PROMPTASTIC!!

[callmeonetrack.livejournal.com]

Alright folks, nicely done. Here are the 236 prompts submitted for the Kara Gen Fic Battle.

A Quick Note: All prompts are reproduced here as first submitted. Some seem like they'd be great for a porn battle (or perhaps that's just my dirty mind at work), so please keep in mind that in all fics produced, sex or a romantic pairing shouldn't necessarily be the FOCUS or POINT. But exploring how certain couplings and relationships affected other aspects of Kara's life or made her realize something about herself could be very interesting. Therefore a prompt like "first frak" should be about more than just the actual sex. 

OK without further ado, here are your prompts. Get those thinking caps on and the battle will begin at 12:01 AM Sunday February 7th  Ah what the hell, we'll just start NOW!


"Apparently Admiral Nagala would like to meet the great Starbuck for dinner try don't screw
it Lieutenant"
"Frak me he's early"
"Guess I'm just that good"
"Helo Helo Helo, when you gonna learn?"
"Hey boss!"
"How is this Jimi Hendrix you are talking about?"
"I did it
"I don't need you to save me
"I refuse to be a victim"
"Pull the frakking trigger!"
"See the resemblance?"
"Speak of this again and you will regret it."
"The person who most influenced my life" by Kara Thrace
a bet's a bet
a bicycle ride on a spring day
a thing for underdogs
a walk with Laura
Admiral Cain
Admiral Thrace
aiming for the top spot
alien space werewolves
alive
alternate universe
Artemis
Aurora's temple
bar bet
bearding the dragon
being right
believe
best friend
best pilot ever
birthday
bittersweet
blinders
breaking Academy records
broken loyalties
building a future
call me Saul
candles
Caprican cigar
captain of the chess team
capture the flag
capture the flag on the Galactica
careful
cat
cave painting
C-bucs rule
champagne supernova
cheating at triad
chiaroscuro
choices
commendations
competitive
confession
cowboy
cruel to be kind
curfew
daddy issues
dad's songs
dance
dancing on the tables
death
delebrate
delegating
detective work
disappointment
double dog dare
dress
dress to impress
Dressing room
Drink you under the table
drinks are on me
easily bored
edges
fathers
favorite shirt
Field Commendation for Valor and Bravery
first crush
first dance
first day at the Academy
first day on galactica
first letter of commendation
first letter of reprimand
first name terms
first time in hack
first times
fists
five alternate universes Kara Thrace was too awesome for
Fleet's Good Luck Charm
flying lessons
forget the day
frak destiny
frappuccino
freebird
getting a promotion
getting her callsign
gifts
girl
girly night
god
going AWOL
good at math
graduation
gravity
guilt is a warm blanket
hangover
happiness is a warm gun
happy birthday young man
Helo
hide and seek
high
high school music class
holding Laura
homework is for sissies
Hot Dog
hot shot
how i spent my summer vacation
i love you - i love you too (what happened after)
immortal
in search of adventure
in the quiet of the night she'd find comfort in memories of him
insanity
instructor
into the lion's den
Joseph Adama
jungle cruise
kacey is my daughter
karaoke night
keep on keepin' on
keeping score
Kendra Shaw
knowing the Colonel
language
leading a raid with the Caprica resistance
learning the hard way
lessons my mother taught me
like you could have done better
living for today
lollipops
Lords of Kobol
loyalty
medal on the wall
mornings
mother figures
mud
my family
natural talent
nearly happy
never had a friend before
nicotine
no sound in space
not a hero
not entirely perfect
not my cup of tea
nuggets
nursery rhymes
observations
on the road
once in a lifetime opportunity
orders she doesn't follow
our blood our lives our honor
painting
pedestal
people change
pirates!
playing dress-up
poetry
practice
pranks
prayer
Private Kara Thrace
pyramid
Racetrack
ready for war
reaper
regrets and forgiveness
reunion
roulette
saying goodbye to Karl
school
second chances
senior skip day Academy style
Sergeant Mike Gibbons
shades
shore leave
Showboat
sleep when you're dead
smile
solar wind
split decision
spoon
spring break
staying sane
stranded on a desert island
strategy
suicide mission
surprise party
tantalizing
teddy bear
telepath
temple
the big game
the brig
the chorus of the broken hearted
the cosmic dance
the door/hatch is that way
the enemy within
the journey home
the last one to leave
the more things change
the resistance
the soldier and the king
The thing she never thought she'd be good at was also the thing she was the best at
the three times she almost confessed that Zak failed basic flight
there's a bullet out there with your name on it
this is gonna hurt
throw caution to the wind
top gun
trial by fire
truth or dare
Tyrol
unfortunate side-effects
unlikely alliances
unlikely allies
unreal
viper fuel
vipers v. raptors
warning label
watching paintings at the exhibition
what do you hear Starbuck?
when I was a young girl
wild card
worst cover band ever
you can't break me
zero Gs

Comments

hearing ghosts, 'the cosmic dance'

[lyssie.livejournal.com]

She could hear it now, feel it--not as an irritation, an itch, but simply as a background. Leoben had called it the music of life, the pulse of the world renewing itself from moment to moment. Kara wasn't sure what she thought of it.

It wasn't unpleasant, following her down into dreams she never remembered (except when she did and woke, gasping with a piercing fear she couldn't name, the smell of burnt flesh in her throat, thick and choking). But it wasn't pleasant, either, hearing it as she wrote out duty assignments, as she argued with Gaeta about whose life was worse. Sometimes, it was there as a counter-point to the rhythm of her boxing in the gym. Other times, it was barely audible, until she turned to say something or came to a stop.

