#tng fic

[revolutionsoftheheart]

“We ended our relationship—” “Our romantic relationship. For the… the fifth time.” Five times Jean-Luc and Beverly tried to make it work.

[read five on ao3]

[seaphoam-writes]

A Father's Duty (37/?)

A Father's Duty on AO3

Summary: An encounter with a quantum fissure leaves Picard with more responsibility than he asked for, but he'll do what he always does—his duty.

Chapter 37

Logically, Beverly knows that no one she passes in the corridor could possibly know where she’s going, but she still feels rather conspicuous as she walks to Jean-Luc’s quarters, practically floating along, buoyed by her hopes for where the evening might end up.

When Jean-Luc cancelled dessert, she guessed something must have happened with Louis. Despite her request to be informed when Louis fell asleep, she wasn’t certain Jean-Luc would ask her to come over. Nevertheless, she watched the clock, growing more and more restless as the hours passed. When his message finally came, Beverly leapt from her chair, nearly forgetting to reply.

She reaches Jean-Luc’s quarters and goes to the door farthest from Louis’s bedroom. She knocks lightly and waits, smoothing first her hair, then her sweater. She’s just about to knock again, thinking she must have done it too quietly the first time, when the door slides open.

Most of Jean-Luc’s casual shirts are v-neck blouses that show off just enough of his chest to confirm a toned physique, but the one he’s wearing now is her favorite; it’s teal, and it gives his grey eyes a greenish hue that she finds appealing.

“Can I come in?” she asks—with a bit more of a purr in her tone than she intended, given that she doesn’t know what exactly happened with Louis and therefore doesn’t actually know what sort of visit this might me, regardless of her hopes.

His gaze rakes her from head to toe before he meets her eyes and smiles. “Of course.”

He moves aside so she can enter, and as she sweeps past him she notices that, while his smile is wide enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes, it seems strained, and his clothes are uncharacteristically…rumpled.

There are two glasses of wine on the coffee table, so Beverly crosses to the couch and sits down. Jean-Luc sits next to her, body angled so that their knees touch. Beverly reaches over and lays her hand on the knee resting against her own.

“Is Louis okay?”

Jean-Luc lets out a deep breath. “It’s been a long day.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitates, seemingly considering it, then shakes his head. “I don’t want to ruin your mood. Or the evening.”

Which suggests that he wants a distraction.

And yet, she pushes.

“Jean-Luc.” It’s sharp enough for him to quickly snap his gaze to hers. “I’m here to listen. That’s what friends are for.”

“Is that all we are? Friends?” He raises an eyebrow. It’s teasing—his tone is teasing—but the way he swallows, the way his eyes flick back and forth between hers, is fragile.

“Well, I’m hoping we’re becoming more than friends”—she raises her own eyebrow challengingly— “but that’s what we’re still working out, isn’t it?”

She expects him to continue this cautious yet playful little dance they’re doing, but instead he’s suddenly serious.

“Are we foolish for even attempting this?”

No, she thinks defiantly.

She’s willing to move forward as slowly as Jean-Luc needs, but she absolutely refuses to go backwards, to let him retreat.

Beverly knows this might not work out—and that would be painful, but she can’t imagine Jean-Luc doing something to purposely hurt her that would make her not want to remain his friend. It would be awkward, naturally, and it would take time to learn how to be friends again after being lovers—and Beverly very much intends for them to be lovers—but if Will and Deanna can do it, Beverly believes she and Jean-Luc could too.

“I don’t think what we’re doing is foolish,” she says. “I think we were foolish for letting our fears hold us back for so long.”

She lifts her hand to his face, cupping his cheek. He leans into her touch, his eyes closing and his features smoothing out, the strain she witnessed earlier draining away. Gently, she strokes his cheekbone with her thumb. “If it’s too difficult for you right now to balance us and Louis, we can—”

His eyes fly open. “No.” His gaze is steady. “That’s not what I want.”

“Then what do you want?”

His lips part, but before he can speak, there’s a sound from Louis’s room—a quiet, pained moan. Jean-Luc is up and moving immediately. Beverly almost follows but remembers herself at the last moment and remains on the couch.

Louis may like her, but she’s not his parent; Jean-Luc is. Jean-Luc is his father and his safe place and the only thing he needs to see when waking up scared and confused from a nightmare.

That knowledge doesn’t stop the longing. She misses being needed the way Louis needs Jean-Luc. She misses having someone to take care of like that. She misses Wesley. She misses being a mother.

(She’s obviously still a mother, but it’s different when your child’s an adult.)

To distract herself from the longing, she sips her wine. Half of her attention is on Jean-Luc’s voice in Louis’s room—low and soothing—and the rest of her attention wanders the room, snagging on two items that are very out of place: a set of thin rectangular blocks that must be for building, and a marble maze.

That explains why Jean-Luc’s clothes are rumpled.

Beverly grins and tries to imagine him sprawled on the floor with Louis, building some elaborate castle with the blocks, or racing marbles. Whenever Jack played with Wesley, it was like he became a boy again himself. It’s hard to picture Jean-Luc being boyish.

She’s still grinning when Jean-Luc emerges from Louis’s room. He returns to the couch and lifts his wine glass from the table.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs before taking a sip.

“You don’t have to apologize.” Beverly readjusts, moving until their knees are once again touching. “Bad dream?”

Jean-Luc nods tiredly, shoulders slumping.

“Tell me what happened today,” she prompts softly.

He hesitates again. Beverly waits. Maybe she shouldn’t push. Maybe she should just give him the distraction he seems to want…

But then Jean-Luc takes a deep breath, takes another sip of wine, and proceeds to tell her about the holodeck, about Louis’s request that they eat dinner alone in their quarters.

“I think I may have pushed him into some things too soon,” Jean-Luc admits. “I thought a sense of normalcy would help, but I don’t think he was ready.”

Beverly’s heart clenches and she finds herself squeezing Jean-Luc’s forearm reassuringly; she knows returning to duty as soon as he was allowed is what helped him move on from both his assimilation and his week of torture, but Louis is just a boy, and he has more than one singular traumatic event to overcome—he has several years’ worth of them.

“You should take more time off,” Beverly advises.

Jean-Luc nods. “I will.”

He sips his wine but remains turned away, withdrawn.

“There’s something else,” Beverly says. “Something else is weighing on you.”

Jean-Luc smiles lopsidedly at being caught out, but stares at his glass for a long moment before answering. “I watched the other Data’s logs today.”

Oh.

“Worse than you expected?” she asks.

He nods again. “He suffered, Beverly. And I—I feel as if…” He trails off, grimaces. “I feel as if I should be suffering too. For not being there for him. For…being the one that caused it.”

“You didn’t cause it, Jean-Luc. And neither did the other you.”

Jean-Luc lets a breath out through his nose that sounds distinctly like disagreement—he still blames himself for what the Borg did through him, he’s still ashamed that he wasn’t able to resist them.

