#saturnalia in space from scratch

[madamairlock]

you’re pretty screwed. - [02x19 - bsg, lay down your burdens]

saturnalia in space from scratch [22/24]

~ a bsg christmas calender by @madamairlock & @lalalauraroslin 💜💜

22. getting tipsy on eggnog and mulled wine

Laura giggled and pulled away from Billy, but he tightened his arm around her and sighed. He had made the mistake of letting her go once and she had nearly ran off, but he had been quick enough to catch her and pull her back at the last minute. 

“Madam President.” He held back a groan when she tried to pull free for at least the fourth time in the few minutes they had been walking, his arm tightening around her waist. 

Changing tactics, she wrapped her arm around his and leaned into him, her head resting against his much taller shoulder. It wasn’t as comfortable as walking with Bill, but she made do with her aide’s help. The moment he loosened his grip when they reached the first ladder, she tried to slip out of his grasp again. 

“Madam President.” He looked at her, exasperation filling his voice and face. “Don’t make me call the Commander.” 

She giggled and he was grateful the corridors were empty this late at night. He wasn’t sure what she had been drinking with Commander Adama, but he had a feeling they’d all regret it in the morning. 

“Oh, Billy.” She smiled warmly and leaned into him again, her voice growing softer. “He had more to drink than I did!” Stifled giggles followed her words and she pulled back as far as she could. 

“You know what?” He looked between the President and the ladder, and quickly decided it wasn’t worth it. “You’re staying here tonight. If the Commander can get you this drunk, he can sober you back up too.” 

“I’m not drunk,” she argued immediately, but then paused to consider her words. “Slightly inebriated, maybe. Sober enough to remember that I need to be on Colonial One in the morning, even if I don’t remember the exact reason right now.” 

“I’ll take care of it.” Billy pulled her closer again, slightly concerned she might just take off like an uncontrolled child. 

By some miracle, he managed to guide her back to the Admiral’s quarters and saw her safely inside. Adama stoically—and barely holding back his own laughter—promised to take care of her and that was enough. Billy didn’t need or want to think about them any further and hurried back through the hatch, but hesitated before he walked away. He turned back to face the Marines and cleared his throat. 

“Look, I know I can’t give you orders or anything,” he started, but the closer Marine interrupted him. 

“We’ll make sure they stay inside.” They shared a knowing look and Billy nodded, relief coursing through him. 

“Good luck. And thank you.” He turned away, not envious of the Marines’ jobs and grateful he only had to help clean up the mess in the morning.

[crowandmousewritingco]

Holiday Hardships

Paring: Marcus Acacius x gn!reader

Words: 1.3k

Rating: G

Summary: The party rages on leaving Marcus no time to grab your final present.

Author: Mod Mouse

Notes: I'm cutting it close with getting my entry in for the What Could Go Wrong writing challenge hosted by @beefrobeefcal. But here it is! For my prompt I got Marcus Acacius needs a last minute gift and can't leave the house. I hope you enjoy!

‘Why did I think this was a good idea?’ Marcus thought to himself as another round of cheers exploded from the living room. All he wanted tonight was to have a quiet New Years Eve with some expensive wine and you by his side. There was a new series he wanted to binge watch tonight with you since he saw the trailer for it, and he hoped to do just that. But just like Jack Frost, someone nipped away his fantasy. Lucius pulled the “You Owe Me” card for him, saving Marcus from a faculty party last year where he played Santa instead of Marcus. ‘Tis the fucking season.

Many guests gathered at his house for a modern Saturnalia New Years Eve party though “Saturnalia�� was stretching it as a theme. Mostly it was an excuse for excess drinking and partying all through the night. Strangers in bedsheet togas filled the space as they danced and drank cheap beer. It was a night to remember despite they would all have hazy memories in the morning. He was lucky he lived away from everyone because he knew the neighbors would complain about the bass filled music shaking his walls. 

Everyone from the College of Ancient Studies had gathered here tonight for the wild evening. Lucius was bound and determined to win a round of beer pong since he had a historical losing streak. But he always challenged the champion of “Gladiators,” a self nominated name for the group of local rugby players, hence his tendency for losing. Geta and Caracalla were already upstairs ruining the new bedsheets with whatever activities they decided to try out on Marcus’ time. The two grad students had charmed half the TAs and tended to research their theses with hands-on learning. 

Marcus sighed and rubbed his eyes pausing in his refilling the snack table. A mess of chip crumbs and puddles of beer seeping into the untouched fruit cake coated the cheap table cloths giving the area a layer of stickiness. The premade gingerbread was already missing a wall and leaned dangerously to the left, making the icing drip onto the table. It reminded him of your yearly tradition to make cookies so you two would have a treat as you opened presents. 

His eyes widened at the realization. The craziness of the party had taken so much time away from holiday preparation that he completely forgot to get you the last present. Marcus cursed but the music overpowered his frustration. ‘Okay okay no time to panic,” Marcus thought to himself. There was no time to find an open store, and he couldn’t leave his house at risk of it burning to the ground from the party. 

