Not yet dead...
Yay! Looks like I'm working myself into breaking the radio silence, at last. My brain is off vacation (fandom-wise, that is), and is supplying the most unexpected (or most anticipated? huh?) stuff by way of operating.
For once, I've just recetnly treaded toe-dip into the 'Supernatural' 'verse [am not sure I'm yet on board completely, though I'm never the one to turn away from a hefty load of reasonably hot guys enthralled into angsty, affectionate, tormented, transcendent brotherhood with a side helping of a dysfunctional father-son thing, tangled into some epic/cosmic/metaphysical screwed-up mytharc along the way] and am now bemused as to pondering the viability of a cross-over fic with Lee Adama and season-6 Dean Winchester having a bar brawl and ending up sharing a beer and a heart-to-heart on being a Brother, a Son, a Husband and making it through various permutations of the Apocalypse. BSG has a way of doing queer things to my brain...
In the meantime, a little (weirdo somewhat, as usual) BSG drabble to break the latest installment of writer's block.
As ever, the subtle transition of Lee Adama's and Dee's mutual appeal, through alleged 'break-up' in 'Black Market' and into a full-tilt relationship by the end of season 2 compels me to no end. The way it is deductible from the show narrative, Lee's flashbacks of the abandoned pregnant girlfriend were, apparently, triggered by the growing attraction to Dee on the one hand (one of their woefully deleted scenes nails that transfusion perfectly) and his iron-cast conviction of being an irrevocable frak-up, on the other. The recently transpired incident with Cain's near assasination, plunging him into the deepest depressive spin, happening to be handily instrumental to the latter.
So what do we get? Lee gets aware of a building angst-free attraction to a nice, supportive, no-nonsense, pretty girl. The memory might stir of him once having looked forward to a healthy lifelong relationship akin to that. Pegasus arrives and things go south at FTL speed. Lee is convinced in the total, cosmic frak-uppedness of the universe. To the point he considers not going on living any more. The flashbacks (usual companions to depression, from what I've heard) get more prominent, highlighting the notion that he is the one no less frakked-up, than the world around. He did something despicable and ruined the thing he clearly treasured - freaked out and pushed the girl he loved away, showing his 'true' colors. Which incidentally makes him retroactively undeserving of the said girl. To the point it's easier to discard the actual depth of emotion, for it's just too horrifying to embrace the fact that he's capable of hurting/betraying someone, he holds dear, that fundamentally.
So, if a 'deceitful', 'dishonorable' jerk like himself was able to commit an atrocity like that once, there's no guarantee he wouldn't go for a repeat performance - so it's safer to preemptively run the other way from another girl he doesn't deserve anyway, than to drag her into the darkness where his wallowing, disillusioned, nihilistic self resides for the time being. Never mind it clearly hurts him doing so. 'Suffering is good for the soul' (c).
Incidentally, the above considerations also make for seeking solace and indulgence in the company of someone he - the 'treaturous, dishonorable, despicable frak-up' - deems himself deserving of by extention or by default (namely, the *hooker* Shevon and later, Starbuck).
Set sometime in between 'Flight of the Phoenix' and the 'Pegasus' arc, season two.
Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot-points inherent to the show, belong to me.
Horizontally wakeful*
Asleep, he shifted quietly, stretching beneath the covers. It was barely dawn, timid yet Caprican sun just ever so peering into his apartment. He ventured a content sigh, exerting the ample fulfillment of the night all the way though his muscles and skin, and every cavity, his whole body tingling keenly in remembrance. His fuzzy mind stumbled instantly onto the ring he had stashed in the drawer. Hopefully, he'd got the size right.