Stubborn, prideful man.

Abruptly, he shakes his head and turns towards her. “I’m sorry, this isn’t how I imagined the evening going. I’m not being very good company right now.”

She offers him a soft smile. “It’s alright. This is what being together is supposed to be like—sharing the good and the bad.”

She’s treated to another raised eyebrow and a teasing, “So we’re…together?”

Beverly flushes at her choice of words. They’re not anything yet. They opened a door, but they’ve yet to walk through it. This is only the threshold, and it’s going to take more than some kissing—delightful as it is—to determine what they are, to push this past the physical, past giving into their lust for each other.

But that will take time, and right now Beverly very much wants to give in to that lust. So she curves her lips into a coy smile.

“Aren’t we?” she asks. “Unless I’m mistaken, we both told each other last night that we” –she can’t make herself utter the word love— “have feelings for each other. And then we—”

“I remember.”

His voice is low and gravelly, his gaze sharp. There’s suddenly a tautness in the air between them, exactly like last night, exactly like that afternoon in sick bay. Beverly’s pulse quickens, and her skin warms in anticipation.

“Jean-Luc, I need you to be honest with me.”

“Always.”

“I need to know if what you want right now is to talk, or to be distracted.”

“You are not a distraction.”

“You know what I mean.”

He breathes in slowly, eyes locked on hers. “Right now, I would very much like to be with you, and to save the discussion concerning what happened to my son and what I’m going to do about it for a time when I do not feel so overwhelmed by it.”

Beverly nods. “Okay.”

He takes it for the permission it is and leans in to kiss her.

-/-

Picard’s worries melt away the instant his lips meet Beverly’s, but no sooner has he slid his hand along her jaw—coaxing her to tilt her chin back, change the angle of their kiss, deepen it—than he hears Louis cry out.

The sound pierces his soul.

He draws back, swipes his thumb against Beverly’s cheek apologetically. “Perhaps now isn’t the best time after all.”

He tries to remove his hand, but she covers it with her own, holding it in place.

“It might be a long night,” she says. “Why don’t I stay and keep you company?”

He grins, and presses another swift kiss to her lips before rising to go to Louis.

[misfit-mania-the-first]

Look, if you don’t hear from me until three months down the line

It’s because I found either DS9, TNG, Voyager, or all three for cheap at a secondhand store and have dived headfirst into oc fanfic creation on ao3

[wes-deactivate]

Title: Star Track: The Next Acceleration - "Race Through Time"

A detailed screenplay of an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, set in the cinematic universe of Pixar's Cars franchise. When a character appears, give a brief description of their Cars persona. Create puns of the original characters' names to name the Cars equivalent.

Teaser:

In the vastness of space, the starship Entreprise-95 cruises through the galaxy, captained by Jean-Luc Pickard, a sleek, silver sports car with a confident and wise air. This vessel carries a crew of unique vehicles from all corners of the universe, seeking out new life and new civilizations, boldly going where no car has gone before.

ACT I

EXT. SPACE - THE ENTREPRISE-95

The Entreprise-95 glides gracefully through space, its engine hums as it sails into the cosmic unknown.

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE

The bridge is filled with the crew working diligently at their stations.

At the helm is Wheeliam T. Riker, a tall, blue SUV with broad shoulders and a well-groomed front grille. He is the dependable, cool-headed First Officer.

Next to him is Dataway, an advanced android car with a sleek, streamlined body and a metallic gold paint job. He is the ship's Operations Officer and is known for his incredible intelligence and curiosity about the human experience.

At the tactical station stands Worfshift, a powerful, black and red muscle car with a Klingon heritage. He has a fierce exterior and sports a custom grille designed to resemble a Klingon warrior's armor.

Tiresly Crusher, the ship's Medical Officer, is a stylish red convertible with a brilliant mind and a compassionate heart. She's attending to the health of the crew while maintaining her charm.

At the communications station, we see Geordi LaForge GT, an innovative, yellow sports car with futuristic, high-tech visor that grants him unparalleled vision. He is the ship's Chief Engineer and an expert in all things mechanical.

In the captain's chair sits Jean-Luc Pickard, a sleek, silver sports car with a confident and wise air. He commands the ship and crew with unmatched grace and diplomacy.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

(voiceover)

Captain's log, stardate 47318.2. We are en route to the Felisian System to investigate reports of a temporal anomaly. Starfleet has ordered us to determine its origins and assess any potential threat to the quadrant.

Suddenly, the ship jolts, and the crew braces for impact.

WORFSHIFT

Captain, we've been hit by an unknown energy wave.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

Status report!

DATAWAY

Sensors indicate that the energy wave is a temporal distortion, similar to the anomaly we are investigating.

GEORDI LAFORGE GT

Captain, the wave has caused significant damage to our warp drive. We're currently running on impulse power.

TIRESLY CRUSHER

I'm picking up multiple injuries throughout the ship. We need to attend to them immediately.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

Understood, Doctor. Dataway, begin analyzing the energy wave. We need to determine its origin and how to protect the ship from any further damage. Worfshift, assist the doctor with the injured crew members. Geordi, repair the warp drive as quickly as possible.

The crew quickly gets to work, each attending to their tasks. The ship is under immense pressure as they attempt to unravel the mystery of the temporal anomaly.

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - SICKBAY

Tiresly Crusher and Worfshift work tirelessly to treat the injured crew. Among the injured is Deanna Troicar, the ship's Counselor, and a sleek, purple luxury vehicle. She has an empathic ability, which allows her to sense the emotions of others.

WORFSHIFT

Counselor Troicar, are you alright?

DEANNA TROICAR

I'll be fine, Worfshift. But I can sense that the crew is on edge. The energy wave has affected more than just the ship.

WORFSHIFT

We must stay focused on our tasks. We will get through this.

DEANNA TROICAR

You're right. We need to stay strong and united.

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - ENGINEERING

Geordi LaForge GT and his team of engineers work diligently to repair the warp drive. Sparks fly and engines whirr as they race against time to restore the ship's capabilities.

GEORDI LAFORGE GT

(over communicator)

Captain, we've managed to repair the warp drive, but it's going to take some time before we can safely engage it.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

(over communicator)

Understood, Geordi. Keep me informed of your progress.

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE

Dataway continues his analysis of the energy wave, while the rest of the crew maintains their stations, awaiting further instructions.

DATAWAY

Captain, I have completed my analysis of the energy wave. It appears to have originated from a nearby star system. The temporal distortions are consistent with the use of a highly advanced time-travel technology.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

Could this be connected to the anomaly we were sent to investigate?

DATAWAY

It is highly probable, Captain. The energy signatures are nearly identical.

WHEELIAM T. RIKER

If this is a result of time-travel technology, we may be dealing with a highly advanced civilization. We should proceed with caution.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

Agreed. Set a course for the star system, Mr. Riker. We'll continue our investigation there.