‘Think Marcus!’ He thought as he paced the kitchen floor. What could he possibly do? Anything he thought of felt shallow and unworthy of you. He sighed and leaned his hands against the sink, a buzz of ideas filling his head as he tried to think, the loud music not helping him brainstorm. None of them seemed possible. Marcus scratched his beard in thought as he peered out the kitchen window. A fresh blanket of snow covered the backyard giving the county home an added holiday glow.

Glow? Marcus furrowed his brow remembering a recent purchase. Quickly he rummaged through piles of plastic bags from his last errands run, and he smiled when his hand brushed against the box. Marcus glanced behind his shoulder. No one at the party would notice his short absences. He had a plan brewing, as he made a mental list of what materials he needed. Marcus weaved around the party dodging guests as his arms filled with required objects. He was going to make this perfect for you. 

All you wanted was a drink. It was the only thing getting through the required family gathering you were forced to attend. You were hard set on leaving at 9 giving you plenty of time to party with the boys. When Marcus told you of the change of plans, you were a little sad but you knew it would still be fun. You liked hanging out with all the other professors and grad students letting loose one last time before the spring semester started. 

There was a long line of cars parked outside your house and you were suddenly worried that you would have to walk a mile just to get inside. But as you drifted towards the driveway you smiled as you saw your normal spot roped off with red rope strung from traffic cones. A handmade signed read “VIP” was attached to a wooden stack in the ground and you couldn’t help but chuckle. 

You quickly parked and gathered your bag, ready to join the festivities. As your shoes crunched under the freshly fallen stone as you walked up to your front door, something caught your attention. Another handmade sign hung from the wooden porch fence, this time reading “Winter Wonderland this way.” This confused you since you knew this wasn’t the theme of the party. 

Curiously you followed the signs instructions lending you around to the side of your shared house. When you peaked around the corner, you were greeted with decorations galore.  Green garland decorated the wooden fence in undulating waves. Small baubles hung from the fence posts in a multitude of colors. With a small click you opened the gate with a creak and gasped as you saw the scene in front of you. 

A warm glow illuminated from inside the enclosed space as Marcus stood in the middle of the backyard. Gentle holiday music drifted from the speaker giving the area a festive mood. It truly was a Winter Wonderland in your backyard. You swore this wasn’t like this when you were here, adding to your curiosity. At the sound Marcus turned, his smile warming your heart. 

“Marc this is amazing,” You smiled as you slowly twirled, taking in the festive sight. The warm glow emanated from the small fairy lights that were strung on the hanging planters woven in the branches of the shrubs and trees. Quickly you hugged your fiance and Marcus smiled, lifted the glasses of wine above your head to keep it from spilling. 

He quickly kissed your head taking in the familiar scent of your perfume. “I know tonight didn’t quite go as planned, but I thought a little us time would do us some good.” 

You lifted your head from his chest finally noticing the alcohol in his hands, and you smiled. “You know me so well.” 

Marcus gently handed you the flute and you happily took a sip. The bubbles tickled your nose, but you always loved the taste of champagne. It reminded you of how you met Marcus. A  holiday party where you two were the new professors and you discovered you shared the same passion for Homer’s epics. And the rest is history. 

With a tip of his glass he said, “Here’s to us. May the new year be full of our love and happiness.” 

You repeated the action, clinking the glasses together, a wide smile brightening up your face. “To us.” 

Marcus sipped on his champagne and kissed your cheek just as the last song ended. After a few seconds of silence, Auld Lang Syne wafted through the white backyard. Marcus chuckled. “How very appropriate. Here” He carefully takes your flute from you, setting both on the glass patio table. With a low bow he asked, “May I have this dance?” 

You laughed covering your mouth with your hand. “Always the gentleman. Yes I will have this dance.” You replied, setting your bag on the concrete steps. 

Marcus stood back up this time, his own smile gracing his lips. He held out a gloved hand to you and you graciously accepted. With a gentleness he reserved only for you, he pulled you into his chest, the warmth filling you with a sense of security. The party raged on inside, but the only thing you could focus on was Marcus’ heartbeat. The boys could wait.

Credit to @strangergraphics and @inklore

All Works Taglist:

@for-a-longlongtime @romanarose

Pedro Characters Taglist:

@littlemisspascal @burntheedges

@carusolikey @thebeldroramscal

@morallyinept @lady-bess

@pedrostories @rivnedell

@pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing

@jessthebaker @pedrit0-pascalit0

[tears-and-lilies]

Saturnalia

Io Saturnalia! Corvinus’s household celebrates the ancient Roman festival, and Milo gets a crumb of confidence :3

--pileus: a hat worn by freedman; triclinium: dining room; tibia: double flute--

I couldn’t figure out if slaves joined the Roman citizens in the festival rites in the city, but I think it’s generally impossible to avoid historical inacuracies in historical fiction.

Tag: @lockedupuniverse @unicornscotty @milk-carton-whump @abitefullofwhump @sideblogformindtrash @whump-it @a-series-of-whumpy-events @heathenville @as-a-matter-of-whump @myst-in-the-mirror

CW: low self-esteem, abuse, slave whump, alcohol, drunkenness

***

Cheerful chants reached the villa that lay just outside the city.

‘Io Saturnalia!’

Soon enough, Milo’s master had returned, and with him a few of his friends arrived. They were happily chattering. Now that the festival rites in the city had ended, they were ready to celebrate the day together. 

