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.

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.

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. 

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

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.

‘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.

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

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.