As the Entreprise-95 slowly makes its way towards the mysterious star system, the crew braces for the unknown, uncertain of what lies ahead in their race through time.

——

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIEFING ROOM

The senior crew members gather around a table, where a holographic projection of the star system is displayed. Each character is equipped with specialized tools that extend from their bodies, allowing them to interact with the environment around them.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

We must be prepared for the possibility that the civilization responsible for these time distortions may not be friendly. It's crucial that we approach this situation with caution and diplomacy.

DATAWAY

Captain, I have analyzed the star system's composition, and I have detected a planet rich in a rare energy source called "Chronofuel." This element could be the key to their time-travel technology.

GEORDI LAFORGE GT

That's fascinating, Dataway. If we could study this Chronofuel, it might help us better understand the time distortions and how to counteract their effects on our systems.

TIRESLY CRUSHER

We should also be cautious of any potential side effects of Chronofuel exposure on our crew. I'll run some simulations in the sickbay to prepare for any medical emergencies.

WHEELIAM T. RIKER

We'll need to establish contact with the inhabitants of this star system. Their knowledge of time travel could be invaluable to Starfleet.

DEANNA TROICAR

I agree, but we must also remember that they may not be receptive to our presence. As empathic vehicles, we should be ready to navigate any tense situations that may arise.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

Very well. Let's proceed with caution and open communication. Dataway, can you establish a connection with the planet's inhabitants?

DATAWAY

I will attempt to do so, Captain.

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE

Dataway sends out a transmission to the planet, while the crew awaits a response. A video screen on the bridge flickers to life, revealing a group of vehicles unlike any they've seen before. Their designs are intricate, and they exude an air of wisdom and advanced technology.

ALIEN LEADER

(voice distorted)

Greetings, travelers. We are the Chrononauts, the guardians of the Chronofuel. What brings you to our corner of the universe?

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

Greetings, Chrononauts. We come in peace, seeking to better understand the time distortions that have been affecting our ship and crew. We believe your knowledge of Chronofuel and time-travel technology may be of assistance.

ALIEN LEADER

We understand your plight. However, our technology is highly classified and protected. We must first evaluate your intentions and character before we can consider offering our assistance.

The crew exchanges glances, aware of the challenge that lies ahead. With their journey taking a twist into the unknown, they must prove their worth to the Chrononauts in order to unlock the secrets of Chronofuel and ensure the safety of the Entreprise-95.

——

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

Very well, Chrononauts. We are willing to cooperate with your evaluation. We have nothing to hide and seek only to ensure the safety of our crew and other civilizations that may be affected by these time distortions.

ALIEN LEADER

We appreciate your willingness to cooperate. We will send a delegation to your ship to begin the evaluation process.

The transmission ends, and the crew prepares to receive the Chrononaut delegation.

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - OBSERVATION LOUNGE

Captain Pickard and his crew await the arrival of the Chrononaut delegation. The doors hiss open, and a group of majestic alien vehicles enters the room. The crew exchanges formal introductions with the Chrononauts, who appear intrigued by the Entreprise-95 crew.

To break the ice and build rapport with their guests, Captain Pickard decides to share a rare, vintage bottle of WD-40 he has been saving for a special occasion.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

(gesturing to the bottle)

In the spirit of friendship and cooperation, I would like to share a fine vintage of WD-40 with our esteemed guests. This particular blend is known for its exquisite lubricating qualities and smooth finish.

ALIEN LEADER

(pleasantly surprised)

We are familiar with WD-40 and appreciate your gesture, Captain. It is not often we come across such a refined vintage.

As the WD-40 is served to the guests, the mood in the room becomes lighter, and the Chrononauts begin to relax. The crew engages in conversation with the alien vehicles, sharing stories and experiences from their adventures in space.

Meanwhile, Tiresly Crusher closely monitors the interaction, ensuring that the WD-40 does not have any adverse effects on the crew or their guests.

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - ENGINEERING

While the meeting takes place, Geordi LaForge GT and Dataway work on analyzing the Chronofuel energy signatures. They hope to gain insight into how the technology works and possibly develop a way to counteract the time distortions.

DATAWAY

Geordi, I believe I have discovered a pattern in the energy signatures. If we can replicate this pattern, we may be able to create a stabilizing field around the Entreprise-95.

GEORDI LAFORGE GT

That's excellent news, Dataway. Let's get to work on building a prototype.

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - OBSERVATION LOUNGE

As the evening progresses, the crew and the Chrononauts develop a mutual respect and understanding. The Chrononauts are impressed by the integrity and dedication of the Entreprise-95 crew and ultimately decide to offer their assistance.

ALIEN LEADER

Captain Pickard, we have come to a decision. We are willing to share our knowledge of Chronofuel with you and help you counteract the time distortions affecting your ship.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

Thank you, esteemed Chrononauts. We are grateful for your trust and assistance. Together, we can ensure the safety and well-being of countless civilizations throughout the galaxy.

With the alliance forged, the crew of the Entreprise-95 and the Chrononauts work together to unlock the secrets of Chronofuel and protect the galaxy from the perils of time distortion.

——

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE

As the crew and the Chrononauts work together, an urgent alarm sounds, and the crew rushes to the bridge. The viewscreen displays an incoming transmission from an unknown source. The image flickers to life, revealing the Borg Queengine, a terrifying, cybernetic vehicle with an intricate network of mechanical and electronic components fused into her chassis.

BORG QUEENGINE

We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your vehicles. We will add your technological and vehicular distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile.

The crew exchanges looks of dread, recognizing the immense danger posed by the Borg.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

(to the Alien Leader)

The Borg are a relentless, assimilating force. They seek to consume all cultures and technologies in their path. We must stand together against them.

ALIEN LEADER

We understand the gravity of the situation, Captain. Our knowledge of Chronofuel may provide us with the means to counteract the Borg's advances.

WHEELIAM T. RIKER

We'll need every advantage we can get. The Borg are notoriously difficult to defeat.

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - ENGINEERING

Geordi LaForge GT and Dataway, now joined by a team of Chrononaut engineers, work feverishly to adapt the Chronofuel technology to create a defense against the Borg.

DATAWAY

If we can modify the Chronofuel to create a temporal distortion field around the Entreprise-95, it may disrupt the Borg's ability to adapt to our defenses.

GEORDI LAFORGE GT

It's risky, but it's our best shot. Let's get to work.

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE

As the crew prepares for the imminent confrontation with the Borg, Captain Pickard addresses his crew and the Chrononauts.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

The Borg have proven time and again that they are a formidable adversary. But today, we stand together, united in our pursuit of freedom and the preservation of our unique cultures. I have faith that we will overcome this challenge and emerge stronger than ever before.

With a renewed sense of determination, the crew of the Entreprise-95 and the Chrononauts work together to face the Borg Queengine, employing their combined knowledge and resources to protect their worlds from assimilation.

