal.com
"The military hates boobs," grumbled Kara in Galactica's locker room as the ship prepared for another slow mission around Caprica. Her fingers handled the black cotton of her sports bra with disdain. Sharon glanced over as Kara continued. "Women have had their roles for decades, you'd think they'd get a clue."

"Underwires are dangerous," Sharon said, slipping her damp hair out of the way as she slid her own bra on.

Kara snorted. "No, what's dangerous is forcing us to crush our boobs flat against our chests for hours on end. Notice that the pants don't have that problem? Nice and roomy down there."

Sharon glanced down a hers.

"No, our example is supposed to be the Amazons." Kara stretched the bra up and over her head and humphed. "Fat chance. I like these."

"Yeah, they are nice," Sharon said, looking at hers in the mirror. "But I don't mind waiting till after work to give them the special treatment."

Kara paused and looked down at her cleavage. "A point, there."

"And don't let Karl catch you talking about boobs," Sharon added as her tanks went on.

Kara snickered. "You know I know Karl from way back, right? But yeah, he takes boobs too seriously."

"Maybe with Admiral Cain's promotion, the military will clue up." Sharon left the locker with that comment.

"Don't care who or how," Kara muttered with a sigh. She retucked her bra before putting on her tanks. Damn, a little comfort wasn't too much to ask for.

Re: Serious Business, sports bra, girly bonding

Date: 2009-07-16 10:13 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] rose-griffes.livejournal.com
*laughs* Yeah, I think Kara has a little more to deal with in this department than Sharon.

Date: 2009-07-17 12:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com
That was one of my prompts! And now I am giggling hysterically with delight at how it was answered.

Tigh's lucky the Old Man didn't hear him going there, about Zak...

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-17 02:02 am (UTC) - Expand
From: [identity profile] frolicndetour.livejournal.com
(This got to be a little too big for a comment, so the rest is at my LJ.)

Kara was almost out of paint. All she had left was green and a dab of purple, and you couldn't do much with just those colors. It would be a while before Momma would let her buy a new set of watercolors; she ran through them too fast, and she kept painting the same thing over and over. Momma was pretty sure that was a symptom of a stagnant mind. Kara couldn't tell you one way or the other, she just knew the pattern made her happy.


It was 7:15. Quickly, she swept her painting off the kitchen table and put it carefully in her windowsill to dry, admiring the green and purple circles. She cleaned up the newspapers she'd been using to cover the table, and put them in the recycling. Satisfied that everything was spotless, she did one last check to be sure the corners of her bed were all neatly tucked. She and Momma were getting along lately. It wouldn't last - it never did - but it wasn't going to be Kara's fault this time.

It was 7:19. Four minutes until Momma got home from her morning run. Kara needed to be well out of sight of the house before that happened. But she could run fast, so she wasn't worried yet. (That was why she never ate breakfast; it slowed you down, and took up too much of your only time to paint.) She had time to check herself in the mirror once more before she left. She examined her braid suspiciously; if so much as a piece looked like it might come loose, she would have to do the whole thing over again. She didn't know what to make of those girls who came to school with loose, messy hair; just asking for someone to yank it really hard if they made her mad, she thought with a smirk. Kara couldn't find a hair out of place, so reluctantly, she headed for the door. She still had three minutes before Momma got back; she liked cutting things a little closer than that. Standing half in and half out of the door, she shivered. It was three weeks until the harvest festival - not that anyone harvested in Caprica City, but it was already freezing. All the other kids would be in their warm fall jackets. Momma didn't believe in jackets. It was either cold enough for a coat, or it wasn't.

Kara wasn't sure exactly what drew her to the closet that day, where she knew his jacket was hanging, undisturbed as always. She carefully took it down off the hanger, just to try it on. She grinned at her reflection in the hallway mirror. The jacket came down past her knees, but the leather still smelled like him. There was a half-crushed carton of cigarettes in the left-hand pocket. She had to roll up the sleeves three times just to see her hands, which broadened her frame somewhat. Kara decided it made her look older.

One minute left. No time left to think about it; Kara grabbed her backpack and fled.

Read the rest here. (http://prolix-allie.livejournal.com/95225.html)
Edited Date: 2009-07-17 05:31 am (UTC)

Date: 2009-07-17 08:41 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com
*squees* I loved the smutstrav, and it's really nice to see a little extra bit from it - Kara as babysitter is an oddly adorable image, and I love the sibling-y back-and-forth between her and Karl.