Milo took a deep breath.

It was cloudy and cold, but inside was cosy. Everyone- master and slave alike- was wearing dining clothes and a pileus, the headwear of freedmen. Because on this day, everyone was equal. 

He hadn't seen master's friends in a long time. They were lying comfortably around the dining table in the triclinium. 

Gallicus, a middle-aged man excitedly nodding to everything his companions said, the gel in his hair glistening in the light of the oil lamps. 

Valeriana, a distant cousin of master Corvinus’, obsessively talking about her favourite gladiatrix while scratching the wart on her neck every now and then. 

Quintus, a younger friend purposefully taking up way more space on the couch than he needed, spitting out jokes at every opportunity, whether they were funny or not. 

But those friends weren’t the only ones dining. Each of them had brought a slave, as was custom with wealthy citizens. What wasn’t, was that these slaves were lying next to them, among them. Milo didn’t know these people. They… seemed comfortable. They talked with their masters as if it was normal. As if what they said mattered. Gallicus’ slave critiqued the food, Valeriana’s slave - who wore a cute necklace -  gave her opinions on the Neronian games that would be held next year, and Quintus’ slave straight up told his master he wasn’t funny. Milo wished he knew their names. He found their confidence fascinating, and he wanted to remember them. 

And then there was master himself. But now, master got up and disappeared for a moment, returning with another amphora. It made Milo’s fingers twitch. He was supposed to serve master. Master always made sure he remembered that. It felt so wrong; the way master poured Quintus’ cup, and then the cup of Quintus’ slave- it was so wrong. 

‘Listen, Corvinus, my jokes are funny. Do you know how I know? My wife laughs at them’, Quintus said as he watched master fill his cup. ‘I repeat: my wife.’

‘I’ll tell her you said that when we get home. I’m not sure she will laugh then’, his slave remarked. 

‘Whether you’re funny or not, I admire your attempts. But I think it may be the wine speaking for you’, master said. 

‘Yeah yeah.’ Quintus made a careless gesture when master was done. ‘Maybe you should give your slave more wine too. He looks like he’s just returned from Tartarus.’

Milo flinched as his eyes met his master’s. Knowing what was expected of him, he held up his cup. 

And then fear set in. 

Every year his master said that whatever happened on the first day of Saturnalia, wouldn’t have repercussions afterwards. But every year Milo had his doubts. His master was perfect, and Milo wasn’t. And any imperfections showing must be dealt with. It was the only way in which Milo could learn to be perfect too. 

He was scared to mess up. All he had to do was hold his cup so master could fill it. Then he had to drink the wine. 

The moment master filled his cup felt like it lasted an eternity. And Milo could do nothing as he saw how shaky his own arm was. 

When it was over, relief washed over him. He brought the cup to his lips- too quickly. His useless fingers lost their grip and the cup fell onto the ground, the liquid spilling all over the floor. 

His heart dropped and he shrunk under his master’s furious face. He was so, so stupid…

‘Io Saturnalia!’, Quintus yelled, throwing his hands in the air. 

‘Io Saturnalia’, Valeriana’s slave repeated after him, though with less enthousiasm. 

Surprised, master turned towards his friend. He opened his mouth, and Milo recognised the tenseness in his jaw. It meant anger and yelling. 

But Quintus reached forward and patted master’s arm. 

‘Come on, Corvinus! What is a feast without spilled wine?’

‘He’s right’, Gallicus said. 

Master’s expression softened. And then, he… smiled?

‘I’ll get another cup.’

His company cheered. And they cheered again when Milo finally could drink his wine. He relaxed. Admittedly, their happiness was contagious. They joked and laughed around the table, and he started to quietly laugh with them. The more food and wine they consumed, the more he loosened up. He even dared to compliment Valeriana’s slave on her necklace, and learned her name was Ariadne. Gallicus’s slave was called “Mauricus”, and Quintus’s slave introduced himself as Paris. Soon they addressed him as “Milo”, and Milo felt butterflies in his stomach. It felt as if he’d known these people for his whole life. 

The night was nearing when a musician provided joyful tibia music. Mauricus complemented the man for his talent and Valeriana clapped in her hands on the rhythm, soon joined by Ariadne. 

Milo laughed when Quintus stumbled from the couch and started dancing, his hat falling from his head. When he looked at Mauricus, the slave’s face turned red. Milo laughed again. 

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder. He looked at his master, who was mumbling something.

‘S-sorry?’, Milo asked.

‘I said- I said I’m happy I bought you, you know? What would I-I do without you? You always give your best, and no other of my slaves does that.’ 

His mumblings ended in roaring laughter. It was… odd. Milo didn’t know how to react. He patted his master on the back when his laughter turned into violent coughing. 

That his master acknowledged his hard work meant more to him than he could really fathom. 

He watched as Paris got up to dance with Quintus. He watched Ariadne laughing and clapping for them, and Mauricus burying his face in his arms. And for the first time, Milo wondered if it was even right to crave that kind of acknowledgement.

[bipolypsy]

I'm seated in my living room, cat on my lap, looking at a beautifully lit Christmas tree atop bedecked boxes. The multi-coloured lights to my left outline our record collection. Instrumental piano music spins a song I've always known. 