——

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - ENGINEERING

Geordi LaForge GT, Dataway, and the Chrononaut engineers finalize the modifications to the Entreprise-95's systems. They incorporate the Chronofuel technology to create a powerful temporal distortion field.

GEORDI LAFORGE GT

We've retrofitted the ship's axle arrays with Chronofuel injectors. Once activated, they will generate a high-frequency temporal distortion field around the Entreprise-95.

DATAWAY

Additionally, we have modified the ship's spark plug emitters to create a concentrated ignition pulse beam. This beam will be capable of disrupting the Borg's nanochip circuits, rendering their assimilation technology temporarily inoperative.

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE

The crew and Chrononauts man their stations as the Borg ship approaches. Captain Pickard gives the order to activate the temporal distortion field.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

Activate the temporal distortion field. Prepare to fire the ignition pulse beam on my command.

The Entreprise-95 shimmers as the distortion field envelops the ship. The Borg struggle to adapt to the rapidly fluctuating time distortions.

WORFSHIFT

The Borg are attempting to adapt, but our temporal distortion field is causing their systems to malfunction.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

Now's our chance. Fire the ignition pulse beam!

A brilliant beam of energy bursts from the Entreprise-95, striking the Borg ship. The beam penetrates the Borg's defenses, overloading their nanochip circuits.

INT. BORG SHIP - BORG QUEENGINE'S CHAMBER

The Borg Queengine writhes in distress as her connection to the collective is disrupted. Her mechanical components spark and malfunction.

BORG QUEENGINE

(weakly)

This is... impossible.

INT. ENTREPRISE-95 - BRIDGE

The crew watches as the Borg ship suffers critical damage, ultimately retreating from the battlefield.

DEANNA TROICAR

The Borg are disoriented and withdrawing, Captain. It appears we have succeeded.

JEAN-LUC PICKARD

This victory would not have been possible without the invaluable assistance of our Chrononaut allies. Our combined knowledge and determination have proven that unity can overcome even the most formidable adversaries.

ALIEN LEADER

We are honored to have fought alongside you, Captain Pickard. Your crew's courage and resilience have earned our deepest respect.

As the Borg threat dissipates, the crew of the Entreprise-95 and the Chrononauts celebrate their victory, knowing that their unity and collaboration have saved countless lives and civilizations. The stars await their next adventure, as they continue to explore the final frontier.

FADE OUT.

THE END

[mostly-natm]

Just two hardworking and professional Starfleet officers doing their duties with no funny business!

[hexcii]

Chapter 2: Customer service

You try to run, to move, to just look away, to do anything.

You remain motionless.

The realization dawns on you, not only did you attract the attention of one wretched beast, you attracted two.

Fae Sun/Moon x Disabled Witch!Y/N

This chapter gets posted along with art oooo aaaaa

Read chapter notes/tags for warnings

Word count: ~8,900

[wonkyplate]

pov youre a terminal that keeps acting up when the chief and second officer are on shift

[kenconffetti]

He wasn't mentally prepared 😭🙏🙏 (x)

[iswateredible]

there is not enough Picard fanart on the internet and I am fuming

so naturally I did a study

[wrathkitty]

Story/Series Masterlist

Hellooo! Thanks for stumbling onto this. My fandoms primarily are The Mandalorian and Star Trek: TNG, but there's also The Last of Us, Avengers, Portal 2, and The Good Place. I try to stick as closely to the original source material as possible, I know the canon and the characters, and probably throw in more Easter eggs and other blink-and-you'll-miss-it references than I should.

If you're one for strong and snarky Readers/OFCs (here there be swearing), slow burns (envision a glacier), angst (it's a good kind of pain), and humor (lulz), then this is probably a good place to come waste some time. 👻

* Current works in progress *

Short Debts Make Long Friends - (The Mandalorian; Din Djarin/Reader)

An over-educated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure. 1.6k kudos on Ao3. POV Mando and Reader.

Why Don't You Sit Right Down and Stay Awhile - One-shots from "Short Debts" that admittedly are the walking definition of 'crack treated seriously'

- Can Your Helmet Play Elevator Music? - Oh, This is Much Worse- ...It was a Custom Piece

Completed stories:

Hello, My Dear - (Star Trek: TNG; Reader/Q)

Stories of the life and times of Q and his mortal more-than-just-a-friend, Ensign Reader. Because being omnipotent doesn’t mean a thing when it comes to relationships. POV Q and Reader.

As Q Like It - One-shots from "Hello, My Dear," which primarily remain within in TNG but also wander into Voyager and other territories, but none beyond the Neutral Zone

- Shoo, Q! - TNG; Lower Decks; POV Ensign - Does the Other Party In This Scenario Go By Some Form of Epithet, Identification, or Nomenclature? - TNG; POV Data - You Have Three Choices - TNG; POV Q - That Wasn't the Actual Question - TNG; POV Reader - Do I Always Have to Have a Reason to Stop By? - TNG; POV Reader - I Haven't the Vaguest Idea of What You're Talking About - TNG, POV Q - Silver Q - Picard, POV Q

To My Brother, Thor, Whom I Slept With - (Avengers; Loki & Thor)

One-shots about the shenanigans of a young Loki and Thor, and why the young princes of Asgard are the best birth control ever. Primarily Loki's POV, but also occasionally POV Odin and Frigga regretting their choices)

- Great Aunt Snotra's Funeral- A Midnight Lesson in the Current Events of Midgard - The People vs. The Brothers Odinson, or That Time Loki Thought It Was a Bright Idea to Appear on Daytime TV - One Flew Over the Ravens' Nest (Even the Gods Can Be - Psychoanalyzed)

Come Downstairs and Say Hello - (Portal 2; Chell/Wheatley)

With Wheatley in tow, Chell might as well write "DISPENSE PRODUCT HERE" on her shirt and throw herself in front of a turret...but she can't leave him behind, either. POV Chell, Wheatley, and GLaDOS.

Other works in progress that I don't have the heart to admit to myself are probably on permanent hiatus:

Bang, Zoom, Straight to the Moon - (The Last of Us; Joel/OFC)

Joel has been more than happy to let Ellie sabotage his love life since their arrival in Jackson, but all bets are off after she learns that the town’s most recent arrival is a former astronaut. The new gal is smart, single, pretty, and good with a gun. And she’s gone to mother *fucking* space. Joel POV.

Lucky Denver Mint - (Logan Lucky; Clyde Logan/OFC)

The stars over Boone County never looked brighter than the night a pretty astrophysicist walked into Clyde Logan’s bar. Clyde POV.

The Sleazy Place - (The Good Place)

The possibility of Michael never making into the Good Place is why Janet [literally] reassemble the Soul Squad - and what they owe Michael is why Eleanor doesn't hesitate to team up with her friends one last time to try and save their favorite former fire-squid. Eleanor POV. ...She just needs to finish that margarita first.

