Battlestar Crack!Fic: "Goddesses Can Be Fangirls Too"
(Don't ask. No really; don't ask.)
Title: Goddesses Can Be Fangirls Too
Characters: Baltar, Gaeta, various Olympic deities
Spoilers: brief reference to 4x06, "Faith"
Length: 1,420 words
Note: The answer to the question I'm sure somebody is going to invariably ask is miniature Schnauzer.
Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home and most over-looked member of the pantheon, had ruined her diet yet again.
It really was unfair. She kept reminding herself she was never going to get a man at this rate, that it was hardly becoming to be the goddess with the biggest thighs (Demeter didn’t count: only she could pull off that “earth mother” look).
She’d just wanted to watch the World Portal for a little while. But the events of the mortal plane left her with little recourse but comfort eating.
“It’s all so depressing,” Hestia sighed, picking up another bonbon. “Why can’t they all just get along?” The problem with being so warm-hearted was she just wanted everybody to be happy, and it seemed like no one ever was.
Her fellow deities were no good for commiseration, either. Most of them thought she spent too much time watching the World Portal, and the others were no help at all.
Aphrodite whined that hunky Lee Adama never got enough to do, it was terrible Samuel T. Anders had turned out to be a Cylon, and there was never enough sex. Ares complained that there weren’t enough things getting blown up. The Muses kept writing stories where everyone either had babies, committed suicide, or randomly started dancing and singing.
And the rest of their family thought she had the problem.
It didn’t help either that Hestia was naturally inclined to root for underdogs, those overlooked individuals whose names no one could remember or that no one ever liked if they did. People the universe seemed most predisposed to rain on.
Hestia, dismally licking caramel from her teeth, catalogued her latest woes.
That Gaius Baltar, for example, was completely incapable of keeping out of trouble. He kept making everybody angry with him. (And this One God nonsense! Lucky it was incredibly difficult to build up a thunderbolt in space, or one of her family would’ve gotten him by now.) He seemed a nice enough boy at heart. If only he could just be convinced to settle down in a corner somewhere and keep quiet for awhile.
Oh, and that poor Felix Gaeta; there was someone who’d definitely never done anything to deserve such rotten luck! Not only was he over-worked and alone, but now this tragic business with his leg. He was in desperate need of some cheering up, that was for certain.
Well, Hestia figured she’d had enough. She wanted to do something. She just needed a plan.
She nibbled on a chocolate (quickly putting it back: marzipan) as she cast her eyes about for inspiration.
She stopped at a plaque mounted on the wall: a long slender rod of wood, above which was inscribed “The Staff of Actaeon” and below which was printed “Don’t touch!” in Artemis’ distinct handwriting.
Hestia beamed as she was hit with a divine epiphany.
“Well,” she demurred, in the midst of concocting her brilliant plan, “I always was her favorite aunt. I’m sure she’ll forgive me.”
_________
“…and it is there we shall reach eternal peace and salvation - even people like Laura Roslin, suppression of the voice of the minority through the power of the burgeoning aristocracy not-withstanding - because we are all beloved and equal in the eyes of God. There.” Gaius Baltar smirked as he finished his latest sermon, shutting off the recorder with a satisfied click. “That should do it.”
Straightening his robe and smoothing his hair, he pondered how many new acolytes this would bring to the movement. Mustn’t lose humility, he reminded himself. Alright, maybe only a hundred or so.
He reached for the door handle, thinking he’d seek out Tory or Tracey or Paulla, or maybe that redhead, what was her name-
“Hello, Gaius! Nice to finally meet you.”
He blinked, startled, as what he was certain had been empty air only moments before was suddenly filled with a widely-grinning woman in a beaded shawl.
“Ah, hello.” He composed himself, dipping his head in pious modesty. Awfully mousy, with a little more hip and less breast than he usually preferred, but he figured all were deserving of the path to enlightenment. “I’m in a bit of a hurry at the moment, terribly sorry, but whatever your prayers are I would be only too happy to hear them at our next meeting.”
“My prayers? Oh no, no.” She laughed warmly, very amused for some reason. “Trust me, I’m quite capable of answering my own.”
“I see.” Gaius tilted his chin archly, friendliness vanishing. “Well in that case, if you would be ever so kind as to get out of the way? I have important work to attend to.”
“Oh, I am so sorry Gaius,” she said sweetly, “but I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”
Gaius found himself strangely unable to move.
“Now then,” she continued, somehow uncomfortably reminding him of his mother, “you may go ahead and speak your last words as a human being.”
Gaius blinked again, befuddled. “Excuse me?”
She frowned at that, disenchanted. “I was expecting something a bit more eloquent, all considered. But, oh well.”
She was smiling again, positively giddy, as she raised something that looked rather like a magic wand. “Now, this won’t hurt a bit. I think.”
“Wait, wait just a-”
His protests cut off mid-word as she whapped him on the nose. His eyes crossed, and everything went all purple and sparkly.
The woman beamed warmly, hands on her knees as she looked down (wait, down?) at him.
“How precious! Oh, this is going to go even better than I hoped!”