I have bodily memories of this holiday.

Next door to my family home, my grandparents hosted an open house. Nearly 150 people from church groups and bowling leagues, generational family friends and the person my grandmother just met, would stop by. A 13 foot dining table girded levels of food. Appetizers, mostly, with at least half of the spread sweets. My grandmother would begin decorating every room of their three story house as soon as Halloween had passed. That was the only way to get it all up before she had to switch to cooking. At least two weeks before Christmas Eve, she shopped, prepped, mixed, baked, iced, sliced, and poured. A few close relatives were allowed to bring signature dishes (Aunt Margaret's taco dip), but the majority was prepared by my grandma. From scratch. The night of, she had everything ready by the time church got out at 4. People would come earlier, but that was the biggest rush. 

It was a whirlwind of activity, excitement, and light. Every available surface and space was covered in decorations. Glowing ceramic villages with skating ponds and banks boasted populations rivaling the guest list. My cousins and I tried to count all the trees (at least a foot tall) that were inside the house and lost count at 47. I've had an ornament collection since birth. 

For the decade before 2019, I was married to a person who did not believe Christmas was a legitimate holiday. He refused any decor that hinted at Christmas, down to pine-scented candles. I acquiesced to keep the peace. After all, he was right about the history of Yuletide. Personally, I prefer Saturnalia, regardless of my baptism in any modern church. Neither did I relish the idea of lying to any (nonexistent) children about where their gifts came from. But observing this holiday, marking this point in the year with my family, is core to my wellbeing. So, every year, I'd go to my family celebration alone and deflect questions from well-meaning guests regarding his absence. Disappointing excuses turned into knowing eye-rolls over the years. 

At home, he denigrated every practice and tradition, calling my family sheep. He laughed wryly when I would head out, and go on a rant about consumerism when I brought gifts home. 

He showed up a couple times towards the end. On the phone constantly the first time before leaving early, then slowly integrating to the extent he could. At the end of the night as we walked to the car, or on the drive home, or in bed later, he ranted. Someone he'd disagreed with hadn't immediately caved, or I didn't pay enough attention to him and obviously didn't actually care that he came anyway, so what's the fucking point?? 

Breathe.

Now, I'm on the cusp of the second Christmas where I get to decide. Last year was raw. Both decor and spirit were tentative. It was only four months since he'd actually moved out and his things still cluttered my basement. I was tired. 

Now, I have the resources and time to find unique gifts for my dearest ones. I make them festive and individualized.

As I rest, I feel a deep recognition of the loss of these traditions for a third of my life. I sob at my hand-me-down tree.

Everything I have is a gift. 

[tipsycad147]

Pagan Holidays - The Sabbats

There are 8 sacred holidays, usually called Sabbats among Wiccans, that are spaced evenly through the year. Each marks a seasonal change, astronomical event or celebrates a traditional harvest period. The Wiccan year is an ongoing cycle, and is often referred to as the "Wheel of the Year" because each year goes through the harvests and seasons to return back to the beginning each time. Unlike most other religions, these holidays do not commemorate historical events.

Each day has a deep historical background with a number of associations and traditions, but here is a quick outline of all eight Wiccan Sabbats. Links on each Sabbat name will take you to a more detailed page on the holiday (some still being written).

And I have a page of Pagan New Year's resolutions that are just for fun even though it's not really an official Pagan holiday.

Yule Around Dec 21 Winter Solstice, Saturnalia This is the solstice, which means the point in the year where the day/night length is at its peak. For Yule, it means that this is the shortest day and longest night of the year (the date shifts from the 20th to the 22nd each year). From this day onward, sunlight begins to return as the days start to lengthen again and we celebrate the symbolic rebirth of the Sun God. The holiday of Yule was celebrated long before Christians adopted the date for their own holiday. Many of the modern Christmas traditions we see today stem from these old Pagan customs from around the world. Traditions: lighting a Yule log, decorating a tree indoors, gift giving Correspondences: pine, cinnamon holly, myrrh

Imbolc Feb 2 Candlemas, Brigid's Day Imbolc is a day to celebrate the first signs of a new Spring, and it is also dedicated to the Celtic Goddess Brigid. Non-Pagans celebrate today as Groundhog Day, which is also related to seeing spring weather coming. Make some new starts in your life, as you give your home a thorough cleaning for the year. Traditions: Burning fires, cleaning, making a bed for Brigid Correspondences: carnation, chamomile, rosemary, fresh milk

Ostara Around March 21 Spring Equinox, Lady Day This is another Pagan holiday that has been overlaid with Christian meanings ( in this case, Easter). Eggs and bunnies are traditional symbols, representing new birth and new life. Plant the seeds of long-term goals on this day for extra success. Like with Yule, the date shifts and can be from the 20th to the 22nd. As an equinox, it means that the day and night on this day are the same length. Traditions: Colouring or cooking with eggs, decorating with spring flowers Correspondences: jasmine, daffodil, new wildflowers

Beltane May 1 May Day, Walpurgis Night The God reborn at Yule is now a man, and the sacred union between God and Goddess is consummated at this time of the year. Beltane is a celebration of fertility, growth, love and sexuality. However you personally celebrate Beltane, do it with joy and happiness. Traditions: Dancing around a ribboned May Pole, lighting outdoor bonfires Correspondences: Rose, vanilla, lilac