The sound followed her through the launch tube, into the black. Haunting and side-slipping as she spun or turned, as though there were no way to chase it.

When it stopped, the absence drove her more than the sound had. She'd wake, hands over her ears, as though blocking it out, but there was nothing to hear. As though it filtered through into her dreams, but didn't want her to hear it in the waking world any longer.

It chittered in her ears when she shot Skulls, and the energy it provided pulsed through her, made her giddy.

She was alive, she was dead, she was in-between and it didn't matter anymore.

Re: hearing ghosts, 'the cosmic dance'

[scifishipper.livejournal.com]

I love the last line. Well done.

Re: hearing ghosts, 'the cosmic dance'

[ivanolix.livejournal.com]

Love this! Kara is the very definition of "in-between".

Re: hearing ghosts, 'the cosmic dance'

[zenzero42.livejournal.com]

Beautiful! Thanks for using my prompt, but most of all thanks for using your time to explor the epic journey of Kara Thrace, the ultimate hero that can hear the music that moves the universe...
And the last line is perfect.

Re: hearing ghosts, 'the cosmic dance'

[rdave1.livejournal.com]

Lovely!! I loved the last line, it didn't matter!

A Different Again, kacey is my daughter

[ivanolix.livejournal.com]

Blonde hair. Big blue eyes. Kara sees a younger self there. Sees a child stubbornly set on living no matter what happens. But a child can’t make it on their own, no matter their will. Kara knows this.

Kacey doesn’t have a father who leaves, a mother who disciplines. She’s got a Cylon who could end up doing anything, and she’s got Kara. She’d be better off on her own, Kara feared.

She’s so small, but when Kacey looks up into Kara’s eyes, it’s so very clear. I’m all your fears manifested, those bright eyes say, but I’m not going to let that rule me, so help me be myself.

I can do that, Kara thinks. She smiles at Kacey, who still grips her finger as if she won’t take a nap until Kara gets it. Kara and Kacey—they’re so alike, so similar, that Kara thinks that everything will have to turn out differently. And so Kara’s small smile remains, so that Kacey knows she won’t have to make it on her own.

Re: A Different Again, kacey is my daughter

[lyssie.livejournal.com]

Awww. Oh, Kara. *pats* Kacey is so adorable and confusing.

Re: A Different Again, kacey is my daughter

[jeebs83.livejournal.com]

Yay! My prompt! I love this! :)

Re: A Different Again, kacey is my daughter

[zenzero42.livejournal.com]

oh Kacey! and Kara too! it's always adorable and heartbreaking to see those two together.

Re: A Different Again, kacey is my daughter

[rdave1.livejournal.com]

Beautiful! I always loved how Kacey bought out a different side of Kara and you've captured that well.

Admiral Thrace

[amaliak.livejournal.com]

Kara took several deep breaths, her hands braced on either side of the small sink in the head. Knuckles long gone white, she attempted to focus her mind on continuing to breathe and keeping the contents of her stomach right where they belonged.
She splashed some water on her face, dabbing it dry quickly, hoping to wipe away her nerves just as easily. She met her own eyes in the reflection of the mirror, glaring at herself. She was Starbuck, scourge of the cylons, harbinger of death, Aurora. She had come back from the frakking dead and made it through this far. She could do this. She had to do this.
There was a knock on the hatch and she heard someone step inside.
"Sir, it's time."
She glanced back at Helo, standing to attention with a quiet pride in his eyes and a near smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She rolled her eyes at him through the mirror, and just like that, she felt her bravado wash over her, and she buttoned the last button of her tunic, smoothing her appearance to what she should be.
She strode out of the head, her head held high and voice steady as she met the taller man's eyes.
"Let's do this, Colonel," she said with a short nod.
"Sir," he stepped aside and stepped in line behind her as she marched out of her new quarters and down to towards the hangar deck.
She pointedly ignored the crowd of people assembled there (and how many were missing...so many) and let her eyes meet Lee's, not letting them stray as she walked towards him.
Kara knew this couldn't be easy for him, that of everyone here he would be the only one with a stronger with than she that this wasn't happening, that he hadn't actually come to this. But there he was, waiting for her, standing with his back straight in a suit that made him look the part (just like her new uniform did), and she had the fleeting thought that at least Lee still had her six.
She reached him and stood to attention, snapping a salute he responded.
The aide standing next to him (Jenkins, she thought his name was) handed Lee a small box that she recognized and she took a deep breath that she held.
Lee opened the box, and pulled out the pins inside, carefully reached over to her and pinning them on her collar. His fingers brushed against the skin on her neck and she shakily let out the breath she'd been holding.
Lee smiled at her (a small, proud smile that told her everything) as he stepped out of her personal space.
"Congratulations, Admiral Thrace," he said quietly, holding her gaze as he held out his hand for her.
Lee was always holding out his hand for her. She never hesitated to take it.
"Thank you, Mr. President."
She didn't let go.




**fin**
cheers.
--Lex

Re: Admiral Thrace

[ivanolix.livejournal.com]

This is awesome! I've always wanted to see a fic where the younger generation had to take charge of everything, and of course Kara would be Admiral. :-)

Re: Admiral Thrace

[zenzero42.livejournal.com]

Perfect! Just perfect. And Helo is the colonel of course! Oh, how much I would love to see this happening! It would be amazing to see Admiral Thrace and president Adama leading the fleet through the galaxy. Thanks for giving me a bit of this scenario, and thank you for using my prompt so amazingly.