Like what you see? Please reblog and comment! I love comments.

[august-anon]

Preliminary Data

For Tickletober Day 15: "Are you ticklish?"

Sorry it is Late!!! Though do we expect anything different from me at this point lol. It was technically written decently before the 15th, but real life got in the way and I couldn't edit it until last night, so alas

Also, Sarah, this one is for you. I hope you enjoy it ;)

-------------------------------

Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation

Ship(s): pre-slash DaForge

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Geordi/Ler!Data

Word Count: 3282 words

Summary: Data is curious about the act of tickling. Geordi agrees to be his unfortunate victim.

[ao3 link]

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“I do appreciate your assistance in this matter, Lieutenant,” Data said, watching as Geordi sealed his chestplate closed. 

“Anytime, man, you know that. And we’re off duty. It’s just Geordi, Data.”

“Of course. Thank you, Geordi.”

Geordi smoothed Data’s pseudo-skin back over the seams of his chest cavity, rendering it invisible once more. “I just don’t know how you can sit still through it.” He made a discomforted noise. “Makes me shiver just watching.”

Data cocked his head. “While I do have pressure sensors to indicate when things are misaligned or there is enough force that I may become damaged, I do not feel pain in the same way that you would. I find no discomfort in the opening of my chest cavity, nor in the repairs you complete.”

“No, not that.” Geordi huffed a laugh, turning away to gather up his tools. “I just meant– I don’t know what I meant.”

Data looked down at his chest, tracing over the hidden seams of his chest compartment just as Geordi had done moments ago. He imagined how the gentle touch might feel if he had nerve receptors, why it might make one shiver. He ran a search through his databases, sifting through the information far faster than a human (or any other biological creature, for that matter) ever could.

Ah. Data understood what was happening, now.

“Geordi?”

“Yeah, Data?”

“Are you perhaps ticklish, by any chance?”

Geordi sputtered, fumbling with his tools and sending one crashing back down to the table. He whipped his head around to face Data. “What?”

“Ticklish,” Data repeated, cocking his head once more. “Sensitive to being tickled, which is to lightly touch a person or body part in a way that causes an itching sensation and often laughter. To my understanding, most humans–”

“No, Data– I know what tickling is. I was just surprised by your question.”

“Oh, I see. Are you?”

Geordi huffed another laugh. “You know, most of the time you’re not supposed to just come out and ask it, not unless you’re poking fun at someone, teasing them. It can be embarrassing, for most people.”

“I did not mean to offend.”

Geordi waved him off. “I know. Just caught me off guard, I wasn’t offended.” He shuffled his feet, turning back to his tools and clearing his throat. “And I am, for the record. Just a bit.”

“Interesting. May I try?”

The tools clattered again. “What?”

“May I try? I have never witnessed a reaction to tickling before, I find myself curious. I wish to know how one may react to it, in a more personal sense.” Data paused, running through his database again. “And from my research, I found that it is a form of bonding. We are friends, are we not, Geordi?”

“I– right, yeah. We’re– friends.” Geordi’s voice was strangled.

Data blinked. “Have I said something wrong?”

“No, no. It’s just not everyday that your, ah, friend asks to tickle you.”

“It is not a common experience?”

Geordi shook his head, finally managing to get his tools put away and crossing his arms over his chest as he turned back to Data. His eyebrows were raised, visible above his visor. “Most people don’t ask, not unless they’re teasing, like I said. They just do it.”

Data did another search, the word tease in conjunction with tickle. “Teasing, because the use of it heightens the embarrassment and therefore the emotional aspect of the action, which can in turn heighten the physical sensation for some.”

“Right.”

“I am teasing you, right now?”

Geordi shifted his weight. “I mean. Clearly not intentionally, but…”

“But you still find yourself embarrassed by my words and actions.”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment. Geordi fidgeted with his hands, then sighed, then moved towards the lounge area of his quarters.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“Geordi?”

“Come on, tickle me.” Geordi flopped on the sofa. “Do your research, or whatever it is.”

Data slowly approached, cataloguing how Geordi warily tracked his every movement, more with sound than with sight despite the presence of his visor. Perhaps even this could be a tease. “Are you certain? I would not want to make you uncomfortable, or cause you anymore undue embarrassment.”

“Yeah.” Geordi lifted his arms, crossing them comfortably behind his head despite the way his biceps twitched like they wanted to come down. Data hadn’t even moved yet. “I– I trust you, you know. I can take it for a bit. For you.”

Data sat on the edge of the sofa, near Geordi’s hip. “Then, if you are certain, I will begin now.”

Geordi tilted his head up and away, biting his lip. Data reached out and hovered his hands over Geordi’s torso, hesitating. He brought up images and videos in his mind’s eye, examining the techniques used. Some even had tools in order to create particular kinds of ticklish sensations. Seeing as he didn’t have anything of the sort on hand, and this was a preliminary gathering of information anyway, Data carefully lowered his hands to Geordi’s sides and wiggled his fingers.

Geordi jumped, a grin leaping onto his face with the action, but did not laugh. He shifted his hips a little where he lay and his arms tensed in their raised position, but he did not squirm anymore than that.

“Does this tickle?” Data asked.

Geordi huffed. “Teasing, Data.”

“Apologies.”

“It’s fine, you can tease. And, uh, a little. I’m not very ticklish there.”

Data tilted his head. “Where are you ticklish?”

Geordi laughed outright, though it had nothing to do with the touch on his torso. “I can’t just tell you, that’s part of the fun. You have to figure it out yourself.”

“I see. I will continue my search, then.”

“Go for it.”

Data contemplated the situation that led them here – Geordi was perturbed regarding his chest compartment. The compartment itself took up most of his torso, where his stomach and sternum and parts of his ribs would be if he had them. Data examined Geordi’s midsection, referenced the data he had pulled up regarding tickling methods, and created a plan of attack. 

If he tickled more than one spot at a time, he wouldn’t be able to tell which was causing the laughter and squirming. Those particular methods would have to be saved until after he had discovered where Geordi’s “tickle spots,” as they were colloquially known, were. Some areas, typically softer ones, were able to be squeezed, while almost anywhere could be poked and prodded and subjected to wiggling and skittering fingers. Mouths were apparently an option as well, but Geordi was certain to have boundaries and Data was not willing to cross them simply for the sake of experimentation.

Perhaps it would do well to move inward, then upward. He would attempt Geordi’s stomach next and seek out sensitive spots there. Kneading and basic wiggling fingers seemed to be a commonplace method for this body part. Then, he would move up to Geordi’s ribs and chest. Squeezing was less common here, though not unheard of, but Data thought the lighter touches seemed the most comfortable. He didn’t quite have nails that grew out like many biological species, and which seemed popular in the act of tickling, but in the attempts to make him as humanoid as possible, he did have a short, blunt set of well-kept nails. Perhaps alternating between those and his fingertips would work best for Geordi’s ribs. Seeing as touches upon the torso were the instigator to this conversation, Data did not know whether to plan past that, or if Geordi would request they stop the gathering of information once the area was covered. Data decided to stop there, and create a plan “on the fly,” so to speak, if he was permitted further exploration.