Litha Around June 21 Midsummer, Summer Solstice, Whitsun Midsummer is the other solstice on the calendar and its the longest day of the year, usually on the 21st but it varies slightly as the other astronomical holidays do. The strength of the Sun God begins to wane as the days get shorter from now on. The Goddess has left her Maiden form of Imbolc and is now in her Mothering aspect. Refill your herb collection for the coming year on Litha for the most potent herbs. Traditions: Fairy magick, collecting herbs Correspondences: Orange, vervain, lemon, honeysuckle

Lammas August 1 Lughnasadh This is first of the three annual harvest festivals, and much of the symbolism for Lammas revolves around freshly harvested grains and bread. Sacrifices were common, though mostly symbolic, in order to ensure the continued success of the harvest through the next 2 holidays. Traditions: Baking bread from scratch, making cornhusk dollies Correspondences: corn, summer squash, sandalwood

Mabon Around Sept 21 Autumn Equinox, Cornucopia Day and night are equal again on this equinox, and the weather is growing colder as winter approaches. This is the second harvest festival of the year. Rituals of thanks at this time have brought about the modern holidays of Thanksgiving. Take some time to think about what you are thankful for on the next Mabon, even if you are not eating turkey. Traditions: Making and drinking of wine, giving to the poor Correspondences: grapes, patchouli, blackberries, cedar

Samhain Oct 31 Hallowe'en, All Hallows Samhain ( pronounced SOW-en) is the one Sabbat that is also widely celebrated among non-Pagans as Halloween. The God has died on this day, and the Goddess mourns him until he is reborn again at Yule. This brings on the darker phase of the year. It's the last harvest festival, and the end of the Wiccan year. Traditions: Divination, remembering the dead, carving Jack o' Lanterns in pumpkins Correspondences: pumpkins, apples, sage, mugwort

Being a witch or practising witchcraft does not mean you have to celebrate these holidays. But doing so can help you appreciate the changes of energy through the cycle of the year, and get in touch with an earlier time.

https://www.free-witchcraft-spells.com/pagan-holidays.html

Picture https://www.gettyimages.com

[madamairlock]

the whole damn thing will become our frakkin’ responsibility, yours and mine. - [04x04 - bsg, escape velocity]

saturnalia in space from scratch [4/24]

~ a bsg christmas calender by @madamairlock & @lalalauraroslin 💜💜

4. keeping each other warm

“Frak, your hands are cold,” he commented. “Do they get any blood flow from the rest of your body?” 

She nearly purred when his hand closed around hers, encasing it in his never-ending warmth. He took her other hand and held them both, covering them so nothing was exposed to the slightly chilly air.  “Cottle’s confirmed it’s fine; I just run cold.” Her hands shifted beneath his and she leaned closer, her head finding its way back to his shoulder.  “This is more than running cold. I think the Underworld is warmer than this.” He pulled her hands into his lap and she moved with him until their legs were pressed together. “Are they ever warm?��   “Only when you’re holding them.” With a soft smile and a hum, she relaxed against him and let the last of the day slip from her shoulders. “I think we should do something for Saturnalia,” she added, the idea still pleasantly bouncing around in her head.  “Like what?” She shrugged without moving anything but her shoulder. “We’ll figure something out.”  “I won’t stop you, but this is all you.” He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t look up.  “You won’t help?” she asked softly.  He sighed and kissed her head as he squeezed her hands. “I’ll help,” he reluctantly agreed. “Within reason; you’re not turning my ship into a winter wonderland.”  “Bill, I don’t think there’s anything I could do to turn this grey monstrosity into a winter wonderland.” Even as she said the words, she knew she didn’t mean them. “I love Galactica,” she added quickly, “but sometimes she gets a little overwhelming. So much grey and darkness. At least Colonial One has color and brighter lights.”  “You get used to it.” He grunted and still shot her a displeased but mild glare at the insult to his ship.  “If we can find or make any decorations, I’d like to hang a few up. Maybe in the mess, the observation lounge. I’ll talk to the captain of Cloud Nine too and see what we can do there. Just something to remind everyone.” Her nose wrinkled as she considered how to work decoration hunting in with all of her other work that was already piling up.  “You really want to do this?” He finally moved one of his hands and tilted her face up so he could see her eyes.  “If we keep focusing on work and only work, people are going to burn out very quickly. I’m surprised more haven’t.” She paused and sighed, the dwindling population number flashing across her mind unbidden. “We’ll celebrate for a few days. Then back to the end of the world.”  “I said I’ll help, Laura. Tomorrow. I’m ready to pass out for the night.” He kissed her softly. “You staying?”   “Mhmm. I’ll deal with both the Quorum and decorations while I’m on Cloud Nine tomorrow,” she decided, allowing him to pull her to her feet and lead her toward his rack.