Joseph Adama

[amaliak.livejournal.com]

There are a lot of things that Kara doesn't understand.

She's never had a real family, one that was normal at any rate. No big gathering, no teasing cousins, no doting aunts and uncles, no gifts from grandparents. She certainly doesn't understand mothers, much less her own.

What Kara does understand, however, are fathers. Fathers, and how the lessons they can teach, no matter if he's no longer around to teach more, can be carried with you your whole life.

That's why she can sit with Bill Adama (someone she almost called a father) and listen to the stories of his father. She could smile at the right places in old tales, feel the warmness pool in her heart at the softness of the Old Man's voice when he talked of Joseph Adama. She imagined a brave man, a man who had taught his son (and his grandsons) the importance of doing what was right, of fighting to the last, of finding the best in people.

Joseph Adama's legacy was a love for the human race in spite of their flaws.

Kara understands that.

***fin***

*feh* It's really late, and I'm not entirely happy with this one, but I felt the need to write before going to bed.
cheers.
--Lex

Re: Joseph Adama

[zenzero42.livejournal.com]

This is so true, this is so Kara, she knows about fathers, she knows how to deal with them. She learned their lesson. And it is beautifull see her sitting with the Old Man listening some old story, Adama can bring in her life some warmness and safety that she needed so much.
Thank you for using my prompt!

Mnemonics, painting

[ivanolix.livejournal.com]

Beginning of fic here (http://merrykk.livejournal.com/120230.html)

Zak stood staring at her wall, making audible hums at intervals.

“Trying to fall asleep?”

“No, then I’d be watching the game.”

Kara grinned. “This season has sucked.”

“Okay, so I get the poem, but what’s with the mandala?”

He hadn’t heard her. Kara walked over, stood next to him with arms crossed. “Mandala?”

“Primary colors mask it, yeah, but I remember the design from those classes that my mom dragged me to, with that droning priest.” He tipped his head in her direction, eyes still focused on the broad paint swatches on the wall.

“It’s not religious.”

He raised an eyebrow, but she was lost in the painting and didn’t explain. She prayed to the gods but never for inspiration. Wherever that came from, she didn’t ask herself.

***

There just wasn’t enough space on the Galactica anymore.

Kara didn’t ask for breathing room (pointless), but she’d bring over her cigar box and run through the contents.

Sometimes, she’d sit with the pictures of her old apartment and run her thumb around the design she’d painted over and over, until an hour had gone by and she hadn’t noticed.

She’d forget as soon as it was put away, but it helped a little.

***

Her first paintings on New Caprica screamed of doubts and frustrations and worries and chaos. But when each was done, when she stepped back and rubbed absently at her forehead, she could breathe out and leave all those things in the paint. As soon as they dried, each canvas was placed out of the way.

It was over half a year before her fingers slowed, calmed, taking each stroke out wide and around without a purpose, until suddenly it connected in a circle and she realized it was blue. After that, she didn’t have to think about what came next.

That painting sat with the rest of them, but it didn’t scream of any emotion she recognized.

***

Helo left her alone at last, hands burnt, mind awash with pain medications and the threads of panic. She swallowed. She swallowed again. The foreboding wouldn’t go away.

With only a few things pressing on her life, none of which she wanted to think about, the one that continued popping to the forefront was the one she understood the least. The photos were back in the box, but the matching swirls of paint and metal hung behind her eyelids whenever she closed her eyes.

That unidentified feeling of almost-peace relating to those circles seemed like a disturbing mystery now. She wanted to yell at the universe, Stop hiding, just tell me what it is.

None of her demands were ever answered.

***

You knew the shape of the storm would guide you home, didn’t you? That’s why you put it there.

Kara didn’t know what the voice meant. She didn’t know what this Other Side was.

We thought it was too soon, but we were wrong. You needed this. You needed to remember something before you could take the important step.

All Kara could think of was Earth. Where was it? She needed to find it, right?

The end of the journey isn’t where you think it is. But you’ll figure it out. After all you’ve accomplished, how could we not trust in you?

Kara was in a viper again. Her clock said she’d lost six hours in the storm that looked like one of her paintings, concentric circles of soft colors. It had been a message so quiet she’d already forgotten.

What mattered was the blue and green planet that filled her head. In just a few moments she’d be back in the Fleet. She’d been to Earth. She could take them there.

Re: Mnemonics, painting

[scifishipper.livejournal.com]

Mmmmm...very nice. I love seeing how the mandala fit into kara's life at different moments. I'm so happy to see Zak here without death and schmoop. *doodles mandalas*

Common Ground, unlikely allies, the Fleet's good luck charm

[callmeonetrack.livejournal.com]

“Dee, you got a minute?”

Starbuck’s the last person she expects to see poking her head in the petty officer’s duty locker, looking for her. Dee doesn’t dislike the LT so much as she always feels a bit uncomfortable around her. Starbuck’s brash, where Dee treads lightly. She’s loud, where Dee is quiet. She can outdrink Colonel Tigh, while Dee’s done after two glasses of the Chief’s brew. They just don’t have much in common.

But she listens as Starbuck explains they’ve run into some trouble with the new stealth fighter, specifically with the comms system. Half her off shift was already spent at self-defense class and she could really use some rack time, but Dee agrees to help anyway. She approves of the Chief’s project; the Fleet needs something to get excited about, something to believe in.