Plan concocted, Data slowly converged his wiggling fingers inward toward Geordi’s stomach, paying careful mind to trace around the edges of the area where the seams of his own chestplate would be. Geordi flinched inward, looking as though he was fighting to keep his arms from flying down to protect himself, and, based on the sliver Data could see under the visor, squeezed his eyes shut.

“Shit!”

“Are you quite alright, Geordi?”

“Peachy!”

A split-second search, a reminder in which Geordi had used the phrase previously and what it meant, and Data nodded. Although Geordi’s throat and face seemed strained, it didn’t seem as though he was in any active distress. In fact, it seemed almost like…

“It is clear that you want to laugh. Why are you holding back?”

Geordi shook his head, his face contorting in what was probably a very amusing manner. Data hummed, switching to squishing the area around Geordi’s belly button. Geordi wheezed and folded in on himself, trapping Data’s hands between his knees and torso.

“Data! Teasing!!”

“I thought you said that the teasing was permitted?” He massaged his hands near Geordi’s hips and the edges of his stomach.

“Data, come on! Please!” Geordi wheezed. His grin was beginning to look painful.

Data paused. “Are you certain you’re alright?”

Geordi heaved out a breath, collapsing backwards onto the sofa once more. He covered his face with his hands for a moment, hiding his lingering grin. When he appeared to have composed himself, he crossed them behind his head once more.

“So, protesting is kind of a given when it comes to tickling.”

Data cocked his head.

Geordi pursed his lips, seeming to be picking his words carefully. “It’s such a powerful feeling, being tickled, that it can be unbearable – even if you don’t actually mind it. So sometimes, your body fights back and tries to get away or your mouth says things you don’t actually mean in a bit of a panic.”

Data absorbed this information. “Your pleading was not a sign of distress. You were simply overwhelmed by the sensation, and your mind and body were searching for an outlet.”

“Exactly, yeah. I’ll probably say a lot of things I don’t mean when I’m getting tickled.” He turned his head and muttered into his bicep, probably not meant for Data to hear, “Especially by someone as ruthless and methodical as you.”

“And the teasing, this has also been acceptable?”

Geordi squirmed, despite there being no hands on him at the moment. “Yeah, it’s all fine.”

“In that case, how will I know when you are truly in distress, or when you truly want or need me to stop?”

“You can trust me to express when I really mean it, instead of it just being ticklish babbling. Like if I say ‘seriously’ or ‘enough.’ Just… listen closely, yeah?”

“I always listen closely to you, Geordi.”

Geordi cleared his throat. “Right, yeah. Carry on, then.”

Nodding at the permission, Data picked up right where he left off – massaging his fingers around Geordi’s hips and lower stomach. Geordi folded in half again almost instantly and grabbed at Data’s wrists, apparently unable to stop his bark of laughter this time.

“I wasn’t ready!”

“You had indicated that you were. Plus,” Data slipped a smug note into his tone, taking note of his research still running in the back of his mind, “perhaps it is better that you were unprepared. The surprise seems to have finally forced your laughter out.”

“Shut up!” Geordi’s words were now completely infused with laughter, drawing them out and removing their bite.

“I do not think that you mean that.”

Finding the massaging motions particularly effective in this area, Data moved upwards once more. Massaging around the edges of Geordi’s stomach had him rolling toward whichever side he felt was being targeted more, wiggling around in an almost worm-like fashion. Massaging the center of his stomach and around his belly button had Geordi letting out snorts between his laughter, which seemed to heighten his embarrassment as it won out over his instinct to fight back, and he released Data’s wrists to cover his own face. Massaging the area between Geordi’s belly button and sternum kept him giggling, but he was able to lie back on the sofa once more and catch his breath – a similar level of sensitivity to his sides, it seemed. He switched to lightly tapping and wiggling his fingers here, enough to keep Geordi’s nerves on edge but give him a well-deserved break at the same time.

“How are you doing, Geordi?”

Geordi let out an incredulous, high-pitched giggle, completely unrelated to the ticklish ones still spilling out of his mouth. “I think I am getting the most thorough tickling I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t think anything has ever tickled this much, ever.”

Data paused, just resting his fingers on Geordi’s torso. “Is that a compliment?”

Another one of those high-pitched giggles. “Yeah, Data, it’s a compliment. I’d call you a tickle monster, but I doubt a monster could be even half as precise as you.”

“If you are amenable, I would like to continue.”

Geordi’s head thumped back against the sofa. “Knock yourself out.”

Data hesitated. 

Geordi chuckled, raising his arms up once more. “That means go for it.”

Without further preamble, Data shifted his hands to Geordi’s ribs, attacking with fingertips first. Instead of the bubbly sort of giggles Geordi put forth when he was catching his breath, the giggles that escaped him now were borderline hysterical. His feet drummed against the cushions of the sofa and he gripped the cushions above his head to keep his arms from crashing back down. The higher Data went, the more frantic the giggling became.

“You seem exceedingly ticklish here.”

“Data, please! Cut it out!!”

Data hummed. “No. I do not think you mean that, either. However, please let me know when that changes.”

Geordi groaned through his laughter, scrunching his knees up to his chest before extending them outward again.

Satisfied with his preliminary fingertip exploration, Data moved back to the bottom of Geordi’s ribcage and began again. This time, he slowed down, carefully tracing and scribbling with his fingernails to get a more detailed set of data. Tracing between each bone led to Geordi’s squealing and kicking out his feet with even more vigor. Scribbling along the bones as far as he could before the couch blocked his access had Geordi near-cackling. His biceps trembled as they fought to stay up, his knuckles going pale where they gripped the cushions.

“That’s worse!” Geordi howled. “Light tickles are worse!”

“I believe that is the point. However, your input is noted, and very helpful to this gathering of information. Thank you, Geordi.”

“Screw you, Data!”

“I will take that as a panic response to the tickling, and the teasing being used to heighten your current state.”

Once again, the response only became more frantic the higher up Data moved. The cackling and squealing got louder and panicked, Geordi’s feet were going haywire behind him, and the mirth brightened Geordi’s expression beyond anything Data had ever seen. Slightly above the halfway mark, Geordi let out a particularly loud shriek and slammed his arms down over Data’s hands, pressing them tightly to his own torso.

“Please, Data, please. It’s gonna tickle so bad, come on man. Don’t do this.”

Data paused his hands, considering, and let Geordi catch his breath for a moment. He still seemed unable to stop giggling, or to free Data’s hands from where he had trapped him despite the fact that he kept flinching at their touch.