[madamairlock]

mmm, smells good… - [04x13 - bsg, the oath]

saturnalia in space from scratch [2/24]

~a bsg christmas calender by @madamairlock & @lalalauraroslin

2. sharing a hot chocolate

“Here.” Billy unceremoniously set a mug on the edge of her desk and Laura watched with a raised eyebrow as the liquid sloshed and nearly spilled over the edge.  “Did it do something to offend you?” Her judging gaze moved to her aide, her lips pursed.  “No.” He kept his answers short and it only made her eyebrow arch higher.  “Did I?” she prompted.  “No.” She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Admiral Adama said he was sending some hot chocolate over for you.”  “Oh, how kind of him.” Laura’s expression started to soften, but his unchanging one made her hesitate. “But?” “This is tea.”  She couldn’t help but laugh, her eyes softening anyway when his frown deepened. “We could have finally finished off the last chocolate in the universe, Billy. It’s a wonder there’s still any tea left.”  “You’re not upset?” He shuffled uncomfortably but she saw his shoulders relax incrementally.  “Of course not. A hot drink is a hot drink nowadays. Especially without Chamalla. Thank you for pouring it for me.” Carefully, she picked it up and inhaled the weak but pleasant aroma, a stronger smile forming. “Cinnamon? It smells like winter.”  “I’m glad you’re not disappointed.” He shrugged and took a step back. “There’s more water warmed up if you’d like another cup later.”  “Maybe.” She hummed and took a cautious sip. “Definitely.” With the mug clasped in both hands and resting against her chest, she settled back into her chair. Deciding the Quorum report she had been dealing with the past hour could wait a little longer, she allowed herself a few moments to relax and enjoy her tea.

[madamairlock]

‘cause every moment of every day since then… is a gift./from the gods./no, from you. - [01x13/02x07/02x10/02x12]

saturnalia in space from scratch [6/24]

~ a bsg christmas calender by @madamairlock & @lalalauraroslin 💜💜

6. moments of contemplation

He wasn’t sure what woke him. Laura slept soundly beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. Based on the feeling he still had in his arm, he assumed she had shifted position recently, but he knew it wasn’t enough to draw him from sleep. Their quarters were quiet and beyond the bulkheads, his ship was as quiet as the Old Lady could be. He stared up into the darkness and slowly shifted his arm so he could securely hold her close, his head finally rolling so he could look at her. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust before he could begin to make out her profile, resisting the urge to brush away the hair that had fallen across her face. 

He couldn’t pinpoint the final event that had pushed them together. The whirlwind of Pegasus, the resurrection ship, her near-death, and subsequent recovery had been a kairos for them, both hanging on to the other in ways they hadn’t expected. It still astounded him now as he held the most stubborn and beautiful woman alive in his arms. As much disinterest as he had felt for Saturnalia in the past, he found himself intrigued by it now. He didn’t care if she asked to celebrate laundry—she was alive and if she wanted to have Saturnalia, he would do what he could to make it happen. Starting with a conversation with her aide the following morning.  Until then, he willed his body to relax back into the mattress and felt Laura stir. She mumbled in her sleep and reached her hand out to him, but settled down as soon as it connected with his warm chest.  “Go back to sleep,” he whispered. She only murmured incoherently and he smiled, wondering how awake she really was.  She fell still almost immediately and he adjusted his hold on her. After making sure she was okay, he closed his eyes and sleep quickly reclaimed him.

[madamairlock]

i wanna tell them - [03x11 - bsg, the eye of jupiter]

saturnalia in space from scratch [The Complete Carol]

~ a bsg christmas calender by @madamairlock & @lalalauraroslin 💜💜

25. Merry Christmas

[madamairlock]

so say we all. - [03x07 - bsg, a measure of salvation]

saturnalia in space from scratch [24/24]

~ a bsg christmas calender by @madamairlock & @lalalauraroslin 💜💜

24.  wearing matching Christmas sweaters

She found him at his desk with a stack of closed logbooks beside him and one open in the middle. He glanced up and smiled, his eyes lingering on her and her lower cut neckline before returning to his work. 

“I’m almost done,” he murmured, pausing his writing to wave to the seat across from him. 

“I hope so.” She sat down with the package in her lap, fingers folded on top of it. 

She was content to watch him work and he finished after a few minutes, closing his logbook with a solid thud and adding it to the pile beside him. When he looked up, his eyes crinkled with his smile and she saw the sheer contentment in their blue depths. 

“Io Saturnalia, Laura.”

“To you too.” She pushed herself up and set the gift on the desk, hands planted on either side of it so she could lean forward. She kissed him softly and nudged the gift closer as she pulled back. “Open it.” 

He gently picked the beaded tree up first and admired it much the same way she had, then lifted the note up so he could read it. With a glance at her matching one but without a word, he pinned it to the breast pocket of his uniform and smoothed it out. Satisfied, he then picked up the wrapped gift and slid his finger under the folded-over corner of the wrapping, slowly revealing the picture inch by inch. She remained leaning against his desk, watching and smiling as he finally realized what it was. 

“Laura…” He let out a breath and looked up at her, then around his quarters for a place to hang the picture of them up. “Thank you,” he said when he turned back to her. 

“I hope you like it.” Her smile turned a little shy and he stood up, rounding his desk so he could pull her close and kiss her cheek. 

“I love it. I love you.” He kissed her other cheek, then her lips before he pulled back and grabbed her present off a nearby stack of books. 

“I love you too,” she murmured as she accepted her gift.