They have to cut through the memorial hallway (scaffolding’s blocking Causeway B) to get down to the Hangar Deck. Dee’s gaze flicks to the photos she placed up there...Gods, could it really only be six months ago? Starbuck doesn’t miss it and shoots her a sidelong glance. The LT’s voice is almost unrecognizable from the bellowing cries and barked orders that Dee’s used to hearing over the wireless when she asks, “Your family?”

Dee nods, tamps down the swell of emotion that bubbles up, and fills the silence with the first words that come to mind. “You know, my dad hated the military. He used to say enlisting was for patriotic fools and emotional cripples.”

Starbuck’s mouth twists. “Not sure he’s wrong there.”

Dee smiles though she's not sure why. They take a few more steps, their boots echoing loudly on the metal flooring. She notes Starbuck’s bearing, face forward, never looking to the sides. “Do you have family up there?”

Starbuck shakes her head curtly. “Mamma died years ago, and my father… well he was dead to me a long time before that.”

Her last angry words to her own father echo in her head and Dee cringes. “I’m sorry, sir.”

But the lieutenant grins brightly and shrugs a shoulder. “Don’t be. I’m not.”

Dee doesn’t know what to say to that. She supposes it’s a moot point. Everyone’s dead now anyway, but she still finds something rather sad in the idea of not even having a picture to visit.

They traverse the rest of the way in silence but the hangar bay is abuzz with noise when they set foot inside. Front and center sits the big ship’s metal frame. Dee doesn’t come down to the deck much, doesn’t spend a lot of time around the birds, and this sprawling behemoth with its insides exposed is quite the sight. But Starbuck doesn’t slow, so she just follows her to where Chief’s parked under it, swearing a blue streak.

“Frak. Motherfrakker. Frakking Godsdamn—”

Starbuck bangs a hand on the console. “Chief! The reserves are here.”

He rolls out and his eyebrows raise. “Dee! Tell me you know how to wire a communications system, and you can have my first-born.” She knows every button and switch on top of a comm console by heart, but Dee hasn’t seen the underside of one since her advanced training courses. Still, it’s obvious they’ve made a mess of it, wires shooting every which way.

“This is all wrong. The red line’s gotta go from this outlet to this—-see this notch over here,” she’s crouching down, pointing, her brain already racing as it tries to recall the basic schematics she memorized a few years ago. Dee’s so caught up in it, that she’s startled when a heavy hand claps her on the shoulder. She looks up to see Starbuck grinning down at her. “Glad we finally got someone who knows their ass from their frakking elbow around here. How can I help, boss?”

She fishes out her father’s pocket knife, handing it off to the lieutenant. “You can start by stripping some of those ¾-inch wires for me.” It’s the first order she’s ever given and it feels damn good.

“Aye, aye, sir.” Starbuck winks and throws her a quick, sloppy salute, before clambering up the frame to perch on one of the gun mounts. Dee’s still smiling when she rolls under the bird and gets to work.

Continued below

Re: Common Ground, part 2

[callmeonetrack.livejournal.com]

Later, after the cylon attack and Sharon’s sick stunt with her knife, when they’re finally doing the test run for the stealth ship and Starbuck stops answering Apollo’s hails, Dee’s first thought is: I hope I screwed it up. She holds her breath, says a quick prayer that she remembered the schematics wrong—that it’s only the comms cutting out, nothing more—as she hears the captain’s voice break switching from Starbuck to Kara and she watches the commander’s face across the CIC tighten in fear. But then suddenly Starbuck’s brazen laugh and sarcastic comeback are echoing over the headset, bold as ever, and Dee can breathe again.

At the dedication celebration afterwards, she watches everyone crowding around Starbuck, sees the CAG grinning as he throws an arm around her shoulders and the commander smiling as he quietly compliments her on mastering the new ship. She watches Kara’s face light up like the sun and thinks she understands now why the woman doesn’t care about the pictures.

Dee remembers when she got stranded on that moon—the endless patrols, the downed vipers, the 40 percent of the fuel reserves expended in the search. Privately, she’d thought it was ridiculous at the time, all that sacrifice for one pilot, even if she was the top gun. But now she gets it. Starbuck’s not just a pilot; she’s the Fleet’s good luck charm. And the Fleet needs something to believe in.

Eventually the lieutenant makes her way over, offering up a bottle and a smile when she says, “Thanks for all your help, Dee. We’d have been lost without you.”

She just nods and smiles back. The feeling’s mutual.

The Enemy Within, Admiral Cain

[scifishipper.livejournal.com]

[Thanks to shah_of_blah for her insightful beta.]


Kara walked towards him, a fierce expression lining her face. He tilted his head in question and paused to speak, but she brushed past him, unseeing, with a hand on her holster. Lee turned, his mouth open with surprise, and watched her determined figure round a corner away from him. This could only mean trouble.

For two days, she’d been shoulder-to-shoulder with Admiral Cain, reviewing plans for the assault on the cylon hub. He’d seen glimpses of her, sharply uniformed and respectful to the commanding officer. Gone was the Kara of Galactica, the rowdy hot shot pilot that spent more time in the brig than in her rack. She seemed prouder now, more focused and more reverent about the mission ahead. She’d always taken missions seriously, but no one had ever commanded such respect from her as Admiral Cain. A worried thought flitted through his brain.