And of course, I'm sure Lee's 'very inventive measures' are quite effective on our girl. ;)

Father's Day

Date: 2009-07-17 11:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] shah-of-blah.livejournal.com
When Kara was little, just five years old, she got tired of bedtime stories. “You always tell the same stories,” she told her daddy. She wanted something new. What would she like to hear, he asked her. She thought about this and said, “answers.”

“Well,” he said, “I can give you those. But first you need a question.”

So that became their new bedtime ritual—Kara would think of a question every day and every night she got an answer. Sometimes she asked about things she’d read or seen on TV, things other children had said, or things her teacher had told her in school. She asked about things she wanted to do, and always her daddy answered her.

“Why are you a pi-a-nist?” she asked once.

“I’m a pianist,” her daddy said after a moment, “because music is perhaps the only truly universal part of life on these Twelve Colonies. Because I write a song, and someone can hear it all the way on Leonis, or Virgon, or anywhere really. In the farthest corner of the galaxy, someone can hear me playing the piano—”

“That piano in our living room?” Kara said, sitting straighter in bed.

Her father’s smile was brief, but it lingered in his eyes. “That piano in our living room. Someone can hear me playing it and...be moved.”

Kara giggled; her daddy was silly. “You can’t be moved by a piano. That doesn’t make any sense.”

He smiled again, but wider this time. “Not physically moved, no. But what I mean is that someone may hear something in my music—what I’m thinking or feeling maybe, or maybe they’ll hear something that they want, something that they cherish or, or something they’ve lost. Anything.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her temple, then tucked the covers around her as she obligingly wiggled down into the bed. “And that, my dear, is why I am a pianist.”

He stood up then and turned to leave, switching off the light as he stepped through the door.

“And Momma?” Kara’s voice halted him just inside the doorway.

He looked back at his daughter and could just make out her eyes, wide and bright, in the darkness.

“Why is Momma a marine?”

He watched her, curled up in the too-big bed, one little fist pressed up against her chin as she waited.

“Just one question tonight,” he said, and closed the door.

But Kara never got around to asking her question again, and after awhile she got tired of that game too. Soon enough they went back to bedtime stories, though this time Kara fixed them to suit her. But she remembered his voice, his brief smile, and the feeling of his kiss that night.

When Kara was seven, her daddy left and the house became quieter than it had ever been before. She didn’t miss the shouting but she did miss the music. Her father’s piano still stood in the living room, but it was dusty now, and the shadow it cast was no longer so friendly. Her momma stared at it sometimes, and when she did Kara knew to be extra careful because that was a sure sign that Socrata was not in a forgiving mood.

Kara came downstairs once in the middle of the night to get a drink of water or something silly like that, and she stopped before entering the room. In the near-darkness, the burning end of her mother’s cigarette seemed to be pulsing, blazing even as she tapped out the ashes between draws. Kara watched her mother’s mouth move soundlessly between smoky breaths. She was transfixed by the gleam of her mother’s eyes as she brought the cigarette to her lips, her gaze steady and stern on that piano.

She withdrew as quietly as she could and returned, thirsty, to her room.

It wasn’t until Father’s Day that Kara finally worked up the nerve to pull out the bench and uncover the keys. She only remembered one song he’d taught her, but she closed her eyes and let her fingers feel their way across the smooth ivory.

Until her mother came home early from the store. Kara won her first trip to the hospital that Father’s Day.

Six stitches later, Kara could still feel the ivory under her fingers and the simple melody in her ears. She smiled because she knew it had been worth it.

“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy,” she whispered to her empty room, and she hoped he heard that too.

Re: Father's Day

From: [identity profile] workerbee73.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-18 09:37 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Father's Day

From: [identity profile] rdave1.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-21 01:17 am (UTC) - Expand

shaky hands

Date: 2009-07-18 03:45 pm (UTC)
ext_18106: (Kara the bitch)
From: [identity profile] lyssie.livejournal.com
"Strip it," Kendra orders.

And Kara does, fingers slick with sweat and coordination a little off after the past hour spent doing the same thing over and over again. But it was good to do it, good to drill for something she used to have the hang of--the war had made her sloppy, the lack of time to care in those horrible weeks before Pegasus arrived giving her the excuse to be more lazy than usual (double shifts, triple shots of sludgy coffee, and a fatigue that followed her into sleep weren't really lazy).