[madamairlock]

we’ve had trouble locating - [bsg - 01x11, 02x05, 03x18]

saturnalia in space from scratch [18/24]

~ a bsg christmas calender by @madamairlock & @lalalauraroslin 💜💜

18. searching for the hidden presents

Twenty minutes later, Laura stood on the large passenger liner, a hallway of closed doors before her. Billy stood beside her, hands shoved into his pockets, and looked as confused as she did.  “What do we do?” he asked. “Just start knocking on doors?”

“I really don’t think Bill would pass my gift off onto a random civilian,” she replied, “but I don’t have any other ideas. Captain Hardy didn’t say anything?” 

“Copilot said the captain would meet us as soon as he could.” He shrugged and glanced the opposite direction down the corridor.  

“Well, frak.” Her hands landed on her hips and she took a deep breath. “Might as well.”

No one answered at the first two doors and the third door opened to reveal an older woman. She stared blankly for a moment and then smiled widely. 

“Madam President! My gods! What can I do for you?” She turned toward the cabin and added in a shout, “Carl! The President is here!”

“Hi there,” Laura said, her hands folding in front of her. She regretted her decision immediately, but forced a smile. “Have you seen Admiral Adama on board recently?”

“Admiral Adama? No, ma’am.” An elderly man walked up behind the woman and almost protectively came to stand in front of her. “We don’t get out much, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh.” She frowned and glanced at Billy, hoping he would remember better than she did. “I apologize for disturbing you; thank you for your time.”

She flashed another smile and turned away, but listened to make sure the door shut before she knocked on the next one. A little girl answered this time and it took Laura a moment to recognize the twin auburn braids that now had glittering blue and silver strands woven into them. 

“Mrs. President!” She giggled and lunged forward to hug Laura’s leg. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw both Billy and the Marine guard take a step closer, but she held up her hand and then knelt down in front of the girl. “Hello again! I love your braids.”

The little girl smiled even more widely and gently tugged on them. “I can braid your hair too!” She ran off without another word but was back before Laura could even attempt to stand up. “For you!” She extended a short strand of the same blue and silver tinsel and waited until Laura ducked her head to attempt to weave it into her hair. “Pretty!” She clapped and hands and allowed Laura to stand back up, one hand holding the tinsel so it stayed on her head. 

“Thank you.” She smiled widely. “Io Saturnalia, sweetheart.”

“Io Saturnalia! Goodbye!” The girl darted back inside and slammed the door shut, leaving Laura to shake her head and look to Billy. 

He held his hand out—for the tinsel, she assumed—but she shook her head and tried her best to keep it in place.

“It’s festive,” she said with a shrug. 

Billy laughed and they continued on down the corridor. 

It didn’t take long for her to realize no one had seen Bill, but a young couple had seen a pilot wandering the hallways earlier. Hoping there was a connection, Laura sighed and led her shadows back toward the cockpit, her fingers crossed that the captain would be available soon. 

As they approached the upper deck, the cockpit door flew open. Laura’s steps faltered and she glanced at Billy with a raised eyebrow; a voice came through the doorway. 

“I can’t find my frakking jacket. It’s so frakking cold down there!” Captain Hardy grumbled, more focused on his outfit than where he was going. He was nearly through the doorway before he looked up and noticed the people standing there. “Frak. I mean. Uh. Madam President, hello.” 

Laura held back her first reaction and instead cleared her throat. “Has Admiral Adama or any of his pilots stopped by recently?” 

“Uh, yeah.” He shrugged and then understanding dawned on his face. “Oh, you actually came! I thought it was a— Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I do have a message for you.”

She pursed her lips and tried to hide her smile. “Oh?”

“Home.” He shrugged. “Captain Thrace said you’d understand.” 

After a moment, she laughed and nodded. “Yes, I think I do. Thank you, Captain Hardy. I hope neither Captain Thrace nor I disturbed your ship too much.”

“Not at all, ma’am. You’re always welcome.” He smoothed out his shirt and smiled. “Anything else I can do to help?”

Laura shook her head. “Thank you,” she said before gesturing for the guards to move so they could return to the shuttle.  She hoped she had time to make it to Galactica before her next meeting, and there was a part of her almost tempted to reschedule it if not. She still had a present to hunt down.

[madamairlock]

trust me o­n this o­ne, okay? - [03x08 - bsg, hero]

saturnalia in space from scratch [12/24]

~ a bsg christmas calender by @madamairlock & @lalalauraroslin 💜💜

12. moments of reconciliation

Their argument lingered in his mind. It had been more of a heated disagreement than a true argument, both exhausted and their tempers shorter than usual. He didn’t stew it on as he made his way back to his quarters, only regretted the way he had contributed to the escalation. He was fully prepared to apologize and move beyond it as long as she wasn’t ready for another fight. He nodded to the Marine who opened the hatch door and stepped through, but stopped at the sight that greeted him. 