Lee followed her through several winding corridors until she came to the main brig. He fell back out of sight as she paused at the entrance, spoke a terse order to the burly guard and took a few steps to the first cell. The heavy door clanged open and Kara slid into the chamber. She threw a sour look at the guard, ordered him to leave, and closed the hatch.

From the doorway, Lee watched her carefully. Her expression was intense and determined. Momentary fear pulled at Lee’s gut as she squared her shoulders and unsnapped her holster, freeing the gun. What the frak was she doing?

He moved around the guard’s desk to the closed cell door and peered in. Kara stood over an emaciated cylon prisoner, her broken form curled up and shivering on the filthy floor. The heavy glass prevented him from hearing her words, but the intent was clear as Kara’s fingers gripped the pistol and pulled it out of the holster. Shocked, Lee spun the wheel and pulled at the cell door. Kara froze, gun half raised.

“Go away, Lee. This is none of your business.” Her voice was steel.

“What the frak are you doing, Kara?” He held himself at the door.

“I’m following orders, Lee. Now get the frak out.” Kara’s intense gaze hung on the prisoner’s gaunt and pale face.

“Whose orders? What the frak is going on, Kara?” Lee’s voice was strained with confusion and worry.

“Admiral Cain.” She spoke the words with deliberate slowness. “Go, Lee. GO!” She turned her head and shot him an urgent angry stare.

“Admiral Cain? Godsdamnit, Kara, what the frak is going on? She’s a prisoner, for frak’s sake. What are you doing? Have you gone crazy?” His voice pitched higher.

“She gave me an order, Lee. I’m following it.”

“Kara….” He moved cautiously towards her.

She spoke through gritted teeth. “Stay away, Lee. Don’t try to stop me.”

“Think about what you’re doing, Kara.” He pleaded. “This isn’t right.” Lee moved a step towards her with his hand out.

Kara swung her head around, outrage filling her features. “What are you talking about? It’s a godsdamned cylon, Lee. She deserves a hell of a lot worse than this.” Kara’s eyes were intense, forcing her anger into him. “Cain told me everything and she’s frakking lucky that her torture is about to end.” She turned back to the wide-eyed prisoner and snorted in disgust. She flicked off the safety and trained the weapon at the cylon’s head.

Lee’s voice boomed, “Kara! Stop this right frakking now!” He grabbed her firing arm and pulled the gun’s aim away from the cylon. Kara resisted, shoving her shoulder into his chest, trying forcing him back. But Lee was stronger and his grip on her arm tightened. They locked eyes, at an impasse, waiting to see who would flinch.

The Enemy Within, Admiral Cain (Part II)

[scifishipper.livejournal.com]

Lee’s eyes were bright with intensity, drilling into hers from a few inches away. “This is frakking wrong, Kara. And you know it. You’ve been holed up with Cain for days and she’s frakking with your mind. Did you ever stop to think about why she wants you to kill an already half-dead prisoner? Are you stupid?” He threw insults and vile, needing to get his Kara back – not the frakked up one Cain had molded.

Kara eyes narrowed, but she simply stared at him, jaw working, as he continued his verbal assault, the grip on her arm never wavered. He softened his voice slightly. “Think about it, Kara. Cain is ordering you to kill. Why not just throw her out the airlock? Why send you, a pilot, her C.A.G., to kill a prisoner? It’s a test, Kara. She’s testing you. And you’re frakking falling for it.” He squeezed her arm, driving his face so close that their noses nearly touched.

For a moment she held on, stiff and unyielding to his words, unwilling to back down from the challenge. Lee saw the flicker of recognition as she blinked once, the tension in her body notching down slightly.

Lee continued, capitalizing on that flicker of doubt. “It doesn’t matter who or what she is, Kara. It’s not about that. It’s about you doing the right thing for you.” He paused, taking a breath. “Gods, this war is so frakked up already – there’s been so much death and we’ve all been asked to do things we can barely live with. I know how it can frak you up to kill in cold blood. I killed a thousand people on the Olympic Carrier. Every single one of those men, women and children died because of me.” He paused, swallowing against the memory of the explosion and the grief he still carried. “It might not bother you now, Kara, but it will bother you later. I know it will.”

Kara squeezed her eyes shut for a quick second. “Shut up, Lee. Shut up,” she spat through clenched teeth. In a strong motion, she pulled against his restraining arm, edging the weapon again towards the prone figure.

Lee wrapped his hand around her opposite shoulder and pulled forcefully, drawing the weapon away from the prisoner and spinning her towards him. Her resistance faltered as he slid his hand to the tightly held gun. She swallowed and allowed her fingers to release the weapon.

“Frak me.” She ground out the curse and jerked away. Clenching her fists, she stared at the thin figure on the floor. The prisoner stared back vacantly, eyes fixed and distant. Kara shook herself and swung her eyes back to Lee. He took a step back, clicked the guns's safety and tucked the weapon into his belt.

Eager to leave the cell and Kara's intentions behind, Lee moved towards the hatch. “Kara, c’mon, let’s get out of here.” After a moment, she followed, stepping slowly through the opening. With a relieved sigh, he secured the door and they paused, watching the prisoner through the gated windows.

The two said nothing for a time, allowing the tension to ease between them. Lee’s expression softened and he spoke gently. “You did the right thing, Kara. For you. That’s what matters.”

She wrapped her arms around her middle and chewed intensely on her lower lip. Her head dropped as she stared at the pale figure on the other side of the glass. “I don’t know, Lee. I don’t know if that’s what matters at all.”