His lips tugged upward into an amused grin on their own accord, as they so often would, lately. He wanted it happening. Trusted her to make it happen for real. To make it work. He was the happiest he'd ever could recall, and thoroughly stupefied by the latter, to say the least. He felt her stir by his side, snuggling deeper into his embrace in a supple, well-practiced move, as he kept smiling, allowing the heady ebb of elation and a kind of tranquility to lull him back to sleep. Asleep, he dreamt of drifting into early morning slumber, arms full of Anastasia Dualla…
Awake, he could all but smirk at his lack of bewilderment. And for the record, no, he'd never seen Dee completely naked, but his subconscious mind seemed to be making one Hades of an educated guess. Not that he was the one to complain. Otherwise, he could pride himself into having done a spectacular job rationalizing the blatant futility and downright atrocity of sparing a single stray moment of the busy CAG's schedule pondering whatever cryptic messages his twisted psyche was on to delivering. Right up to when Gianne made an appearance - front and center, hair ruffled by the soft gusts of wind, shimmering in the blazing Caprican afternoon, like a halo - as he was wide awake. Eyes trained on him, hurt, betrayal, disbelief overflowing by way of silent tears.
That was the first time he skipped the self-defense class. The first time he withdrew from falling in stride with Petty Officer Second Class Dualla in the hallway he'd somehow arrived at considering 'theirs' through the past months, whatever brand of sappy nonsense that was supposed to mean. The first time his mind supplied a coherent enough vow he was not going through that again. He wasn't living through having frakked up that completely. He wasn't taking that kind of gaze any more, witnessing his own reflection crumble to dust within the eyes prying too deep, disillusioned too irrevocably. He just wouldn't make it the second time around, as simple as that.
The looks Dee was endowing him with were curious for now. Mildly concerned, perhaps. Inquisitive at times. Glimmering at many others. But that was the first time he could picture her stares arriving, eventually, at what the apocalypse made him forget to be dreading most - raw, uninhibited horror at the callous, screwed-up jerk he had an undeniable knack of pulling. If, maybe, he could rule out dreaming, the welcoming, serene appeal of the route he envisioned them both taking to quite inevitable ground zero, wouldn't gnaw that sorely within his chest. If only he could rule out dreaming.
*Cf. 'The Daring Young Man on a Flying Trapeze' by W. Saroyan.
For once, I've just recetnly treaded toe-dip into the 'Supernatural' 'verse [am not sure I'm yet on board completely, though I'm never the one to turn away from a hefty load of reasonably hot guys enthralled into angsty, affectionate, tormented, transcendent brotherhood with a side helping of a dysfunctional father-son thing, tangled into some epic/cosmic/metaphysical screwed-up mytharc along the way] and am now bemused as to pondering the viability of a cross-over fic with Lee Adama and season-6 Dean Winchester having a bar brawl and ending up sharing a beer and a heart-to-heart on being a Brother, a Son, a Husband and making it through various permutations of the Apocalypse. BSG has a way of doing queer things to my brain...
In the meantime, a little (weirdo somewhat, as usual) BSG drabble to break the latest installment of writer's block.
As ever, the subtle transition of Lee Adama's and Dee's mutual appeal, through alleged 'break-up' in 'Black Market' and into a full-tilt relationship by the end of season 2 compels me to no end. The way it is deductible from the show narrative, Lee's flashbacks of the abandoned pregnant girlfriend were, apparently, triggered by the growing attraction to Dee on the one hand (one of their woefully deleted scenes nails that transfusion perfectly) and his iron-cast conviction of being an irrevocable frak-up, on the other. The recently transpired incident with Cain's near assasination, plunging him into the deepest depressive spin, happening to be handily instrumental to the latter.
So what do we get? Lee gets aware of a building angst-free attraction to a nice, supportive, no-nonsense, pretty girl. The memory might stir of him once having looked forward to a healthy lifelong relationship akin to that. Pegasus arrives and things go south at FTL speed. Lee is convinced in the total, cosmic frak-uppedness of the universe. To the point he considers not going on living any more. The flashbacks (usual companions to depression, from what I've heard) get more prominent, highlighting the notion that he is the one no less frakked-up, than the world around. He did something despicable and ruined the thing he clearly treasured - freaked out and pushed the girl he loved away, showing his 'true' colors. Which incidentally makes him retroactively undeserving of the said girl. To the point it's easier to discard the actual depth of emotion, for it's just too horrifying to embrace the fact that he's capable of hurting/betraying someone, he holds dear, that fundamentally.