“Are you truly asking me to stop?” Data asked. “Or is this another instinctive protective response to an overwhelmingly ticklish sensation?”

Geordi made an aborted move, like he was going to cover his face before his arms remembered what they were trying to protect. “Instinct,” he mumbled.

“I see. Shall we continue, then? We may stop now, if you prefer.”

Geordi seemed to consider it. “We– we can keep going, but I don’t think I can take anything more after you finish this out.”

“That is perfectly acceptable. Whatever you are comfortable with. I would not want to cross your boundaries.”

A sheepish, almost embarrassed smile rose to Geordi’s lips. “It was kinda fun, actually. I didn’t mind it.”

“Is that so?”

“Shut up, Data.”

“Do you mean it this time?”

Geordi remained silent.

After a moment, Data twitched his fingers and Geordi yelped in response. “You said you were willing to finish out your ribs?”

Geordi squirmed under him, not facing him. “I don’t know if I can just… let you, like I was managing before. Whatever you’re doing – it tickles like hell.”

“So you would like to stop?”

“No, no. I just might need a little help is all.”

“What is it you propose?”

“You might have to pin my arms out of the way,” Geordi said. “Just for this last part.”

“So long as you are comfortable with it.”

Geordi huffed a laugh. “I’m the one telling you to do it, aren’t I?”

Data slipped his hands out from under Geordi’s arms, enjoying the new wave of frantic giggles it provoked. Once Geordi had composed himself, Data carefully grabbed each wrist and pinned them above Geordi’s head, stretching out his torso and leaving his ribs vulnerable. He could see Geordi swallow.

“I will have to do them one at a time,” Data said, “as I now only have one free hand.”

Geordi twisted and tugged at his wrists, but it seemed more born of nerves than a true attempt at escape. “I can’t tell if that makes it worse or not.”

“You will have to inform me after.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Data touched his fingernails down against Geordi’s ribs once more. He had taken note that Geordi responded especially well to the unexpected tickles, and this was no exception. Data believed “leapt out of his skin” would be an apt expression to use for the way Geordi reacted, his laughter loud and bellowing and desperate. His pleading started up again almost immediately, but he never used a tone or phrase that indicated an immediate need for the situation to stop, so Data continued.

“You seem especially sensitive here,” Data said. “What does it feel like?”

“It tickles dammit!”

“That much I can assess, yes. You’ll have to provide me details on the sensation once you are more cognizant.”

“Data!!”

Geordi was practically screaming by the time Data reached the top of his ribs, and it left him endlessly curious about the ticklishness of the underarm just beyond. He and Geordi had a deal, however, and he was not about to break Geordi’s trust. Instead, once he deemed he had enough information (and that Geordi had been well and thoroughly tickled out on that side), he switched to the other side of his ribcage. The renewed wave of pleading was even more frantic than the last.

“Worse! It’s worse, it’s worse!”

“Oh? How so?”

“Means more tickles – Data please! No more!”

“Do you need me to stop?”

Instead of an answer, Geordi simply wailed out, “It tickles!” which Data supposed was answer enough.

Sensing Geordi’s exhaustion, Data made quick work of the second side, or at least quicker than he’d done with the first side. When he was finished, he released Geordi’s wrists, and they immediately crashed down to wrap around his torso in protection. Geordi curled himself up into a giggly little ball, and Data waited patiently while Geordi regained his composure. Or, as much composure as a disheveled, tickled-out man could have.

Once Data deemed him cognizant, he couldn’t help but ask, “Might we continue this experiment another time. After all, it hardly seems finished, only gathering information about your torso.”

Geordi groaned out an exhausted laugh. “You’re a menace.”

[revolutionsoftheheart]

five [part 4: second chances]

Star Trek: The Next Generation/Star Trek: Picard Picard x Crusher

“We ended our relationship—” “Our romantic relationship. For the… the fifth time.” The fourth time Jean-Luc and Beverly tried to make it work.

Excerpt:

“I’ll accept the promotion to Admiral,” he repeats when the doors shut. “I won’t be your commanding officer anymore. I’ll be taken off the Enterprise. Worf’s ready for command.” His tone is so calm and matter-of-fact he sounds like he’s briefing his staff, not altering the course of their lives. Only his pacing betrays his nervousness. He continues without pausing, “Starfleet will think their persistence made me yield. Of course, we’ll have to adapt to a long distance relationship, but many in our situation manage just fine.”

He has to stop then to catch his breath. When he looks up at her, his eyes are filled with such hope her heart skips a beat. He’s clearly spent a lot of time thinking about this.

She needs a few seconds to catch up to him and take everything in.

She wills her heart to slow down. “What about Kirk’s advice?” She remains cool, in control of her emotions.

“What about it?”

“Are you sure you want to give up the chair? It means a lot to you.”

Jean-Luc takes a step forward, closing the distance between them slightly. “So do you.”

Read on AO3.

[seaphoam-writes]

A Father's Duty (35/?)

A Father's Duty on AO3

Summary: An encounter with a quantum fissure leaves Picard with more responsibility than he asked for, but he'll do what he always does—his duty.

Chapter 35

Picard sits in his chair on the bridge long enough to make his presence known, then he retreats to his ready room. There, he returns to the other Data’s logs.

It takes the rest of his shift to finish the remaining two years’ worth of recordings, and by the end he’s once again emotionally and mentally exhausted—but at least now he knows. Remembering Deanna’s advice from earlier, he uses the final half hour of his shift to clear his head, opting for relaxation as opposed to exhilaration this time to settle his mind.

It’s as if the entirety of his being is clenched tight as a fist, but gradually—his eyes closed, Chopin playing gently in his ears, the taste of Early Grey sweetened with sugar and lemon dissolving on his tongue—his thoughts loosen and wander.

There were bright spots amidst the darkness, moments where Louis appeared on screen with a smile to announce that it was his birthday (“I’m 7!”) or that he grew a full inch taller or that he lost a tooth (using two fingers to hook the corners of his mouth and pull it wide to reveal the gap where his two front teeth were missing).

Often, Louis wasn’t visible but his presence was evident in other ways: humming a tune in the background, interrupting Data to ask a question about his school work or the book he was reading, a sound that could only be him practicing the piano.

The worst is over, Picard tells himself. He can’t change the past, he can’t change what Louis went through; he can only control the here and now, help Louis recover, move forward.

Before he leaves, he checks for any messages from Deanna. As promised, she provided a list of toys for Louis but clarified that Louis should be the one to choose and that anything he chooses to play with that’s safe is technically fine. She concluded with a treatise on why Louis should have toys that takes Picard nearly ten minutes to read and leaves him feeling like a complete ass for not thinking to provide them sooner.

There’s a message from Will as well, and when Picard notices the timestamp his heart skips a beat and he moves immediately to the edge of his chair, poised to leap to his feet and run.