Fin.

Fists, natural talent, gifts, holding Laura

[bonita-chica71.livejournal.com]

If Kara Thrace had to pick the most important part of herself, physically anyway, the answer might surpise you - her hands.

Who would've thought those 10 simple digits would so effectively carve out her fate?

They seemed to mirror her soul.

Her hands bore often the red stain of blood; sometimes her own, a friends', or best of all, an enemy.

Whether it was the way they simply snaped under her mother's care, or perhaps the way they flexed into a fist when gearing up for a hit.

The tight grasp and release relflex when she played Pyramid, the surprising way they seemed to fit into the bowels of the viper she loved so much.

The intolerable way they burned and the irritatingly itched as the aftermath of a fire from being shot down. And even on more than one occiassion, they way they lightly grazed over a lover's chest.

Although the most viseral memory that Kara had , her hands intertiwned with that of another, was when she guided, - no make that held, the strongest women she had ever met, one President Laura Roslin, and lead her toward perhaps the most important decison that the people had ever made.

Re: Fists, natural talent, gifts, holding Laura

[scifishipper.livejournal.com]

I can totally see her hands being the most important part of her. Great idea.

Re: Guilt Like a Medal, the three times she almost confessed Zak failed basic flight

[scifishipper.livejournal.com]

Wow. Kara as a new Zak. That is powerful stuff. What a great fic. *ponders this*

Caprican cigar, This is gonna hurt

[scifishipper.livejournal.com]

“This is gonna hurt, Kara.” Helo warned, gripping the tape between his thumb and forefinger.

“Just do it, Helo. Hurry up!” Kara took a breath and held it, waiting for the sharp tear of tape separating from skin.

Behind her, Helo broke into a wide smile, knowing that if she turned and saw his grin, he’d get a fist in the face. He straightened his expression and spoke firmly. “Okay, on three.” He paused. “One. Two–“ and he tore the tape from her flesh.

Kara yelled out, both from the pain and the surprise. She slammed a hand over the wounded flesh and growled at Helo. “You motherfrakker! Godsdamn that hurt.”

Helo jumped back, no longer able to hold back his laughter. If she wasn’t in so much pain, she’d chase him out of the room. “Well, what did you expect, Kara, you’re the one who had to have these frakking things.” He laughed and carefully pulled the sticky tape from the thin box of Caprican cigars.

Kara grimaced and turned around, bent over slightly as the sensitive flesh on her backside burned under her hand. She grabbed the box of cigars and inhaled deeply. “When I fire up these babies, you’ll be wishing you’d smuggled some in, too, my friend.”  She twisted around and removed her hand to examine the offended skin. She chuckled softly. “And besides, Helo, I knew they’d never search down my pants.”

Re: Caprican cigar, This is gonna hurt

[cynicalshadows.livejournal.com]

LOL!!! Helo would have totally done something similar if lollipops had to be smuggled in!

Blue Red Yellow, painting

[cynicalshadows.livejournal.com]

All the colors in the world can be made by mixing blue, red, and yellow. Her father told her that. Black and white weren’t colors, he’d said. They were neutrals, and neutrals didn’t count. So the only three you had to remember where blue, red, yellow. Everything else derived from those three.

She thinks maybe that is why she started to paint the concentric circles. Sure she liked the pattern, the one circle inside of the next inside of the next, but she didn’t ever vary the colors. It was always blue, red, yellow, inside to outside. She’d wait until one color dried before painting the next. Couldn’t have the colors blend accidently, didn’t want any orange or purple or green intruding upon her masterpiece. Cause blue, red, yellow was the opposite of destiny. Blue, red, yellow signified infinite possibility, and endless array of potential, thousands upon thousands of colors just waiting to be unleashed if and when one so chose, and even as a child with watercolor paints she understood that deciding one’s own path was important.

So time after time she took her brush and painted blue, red, yellow in broad strokes across papers and canvases and walls. They were the only colors she would ever need. Her father told her so.

Re: Blue Red Yellow, painting

[scifishipper.livejournal.com]

Awwww...the shadow of her father's influence still lingers. I love all of these fics about Kara's painting. Well done.

Marked and Chosen part 1, graduation

[ivanolix.livejournal.com]

Admiral Pleides watched the graduates as they took the stand, one by one. Her finger ran down the list of stats, matching each set of numbers to a name. Her friend at the Academy had been peevish lately, saying that peacetime hadn’t produced a genius in too long, and the instructors were getting stale. He whined, but she saw his point.

So here she was, watching the latest set of officers that the Colonial military had to offer. They were all so young, so nervous, until they received their commendations and stepped down like it was a 180 degree turn making them cocky and confident. She didn’t move once the ceremony ended, but watched the chatter of the party until they started to spread and gather into groups. Her formal ribbons and markings were safely stowed, only her uniform giving away her rank. It made it easier to move among them, walking silently around each group with a casual eye.

She could mark a few of them by name just by remembering their performance on the stand. That one there, tall and square, Karl Agathon—he didn’t have the greatest scores, but he was crowded by friends and fans alike. She marked him as one who would be a leader, not a strategist. He was good, but he wasn’t her goal. Lida Kholi, also memorable, was second place in her graduating class, but spoke more with her hands than her words despite what was in her head. She would end up impressing research teams around the Colonies, Pleides knew.

There were a few more, but they struck her all wrong as she continued around the group. Too serious, too careful of their appearance, too closely aligned with the traditional image of an officer in the Colonial Fleet. Career military—cannon fodder, she said in her head—if there was ever another war. No one would tell them that they weren’t anything special, though, because if everyone was special then there would be no one to send out there to die.