Laura stood on the couch, one foot on the back with her hands braced against the wall. She held a piece of tape in her mouth and glanced over her shoulder at him, but quickly turned back to what she was doing. With one hand and her teeth, she ripped the tape in half and added it to the small snowflake her other hand held against the bulkhead.  “Laura, what the frak are you doing?” His words came out sharper than he intended, but he was too focused on getting to her before she fell and got hurt.  “Decorating.” She started to lean down for another snowflake, but he grabbed her hips and held them tightly.  “You’re going to get hurt.” He looked up at her, eyes narrowed behind his glasses and a firm frown fixed on his face.  “I’m fine, Bill. Please let go.” Her voice was calm and she reached for the snowflake again, ignoring how he leaned closer and held her steady. “If I fall now, it’s because you’re weighing me down and throwing off my balance,” she warned.  Remembering the apology he had planned, he sighed and forced himself to let go before he took a small step back. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, still keeping a close eye on her.   She grew quiet as she went back to decorating, adding a few more snowflakes to the area behind the couch. When she was done, she extended her hand to Bill and he helped her down, his eyes roaming over her to make sure she was okay.  “You’re hovering,” she pointed out softly.  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, his eyes meeting hers. “For hovering and for arguing.”  “I know.” She ran her fingers up his arm, over his shoulder, and finally cupped his face. “I’m sorry too.” “We still need to figure out what to do with the Argo Navis.” He shook his head and wrapped his arm around her waist, his other still holding hers.  “You were right about the ultimatum. If the captain doesn’t want to cooperate…” She let the sentence trail off, not liking the resolution but acknowledging its necessity.  “Go back to decorating. I’ll take care of it.” He kissed her softly but she dropped her hand and shook her head.  “I’ll be there. But thank you.”  He nodded, allowing them a moment to just enjoy each other before they returned to the unpleasant task that awaited them.

[madamairlock]

for all intents and purposes… - [01x02 - bsg, water]

saturnalia in space from scratch [9/24]

~ a bsg christmas calender by @madamairlock & @lalalauraroslin 💜💜

9. wrapping presents

Laura dedicated as much time as she could over the next few days in search of a present for Bill. In between meetings and press conferences, she racked her brain for anything she could possibly get a hold of that he would appreciate, but it all led to one place: she had no ideas. 

In need of a change of scenery—or as much as she could find within the confines of her ship—she moved to sit on the opposite side of her desk. Immediately, it felt uncomfortable and wrong, but she forced herself to settle into the chair and let her eyes roam the wall that her back was usually to. She rarely paid attention to the flags that flanked her desk and the doorway, relics of things long gone but also reminders of what she had worked so hard to rebuild. The Colonial flag, so similar to the Caprican flag, and one she had seen her entire life. Next to it, the flag of the Office of the President, one she had grown more used to since joining Adar’s campaign. Now, they both represented her office—represented her—but not nearly as well as the white board that hung on the wall.  She kept her eyes averted from the number, instead focusing on the picture gifted to her by the captain of the Persephone shortly after the attacks. One of the last pictures to come from Aerilon, from the Colonies in general, and she felt a thought start to take shape in her head. Slowly, she leaned forward against her desk, eyes still focused on the image of the fallen soldier.  It took her a few hours to track down the picture she had in mind. It had been taken a while after her inauguration, after she had found a tentative peace with Bill in governing what remained of humanity. A series of presidential portraits that she had detested the idea of, but reluctantly agreed when she convinced Bill to join her. As far as she knew, nothing had been done with the pictures, but she held the framed one now, smiling at the almost unfamiliar faces that looked back at her.  Wrapping paper had been almost as difficult to find as a gift, but Billy had managed to find some discarded Quorum notes that she taped together, forming a piecemeal packaging for Bill to unwrap. She tucked the corners in and smoothed the edges, impressed with herself and the final product without needing a single piece of tape. As her hand ran over the slightly indented top of the gift, she had a brief moment of misgiving, hoping he would enjoy the picture and the sentiment that went with it.

[madamairlock]

thank you for the gift. - [01x02 - bsg, water]]

saturnalia in space from scratch [20/24]

~ a bsg christmas calender by @madamairlock & @lalalauraroslin 💜💜

20. watching the same Christmas movies for the umpteenth time

She was just as gentle unwrapping her gift, her eyes growing wide as she revealed the title and then the cover, an antique painted version of Father Winter with his sack of gifts. She traced the silver title, the small printed name of the author, and then dragged gaze back up to Bill.

“Where the hell did you find a copy of Letters to Father Winter?” She breathed the question out, barely able to process what she was holding and her surprise. 

“I have my ways.” His smile grew as he watched her wonder and her wide green eyes, the way her mouth parted and she was at a loss for words. “And a few little Vipers to help me search around.” 

“Gods…” She shook her head and then hugged the book to her chest. “I can’t believe it.” 

She quickly approached him, one arm still clutching the book close and the other wrapping around him so they hugged with the book pressed between them. He nuzzled his face into her slightly sweet-smelling hair and pressed a firm kiss to her head. 

“You did so much for me,” she whispered against his chest. 

“I want to,” he replied, his voice just as soft. “You deserve it.” 

She looked up at his words and crashed her lips to his, pouring every ounce of love and affection into the kiss. He groaned and grabbed her hips, holding her close as she melted against him. 

“Kids are gonna be here soon,” he grumbled when they parted for breath, their foreheads pressed together. 

“Damn.” She laughed breathlessly and kissed him quickly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Laura.” He pulled back and he adjusted his uniform while she set the book aside.