_________
Felix Gaeta lay within the cramped confines of his infirmary bed, determinedly hating the world and everything in it.
His leg hurt like hell, there were tubes in his arms, and the only visitor he’d had since arriving days ago was Dee, and she’d only had enough time to give him a brief hug and a “Get well soon!” before being whisked back to the CIC.
He didn’t really want the whole ship nuked to oblivion by Cylons, taking him along with it, but at the moment it was kind of hard to believe. Maybe if they’d give him more morpha.
With a dismal sigh, he shifted slightly and tried to get comfortable enough to pass out for a nap.
“Good afternoon!”
He looked up at the sound of the cheerful voice, somewhat taken aback. Maybe he was on stronger painkillers than he’d thought, because normally he probably would’ve heard someone come in, especially a slightly overweight woman that smelled strongly of wood smoke and patchouli.
“If you’re looking for Cottle, he’s not here,” he said. “They needed him on another ship.”
“Oh no, not Cottle. I’m looking for you, Felix.”
She laughed musically, and suddenly dumped a small bundle of squirmy black fur into his lap. “Happy birthday!”
“Arf!” went the bundle, fretfully.
“I…what?” Felix’s mouth open and shut. “What? But I don’t even-? How do you-? Where did-?” He finally settled, senselessly: “My birthday is months away.”
“Well, early birthday, then.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Not that it really matters. I figure you could use a pick-me-up. Who wouldn’t want a puppy?”
“I don’t,” Felix protested. He wasn’t really a dog person. Besides, a pet didn’t belong on a battlestar and he was far too busy to take care of one.
But as the puppy whimpered, pawing hopefully at him as it looked up with wide, wide brown eyes, he suddenly had a hard time remembering all of that. He scratched its ears and it rolled over happily, tail wagging and wet nose snuffling his hand.
“See? I knew it’d work.” The woman beamed. “Just keep an eye on him; he has a real knack for trouble, the little scamp. Though you already know all about that.” She giggled, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I shouldn’t explain any further. Almost let the secret slip!”
“Are you high?” Felix wondered aloud, dazed, but there was no answer: the woman, he realized, had disappeared. “…Am I?”
The puppy, noticing the ear-scritches had stopped, made an impatient sound, pawing him again in demand for attention.
What the hell, Felix thought.
Probably it was all in his head but feeling the soft black fur and squirmy warmth, his new friend licking his face in thanks as Felix rubbed his belly, he thought his leg hurt a lot less.
(And somewhere on Olympus, a goddess was helping herself an extra large bowl of fudge ripple ice cream in immense self-satisfaction.)
Title: Goddesses Can Be Fangirls Too
Characters: Baltar, Gaeta, various Olympic deities
Spoilers: brief reference to 4x06, "Faith"
Length: 1,420 words
Note: The answer to the question I'm sure somebody is going to invariably ask is miniature Schnauzer.
Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home and most over-looked member of the pantheon, had ruined her diet yet again.
It really was unfair. She kept reminding herself she was never going to get a man at this rate, that it was hardly becoming to be the goddess with the biggest thighs (Demeter didn’t count: only she could pull off that “earth mother” look).
She’d just wanted to watch the World Portal for a little while. But the events of the mortal plane left her with little recourse but comfort eating.
“It’s all so depressing,” Hestia sighed, picking up another bonbon. “Why can’t they all just get along?” The problem with being so warm-hearted was she just wanted everybody to be happy, and it seemed like no one ever was.
Her fellow deities were no good for commiseration, either. Most of them thought she spent too much time watching the World Portal, and the others were no help at all.
Aphrodite whined that hunky Lee Adama never got enough to do, it was terrible Samuel T. Anders had turned out to be a Cylon, and there was never enough sex. Ares complained that there weren’t enough things getting blown up. The Muses kept writing stories where everyone either had babies, committed suicide, or randomly started dancing and singing.
And the rest of their family thought she had the problem.
It didn’t help either that Hestia was naturally inclined to root for underdogs, those overlooked individuals whose names no one could remember or that no one ever liked if they did. People the universe seemed most predisposed to rain on.
Hestia, dismally licking caramel from her teeth, catalogued her latest woes.
That Gaius Baltar, for example, was completely incapable of keeping out of trouble. He kept making everybody angry with him. (And this One God nonsense! Lucky it was incredibly difficult to build up a thunderbolt in space, or one of her family would’ve gotten him by now.) He seemed a nice enough boy at heart. If only he could just be convinced to settle down in a corner somewhere and keep quiet for awhile.
Oh, and that poor Felix Gaeta; there was someone who’d definitely never done anything to deserve such rotten luck! Not only was he over-worked and alone, but now this tragic business with his leg. He was in desperate need of some cheering up, that was for certain.
Well, Hestia figured she’d had enough. She wanted to do something. She just needed a plan.
She nibbled on a chocolate (quickly putting it back: marzipan) as she cast her eyes about for inspiration.
She stopped at a plaque mounted on the wall: a long slender rod of wood, above which was inscribed “The Staff of Actaeon” and below which was printed “Don’t touch!” in Artemis’ distinct handwriting.