Admiral Pleides frowned as she turned to make her way back across the square where the graduates still gathered, grass beneath their feet and sun above their heads. She caught a throaty cackle while passing Karl Agathon’s group, and her eye was captured by a blonde crop-cut that she remembered. Kara Thrace, whose scores belied categorization. Final numbers suggested good-but-not-excellent, but Pleides scanned them more keenly and saw implied potential. She waited and watched her for more than a minute.

Kara looked just like a stereotypical pilot: head cocked back and shoulders solid, hands firm and loose at the same time, a piercing light in her eyes. But it wasn’t meant to be her life. Pleides could sense a burning in her, from the life in her stance and laugh to the glimmer at the back of her eyes. Kara hadn’t joined the military because she had talent, she had talent that she only discovered once she joined the military. She didn’t have high ideals about protecting the Colonies and Colonials, and she didn’t just want to fly—there was something else in between those two, and Kara straddled the line with a confusing energy.

Pleides smiled and waited for her to move herself out of Karl Agathon’s circle. She wasn’t surprised, looking closer at Kara’s record, to see her leave for a drink, a relaxed swagger in her walk.

“Thrace,” she called, a bit of a bark as she followed the young officer over to the drinks table.

Kara turned and snapped a salute with barely a pause of surprise. “Admiral, sir.”

Pleides could tell that Kara didn’t need to be carefully guided towards the subject of a conversation. Bluntness wouldn’t bother her. “What are your plans for the future?”

Kara stood with the empty glass in her hand, and the look on her face was carefully constructed to appear as if she wasn’t grinning impudently. Pleides saw the twitch at her mouth and knew better as Kara said, “Sir, I wasn’t really expecting to even make it to today.”

Marked and Chosen part 2, graduation

[ivanolix.livejournal.com]

Bullshit. Pleides had seen her records—even if she had shown some loose-cannon behavior, there was no way she could have made it so high without intelligence and motivation.

“I was hoping for a little celebration before I started looking for which commanders I could strong-arm into accepting me,” Kara finished with a slight tip of her head, the impression of humility plastered on her face to mask her words. It looked out of place there, and Pleides liked that.

Pleides gave her a tight smile. “I can answer that for you, Thrace. None of them.” Kara was still young enough that she blinked at that sally, and Pleides continued in, arms crossed over her chest as she looked down her nose at the young officer before her. “You’re not going up into the Fleet, Lieutenant. What do they do up there, besides dusting controls once a month in case of attack? Thwart the occasional act of terrorism? No, Thrace, that’s not for you.”

Kara’s eyes had hardened just a little, almost glittering. “Sir, I might not have plans this very second...doesn’t mean I’m advertising myself as needing advice,” she said coolly.

“This isn’t advice,” Pleides informed her with a purse of her lips. Kara’s face tightened, and Pleides smiled. “I want you, Thrace. Not on my ship, because what would I do with you there? No, I want you for the Academy.”

Kara eyed her slowly. “You do have the right Thrace, don’t you?”

Pleides narrowed in on the point. “You’ve shown a tendency to insubordination, Thrace, but you’re making assumptions if you think that isn’t exactly why I’m talking to you right now. You’ve got enthusiasm. You’ve got brilliance. Your type doesn’t take to others’ command so well, despite training. But put you in command yourself, and you lead to victory.”

“You want me to teach?” Kara asked, the mask clearly down a little as her question was genuine, and she blinked.

“The only frontline we have left with peace upon us,” Pleides said, taking a step closer and crossing her arms tighter. She held Kara’s gaze steadily. “You’re a bit overqualified, yes, but I’m sure all those new cadets at the Academy will find a way to make you forget it. They’ve learned at least a dozen new tricks since you were in their shoes.”

Kara raised her eyebrows, and Pleides could sense an argument coming, because Kara wasn’t the sort to just let people tell her the way the world worked. So Pleides cut it short, didn’t let her have time to think of objections. “You don’t have to, of course. It’s not easy work. And I’m sure you can remember all those pranks you pulled on your instructors, all the while thinking that you were ever so glad not to have their job. I did, at least, and I don’t think we’re that much different, Thrace. It’s not the place to go for slackers, so if your original attempt to brush me off was true, and you think you graduated by the skin of your teeth...well, frak me, but I think I’d rather walk off and stick to my fantasy of you as a better officer than that.”

Kara opened her mouth, and at that moment Pleides pursed her lips and saluted sharply. Kara had to pull herself straight and salute back, but her eyes burned. There was nothing Pleides liked better than seeing a competitive spirit teased alight.

“Think about your future plans, Thrace,” the Admiral said as she turned to leave, walking across the field away from the graduation group.

She didn’t look back until she’d reached her bench, retrieving her things and preparing to depart. Kara still stood by the drinks table, but she wasn’t laughing or swigging anything down. Pleides smiled to herself and called it a job well done. She’d call her friend at the Academy to tell them to send out feelers to one Kara Thrace, and she’d leave out exactly what kind of firestorm that one Kara Thrace would probably be. The Academy needed that just as much as they needed Kara’s enthusiasm, which post-war military minds so often lacked.

Of course, Admiral Pleides couldn’t say that even she knew just what a firestorm Kara was. That was what made her special. Pleides knew that Kara would likely surprise them all.