Stripping her rifle and putting it back together in ten seconds used to be easy. In the academy, she'd frequently dared upperclassmen, betting against them and winning ambrosia (and painting) money when they couldn't match her speed.

But here, on Pegasus, she's showing her lack of skill, and it is pissing her off.

"Time."

Shit.

Kara slams down the rifle, wondering if her hands are actually shaking or if it's just the adrenaline rush of being annoyed.

"Again."

The tick of the stopwatch gets caught in the sound of her yanking free the magazine.

Re: shaky hands

Date: 2009-07-18 04:51 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] workerbee73.livejournal.com
Sigh. I love Kendra and Kara. Can't get enough of those two together. Great snippet! : )

Re: Foodfight

Date: 2009-07-18 09:21 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] workerbee73.livejournal.com
HA!! They were fighting freakin' broccoli? GENIUS.

I love your crazy dark and twisty mind. : )

Re: Foodfight

From: [identity profile] rose-griffes.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-18 09:57 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Foodfight

From: [identity profile] justascrewup2.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-19 01:51 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Foodfight

From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-19 02:40 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Foodfight

From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-19 03:30 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Foodfight

From: [identity profile] rayruz.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-19 03:51 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Foodfight

From: [identity profile] rebelliousrose.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-28 01:21 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Foodfight

From: [identity profile] rebelliousrose.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-28 08:47 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Foodfight

From: [identity profile] rebelliousrose.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-28 09:03 pm (UTC) - Expand
From: [identity profile] workerbee73.livejournal.com
The heat makes delirium ten times worse and the fatigue unbearable. She's gotten past the point of minding the smell, because there isn't any other smell she can remember. Resurrected for 58 days, 46 of which have been spent on this ship. It's no wonder that she wouldn't remember the sweet stale smell of recycled air, or the cool comforting atmosphere of a warship.

The heat is stifling, suffocating. The stagnancy is killing her. Funny how moving without purpose is almost worse than standing still. Almost.

"Death becomes a learning experience." That's what Sharon once said.

She wonders if that also applies to magically reappearing when you didn't even realize you were gone. Too bad she doesn't feel any smarter. Just driven. And restless.

She knows they don't trust her, and she doesn't blame them. She probably wouldn't trust her either. But doubt is a luxury she can't afford. Not when you're the smartest person left who can navigate a rudimentary star chart and you're also the craziest pilot still alive. Crazy should could for something these days. Pity that even the lunatics stop having visions at some point. She lets her eyes glaze over, taking a minute before pulling them back into focus to trace the veins along the back of her hand. She makes a tight fist and then opens, stretching each muscle one at a time, testing, bending, getting used to this new instrument. This new shell.

My skin is not my own.

Many would say that being touched by the gods is a gift, but she knows better. The devout aren't rewarded, they just get pushed further than most. Sisyphus was touched by the gods too. Every day—-every godsdamn day she rolls the stone over and over. Waiting for a vision, a sign—-some kind of frakking confirmation that it all means something. That she means something.

Welcome to eternal life.
From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com
A/N: Another one of those 'I may expand this idea' AUs of mine. I, uh. Have a lot of those.


The fire started in the Peg's CIC. It's almost certainly an act of sabotage; the doors have sealed shut, and Kara is reminded of the virus that almost killed her and Lee on Galactica. The crew is trying to cut them out, but Admiral Cain's command crew has mostly succumbed already. Cain has, too; she's lying on the floor unconscious, though the held up longer than most. Kara's on her way out, and knows it, but there's one thing she has to do first.

Before she passed out, Cain was muttering about martial law, and about 'removing the obstacles'. Kara has never claimed to be especially bright, but she's smart enough to know that 'obstacles' probably refers to the Old Man, and definitely refers to Roslin. A threat to the Old Man leads, perforce, to Lee and the crew of the Galactica, and Kara will be damned if she allows anything to happen to the only real family she's ever known - especially Karl and the Adamas.

She's getting weak, but she has strength enough to reach over and clamp her hand over Cain's mouth and nose. The Admiral wakes - military training is a powerful thing - but Kara is younger and stronger than Cain is, and she has rage and determination on her side.