Hestia beamed as she was hit with a divine epiphany.
“Well,” she demurred, in the midst of concocting her brilliant plan, “I always was her favorite aunt. I’m sure she’ll forgive me.”
_________
“…and it is there we shall reach eternal peace and salvation - even people like Laura Roslin, suppression of the voice of the minority through the power of the burgeoning aristocracy not-withstanding - because we are all beloved and equal in the eyes of God. There.” Gaius Baltar smirked as he finished his latest sermon, shutting off the recorder with a satisfied click. “That should do it.”
Straightening his robe and smoothing his hair, he pondered how many new acolytes this would bring to the movement. Mustn’t lose humility, he reminded himself. Alright, maybe only a hundred or so.
He reached for the door handle, thinking he’d seek out Tory or Tracey or Paulla, or maybe that redhead, what was her name-
“Hello, Gaius! Nice to finally meet you.”
He blinked, startled, as what he was certain had been empty air only moments before was suddenly filled with a widely-grinning woman in a beaded shawl.
“Ah, hello.” He composed himself, dipping his head in pious modesty. Awfully mousy, with a little more hip and less breast than he usually preferred, but he figured all were deserving of the path to enlightenment. “I’m in a bit of a hurry at the moment, terribly sorry, but whatever your prayers are I would be only too happy to hear them at our next meeting.”
“My prayers? Oh no, no.” She laughed warmly, very amused for some reason. “Trust me, I’m quite capable of answering my own.”
“I see.” Gaius tilted his chin archly, friendliness vanishing. “Well in that case, if you would be ever so kind as to get out of the way? I have important work to attend to.”
“Oh, I am so sorry Gaius,” she said sweetly, “but I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”
Gaius found himself strangely unable to move.
“Now then,” she continued, somehow uncomfortably reminding him of his mother, “you may go ahead and speak your last words as a human being.”
Gaius blinked again, befuddled. “Excuse me?”
She frowned at that, disenchanted. “I was expecting something a bit more eloquent, all considered. But, oh well.”
She was smiling again, positively giddy, as she raised something that looked rather like a magic wand. “Now, this won’t hurt a bit. I think.”
“Wait, wait just a-”
His protests cut off mid-word as she whapped him on the nose. His eyes crossed, and everything went all purple and sparkly.
The woman beamed warmly, hands on her knees as she looked down (wait, down?) at him.
“How precious! Oh, this is going to go even better than I hoped!”
_________
Felix Gaeta lay within the cramped confines of his infirmary bed, determinedly hating the world and everything in it.
His leg hurt like hell, there were tubes in his arms, and the only visitor he’d had since arriving days ago was Dee, and she’d only had enough time to give him a brief hug and a “Get well soon!” before being whisked back to the CIC.
He didn’t really want the whole ship nuked to oblivion by Cylons, taking him along with it, but at the moment it was kind of hard to believe. Maybe if they’d give him more morpha.
With a dismal sigh, he shifted slightly and tried to get comfortable enough to pass out for a nap.
“Good afternoon!”
He looked up at the sound of the cheerful voice, somewhat taken aback. Maybe he was on stronger painkillers than he’d thought, because normally he probably would’ve heard someone come in, especially a slightly overweight woman that smelled strongly of wood smoke and patchouli.
“If you’re looking for Cottle, he’s not here,” he said. “They needed him on another ship.”
“Oh no, not Cottle. I’m looking for you, Felix.”
She laughed musically, and suddenly dumped a small bundle of squirmy black fur into his lap. “Happy birthday!”
“Arf!” went the bundle, fretfully.
“I…what?” Felix’s mouth open and shut. “What? But I don’t even-? How do you-? Where did-?” He finally settled, senselessly: “My birthday is months away.”
“Well, early birthday, then.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Not that it really matters. I figure you could use a pick-me-up. Who wouldn’t want a puppy?”
“I don’t,” Felix protested. He wasn’t really a dog person. Besides, a pet didn’t belong on a battlestar and he was far too busy to take care of one.
But as the puppy whimpered, pawing hopefully at him as it looked up with wide, wide brown eyes, he suddenly had a hard time remembering all of that. He scratched its ears and it rolled over happily, tail wagging and wet nose snuffling his hand.
“See? I knew it’d work.” The woman beamed. “Just keep an eye on him; he has a real knack for trouble, the little scamp. Though you already know all about that.” She giggled, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I shouldn’t explain any further. Almost let the secret slip!”
“Are you high?” Felix wondered aloud, dazed, but there was no answer: the woman, he realized, had disappeared. “…Am I?”
The puppy, noticing the ear-scritches had stopped, made an impatient sound, pawing him again in demand for attention.
What the hell, Felix thought.
Probably it was all in his head but feeling the soft black fur and squirmy warmth, his new friend licking his face in thanks as Felix rubbed his belly, he thought his leg hurt a lot less.
(And somewhere on Olympus, a goddess was helping herself an extra large bowl of fudge ripple ice cream in immense self-satisfaction.)