Drive, alternate universe, on the road

[shah-of-blah.livejournal.com]

Crossover with Doctor Who. Thanks to sci_fi_shipper for partially inspiring this, and visualthinker11 for giving it the green light.

“I once hotwired a Cylon Raider after cutting out its brain while low on O2. I was the very first pilot to ever fly a Blackbird stealth fighter—and the only one to not get blown up. I can outfly anybody—human or machine—in space. I’m pretty sure I can handle driving on the left side of the road.”

“No,” Martha said. “I don’t care. I’ve heard your stories, heard what you’ve done to your ‘Vipers’ and you are not driving my car.”

Kara wasn’t entirely sure how she had gotten to this point, sitting in the passenger seat of Martha Jones’s car in some little country called Great England or whatever. She had been lending some of her not inconsiderable expertise to a UNIT project when she had met the doctor. Doctor Jones, that is, since people in these parts talked about “the Doctor” like he was Zeus incarnate. Kara had yet to meet the guy—alien, whatever—but after listening to a few of Martha’s stories, she figured he couldn’t be all that. And if this Doctor was so great anyway, where was he now when there were flesh-eating broccoli-shaped things threatening humanity?

UNIT and Torchwood had both been caught with their pants around their ankles. So now Kara and Martha had less than an hour to get to the broccoli nest and stop the end of the world.

Earth was just lucky Kara hadn’t had anything better to do today. Or it would be lucky, if Martha would just let her take the frakking wheel.

“Apocalypse here!” Kara snapped. “Give me the frakking keys and I’ll beat this godsdamn traffic.”

Martha was determined, but she was also far more rational than Kara. She could see the futility of this argument. Finally at a stop light, she gave in. “Alright, okay, go! But if you so much as scratch...” Her threats trailed off as the two women engaged in an extremely awkward climbing-over-each-other maneuver.

Kara settled into the driver’s seat just as the light turned green. Martha looked distinctly put out, hastily pulling her seatbelt into place and wrapping her fingers tightly around the armrest. Kara just laughed, though, as she shot forward, dodging other cars like enemy combatants.

London was a little dull, and there was still nothing like flying, but in moments like these she figured this world wasn’t so bad. Martha looked at her like she was crazy as she kept laughing, but Kara thought she could get used to this.

Re: Drive, alternate universe, on the road

[scifishipper.livejournal.com]

Yippe! *grinning from ear to ear* Kara is so hotshot -- even driving a car. I love it!

Remixes, worst cover band ever

[ivanolix.livejournal.com]

Kara was special. No escaping that. She’d gone out of her way to be that extra kind of unique. The kind that others frowned at, but tried to copy once they turned away.

But there were a lot of ingredients that went into Kara Thrace, despite how simple it might have looked on the surface. So it figured that her cover band of wannabes was the worst in the history of the Colonies.

She’d had hopes for Kat, before the hotshot decided to go straight for Kara’s accolades without even a side trip to all the other options. Such a flat attempt at glory, it gave Kara pain to look at her. She wasn’t bad, she was just disappointing. It was worse than someone with the right enthusiasm and a lack of talent, and Kara couldn’t even spare the energy to truly hate her.

Then there was Hot Dog. She had to admit, she’d misread him at first. He played flippant better than she did, almost, and there were more than a few who were still fooled by his playboy ways. But, though she’d never say it out loud, they both suffered from the same stupid loyalty that put them in the same damned hopeless fights. The thing was, Kara had the skills to pull herself out. Hot Dog? Well, it was pathetic how long he’d managed to survive. Pathetically admirable, maybe. Maybe. Sometimes he looked at her with a sort of abstract criticism, other times it seemed like frighteningly deep admiration. And not just for her Viper skills. Frightening.

Put him and Kat together and they were an odd mishmash for a cover band, barely worth the name. But then she had to remember that last member, the controversial choice, the one that she mocked herself over when she was five sheets to the wind.

Helo would kick her ass if she told him that he was a Kara Thrace wannabe. He’d have half a point too. He was worse than a wannabe, but worse in the way that hurt too good. Helo was the Kara Thrace that she’d forgotten how to be: high on life until the right moment came along and then bam, somehow making a life that was more than booze and fraks. Making it work halfway normally. She’d never told herself out loud that she wanted that, before the death of the worlds. Until Helo had it in hand, she didn’t realize how much it felt like he’d stolen it from her.

She and Helo had always been close because somehow, behind that well-adjusted facade that Helo called his past, she and him were just near-mirror images of the same slightly twisted landscape. But there was only so much luck in the world for people like them after floating in the rip-tide of life for so long, and suddenly Helo seemed to have it all. Sharon, and a baby, and settling down like he’d always sworn along with her that he wouldn’t.

Kara was afraid that there wasn’t any luck left for her now.

So somehow Helo added legitimacy to the band, and when she thought about it like that, she had to slam down another drink. The Kara Thrace cover band was a nightmare. So much admiration and achievement, too much of it surrounding her. It was the kind of special she feared.

Cover bands were supposed to be an honor you could roll your eyes at. They weren’t supposed to make her hurt for her lives-that-might-have-been (both good and bad). That made hers the worst in the history of the Colonies.

Re: Remixes, worst cover band ever

[scifishipper.livejournal.com]

Cover bands were supposed to be an honor you could roll your eyes at. They weren’t supposed to make her hurt for her lives-that-might-have-been (both good and bad).

I love this line. It's sad how she sees herself as missing out on the things that other people get. *cries for kara*