So, if a 'deceitful', 'dishonorable' jerk like himself was able to commit an atrocity like that once, there's no guarantee he wouldn't go for a repeat performance - so it's safer to preemptively run the other way from another girl he doesn't deserve anyway, than to drag her into the darkness where his wallowing, disillusioned, nihilistic self resides for the time being. Never mind it clearly hurts him doing so. 'Suffering is good for the soul' (c).
Incidentally, the above considerations also make for seeking solace and indulgence in the company of someone he - the 'treaturous, dishonorable, despicable frak-up' - deems himself deserving of by extention or by default (namely, the *hooker* Shevon and later, Starbuck).
Set sometime in between 'Flight of the Phoenix' and the 'Pegasus' arc, season two.
Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot-points inherent to the show, belong to me.
Horizontally wakeful*
Asleep, he shifted quietly, stretching beneath the covers. It was barely dawn, timid yet Caprican sun just ever so peering into his apartment. He ventured a content sigh, exerting the ample fulfillment of the night all the way though his muscles and skin, and every cavity, his whole body tingling keenly in remembrance. His fuzzy mind stumbled instantly onto the ring he had stashed in the drawer. Hopefully, he'd got the size right.
His lips tugged upward into an amused grin on their own accord, as they so often would, lately. He wanted it happening. Trusted her to make it happen for real. To make it work. He was the happiest he'd ever could recall, and thoroughly stupefied by the latter, to say the least. He felt her stir by his side, snuggling deeper into his embrace in a supple, well-practiced move, as he kept smiling, allowing the heady ebb of elation and a kind of tranquility to lull him back to sleep. Asleep, he dreamt of drifting into early morning slumber, arms full of Anastasia Dualla…
Awake, he could all but smirk at his lack of bewilderment. And for the record, no, he'd never seen Dee completely naked, but his subconscious mind seemed to be making one Hades of an educated guess. Not that he was the one to complain. Otherwise, he could pride himself into having done a spectacular job rationalizing the blatant futility and downright atrocity of sparing a single stray moment of the busy CAG's schedule pondering whatever cryptic messages his twisted psyche was on to delivering. Right up to when Gianne made an appearance - front and center, hair ruffled by the soft gusts of wind, shimmering in the blazing Caprican afternoon, like a halo - as he was wide awake. Eyes trained on him, hurt, betrayal, disbelief overflowing by way of silent tears.
That was the first time he skipped the self-defense class. The first time he withdrew from falling in stride with Petty Officer Second Class Dualla in the hallway he'd somehow arrived at considering 'theirs' through the past months, whatever brand of sappy nonsense that was supposed to mean. The first time his mind supplied a coherent enough vow he was not going through that again. He wasn't living through having frakked up that completely. He wasn't taking that kind of gaze any more, witnessing his own reflection crumble to dust within the eyes prying too deep, disillusioned too irrevocably. He just wouldn't make it the second time around, as simple as that.
The looks Dee was endowing him with were curious for now. Mildly concerned, perhaps. Inquisitive at times. Glimmering at many others. But that was the first time he could picture her stares arriving, eventually, at what the apocalypse made him forget to be dreading most - raw, uninhibited horror at the callous, screwed-up jerk he had an undeniable knack of pulling. If, maybe, he could rule out dreaming, the welcoming, serene appeal of the route he envisioned them both taking to quite inevitable ground zero, wouldn't gnaw that sorely within his chest. If only he could rule out dreaming.
*Cf. 'The Daring Young Man on a Flying Trapeze' by W. Saroyan.