The last of Cain's struggles die just as the crew outside finally gets through the doors. Kara closes her eyes, slumping to the floor; Lee's at her side in the next second, shaking her, but she's tired and weak, and she's done what she had to do, and even his desperate pleas aren't enough to wake her now.

(no subject)

From: [identity profile] crazedcrusader.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-19 02:26 am (UTC) - Expand

Charmed I'm Sure, top gun

Date: 2009-07-19 07:24 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ivanolix.livejournal.com
"Morning, sir," Kara said, saluting. Sun shone down on her field and lit the old school. Her hair glinted above an instructor's dress uniform.

"Captain Thrace," answered the commander. He didn't quite smile but the deep furrows of his face lay soft. "No class?"

"They're all in sims tests right now and think I'm judging their records," Kara said. "The extra pressure's always a great balancer on these tests."

"When do you judge their records?" Commander Adama asked, and his brows narrowed slightly.

"To be honest, sir, over a nice pint," Kara answered. And waited, because he'd surprised her by not asking it at their first meeting, but now the question had to come...

"You're rather young for a flight instructor, aren't you?"

Not suspicious or dismissive yet. Kara tossed him a hint of a confident grin. "Two years after graduation--it was a request that surprised more than you and me."

She watched him nod slowly, deliberately. She waited for the pointed questions disguised as curiosity. She prepared for the need to explain that his son Zak was not a protege she was mishandling.

"Top gun, eh?" Adama mused suddenly.

She shrugged, vaguely surprised.

"Talent like that, why didn't you take a battlestar post?"

Her eyebrow rose a little but she didn't betray that he'd been out of her norm, and now presented an interesting challenge. "At this time of life, I like having little young things and their talents as putty in my hands," she said, but the quirk of her mouth mitigated a little of the implication. "Flying formation? Nah." She gave him a bold look, "Now, if you ever had a CAG position to offer..." She shrugged. The conversation was hers to direct, and that bit would turn him off this bent.

He nodded again, thinking. Then, "Maybe someday."

Again she held back surprise. "Maybe."

He nodded his farewell and walked off, a proud old man who spoke like a father as well as a commander.

Kara watched. She'd not been thoroughly open. Freedom, not power, brought her here. And like before, long before, an inner longing for the vast liberty of space spoke more to her than the accompanying narrow metal corridors.

But she walked back to her school on sunlit paths, and this life was still good. It'd take more than one Adama to shake her commitment.
Edited Date: 2009-07-19 07:27 am (UTC)

Re: Charmed I'm Sure, top gun

From: [identity profile] frolicndetour.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-24 01:56 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Charmed I'm Sure, top gun

From: [identity profile] trovia.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-07-25 12:59 pm (UTC) - Expand
From: [identity profile] bonita-chica71.livejournal.com
Fist Fanfic Ever! Yikes!!!! :/

Kara Thrace was used to change. One could say the abrupt changes were the only true constant in her life. Life,loss, death, leaving ;all elements Kara recognized, and in a twisted way, expected. She never knew of anything else, that is until she stepped onto the Galactica.

Picon, Airelon, Caprica, and Geminon some of the colonies Kara and Socrata Thrace lived during the Major's tour of duty. Kara had memories, both good and bad of each planent. Picon's sweet whiskey. A broken hand inflicted by her mother on Airelon. Her first visit to the Dephi Museum in Caprica. Her father leaving while in Geminon.

In each move Kara felt strangely little sadness when leaving the barracks each time. Perhaps she always knew that it was frivilous to pine over sometime she would never get to have. In her heart of hearts, Kara wanted to know what it felt to have a floors and ceiling provide a safety that not even a person could provide. She wanted to say truly that this was her home.

Galactica was not a delicate ship. She had served in top of the line buildings, and other battlestars known for their cutting edge equipment during most of her career. She taught, and was schooled in, precision, effiency, and relevance. She had heard horror stories about an antiquated relic of a past long forgotten. Kara was not supposed to like it. It did not contain sleek lines, fresh colors, or even a resemblance to beauty in even an inch of her build. She was scarred, confusing, and horribly isolated from all her sister ships. For all these reasons, Kara loved it immediately. She chuckled to herself, after twenty-six years, she had found safety and called home in the oddest of places.

Finally, after all this time who knew a dingy and old hunk of metal and bolts would capture, and in time, mend Kara's wounded heart?

William Adama did, his girl had done the same for him, not so long ago....


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