But the message merely informs him that Louis was briefly upset by an occurrence on the holodeck, and that he insisted he was okay, wanted to stay, and that Will is monitoring him closely.

As there’s no follow-up message, and as Picard was never paged, he assumes everything is fine.

Nevertheless, he walks more swiftly than is strictly necessary to Will’s quarters.

When Will calls for him to enter, Picard finds him and Louis sitting at Will’s dining table playing cards. Louis smiles at him, a bright, happy grin that warms Picard more thoroughly than a cup of tea or a glass of wine, a liquid warmth that seeps into his very soul.

And to think, there was a time when I believed I didn’t need this.

Gul Madred tried to diminish Picard, the Borg attempted to extinguish him entirely, and both times Picard resisted—he fought tooth and nail to remain himself, to hold onto his identity.

On Kataan, it was his choice to let go and become Kamin, become a husband and a father, become more. He embraced his return to the Enterprise, but he’s not the same person he was before Kataan.

Not deep down.

Deep down he knows that Louis’s smile is worth more than any accolade.

“What are we playing, gentlemen?” he asks.

Will and Louis have cards in their hands, the deck stacked face-down between them, and, at their elbows, cards lying face-up that seem to be paired by color and number.

“Go Fish, sir,” Will replies.

“But with poker faces,” Louis says.

As if to illustrate, both of their expressions go blank.

“I wasn’t aware a poker face is such a crucial part of Go Fish strategy,” Picard remarks.

“In this version it is,” Will explains. “In this version, when someone asks you for a card, you’re allowed to lie and say you don’t have it even if you do—but if your poker face isn’t good enough and they catch you, you have to reveal 3 of the cards in your hand.”

“That’s quite the motivation to tell the truth.”

“Or to have a very good poker face.” Will tilts his head towards Louis. “His isn’t too bad. He just needs some practice.”

“C'est ce que tu penses,” Louis murmurs, smirking at the cards in his hand.

That’s what you think.

Picard chooses not to translate that and instead asks, “Are you ready to go?”

Louis nods. To Will, he says, “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Of course.”

Louis lays his cards down and trots deeper into Will’s quarters. Will starts to stand, catches sight of Louis’s hand, and frowns. “For how long have you had that king?” he calls.

“Since the beginning!” Louis calls back.

Will chuckles and shakes his head. “I guess his poker face is better than I thought. I asked him for that king twice.”

“I suspect you have only yourself to blame for that,” Picard says dryly. “Or rather, your other self.”

Will grins. “That reminds me, sir. Have you considered my invitation?”

The poker game on Friday evening, the day before they’re scheduled to arrive at Earth.

Picard sighs. “I have, Number One. If it still stands—and if you’re certain it’s appropriate—we’ll be there.”

His first instinct was to refuse, until he reasoned that it would be a good distraction, a nice way to relax before reporting to Starfleet Command.

(A brief foray out of his comfort zone, for Louis’s sake.)

“I’ll make sure everyone’s on their best behavior,” Will promises. He glances to his left, then steps closer, and in a low voice, asks, “Did you get my message?”

“I did, and I must apologize—I didn’t see it until only a few minutes ago.”

“It’s alright, sir. If it had been an emergency, I would have paged you directly. I just wanted you to know what happened.”

“What did happen, exactly?”

“Well, he caught a fish” –Will stated he was taking Louis fishing when Picard dropped him off; he’s still in the flannel shirt and khaki trousers he donned for the occasion—“and when we got the fish out of the water…I don’t know, I think seeing it that way, knowing it’s dying…sometimes that’s hard for a little kid.”

There’s a crease between Will’s brows, tension in his posture. He’s worried about Louis, Picard guesses, but also worried how Picard might judge him.

“Commander,” Picard says, sternly but quietly. “I want to make it clear that I trust you.”

“Sir?”

“With Louis, I mean. What happened today in no way diminishes that trust.”

Will couldn’t have predicted that the sight of a dying fish would upset Louis. Picard would not have anticipated it either.

“Thank you, sir,” Will says. “I’m still happy to watch him whenever you need me to.”

“I appreciate your help, Number One.”

Appreciate is not nearly a strong enough word. That Louis felt safe enough with Will to stay with him speaks volumes. Picard must allow that relationship to grow—even if it means that he must also cultivate a more personal relationship with Will, daunting as it is to cross a line he hasn’t crossed as a commanding officer since Jack Crusher.

When Louis returns from the bathroom, they say their goodbyes and then Picard ushers him into the corridor—where they run directly in Deanna.

She’s clearly surprised to see them, but she masks it quickly with a smile. “Hello again.”

“Hello,” Louis replies cheerfully.

Will pokes his head into the hallway. “You’re here early.”

“I thought you might want some help preparing dinner,” Deanna says, tone stunningly neutral.

Will grins. “You don’t trust me to pick what we’re eating, do you?”

“No.” It’s succinct, matter-of-fact, and somehow not impolite.

Louis looks back and forth between them. “You’re friends?” he asks.

“Yes, friends,” Deanna and Will answer simultaneously, their voices in perfect sync.

Louis’s gaze flick back and forth one more time, taking in Will’s carefully blank expression, Deanna’s casual attire and her hair, which seems different than usual though Picard can’t pinpoint how. The boy’s eyes narrow, and Picard knows precisely what’s coming and clears his throat loudly before they’re all plunged into a very awkward situation.

“Well, have a good evening you two,” he declares, giving Louis a pointed nudge in the direction of the Turbolift.

In their quarters, they both change for dinner, Picard out of his unfirm and Louis into something not grass-stained, but when Picard moves for the door, Louis lingers near their dining table.

“Can we eat in our quarters tonight?” he asks.

His voice is small, hesitant, as if nervous about making such a request. Perhaps they rushed him into some things. Perhaps Picard should have followed Beverly and Deanna’s advice and taken more time off, eased him into the crew’s company more carefully, more slowly.

Internally, he decides that tomorrow he’ll take another personal day. Outwardly, he smiles gently, and says, “Today was a very long day. I would also prefer some peace and quiet this evening.”

Louis leans into him, head bowed and tucked against Picard’s side. It’s not quite a hug, more of a…request. Picard puts an arm around his shoulder, runs his other hand through Louis’s hair.

“You know what else I would enjoy tonight?”

“Non,” Louis murmurs, waits, his eyes half-closed.

“Your great-grandmother’s cassoulet.”

As if it heard him, Louis’s stomach growls.

[hawkstar5]

If any of y'all missed it, I did TrekTober this year for the first time!

31 days of TNG-themed prompts straight from the NSFW list to your eyeballs, Hawk proudly presents:

Trek-kink-tober 2024!

Unlocked so anyone can enjoy a little bite sized horny 😈

[tashacee]

Happy birthday, @a-manicured-lawn !

[mostly-natm]

Data? Who’s Data? That’s Sherlock Holmes!