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captainpikeswoman · 2 years

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Ooh, having children with Jean-Luc Picard would include please (Jean-Luc and Reader are married)??

Hope you like it!

Having children with Picard would include:

•our dear Jean-Luc is a man who was made to be a Father. He doesn’t always see that, in fact he finds himself awkward around kids, particularly young ones.

•but the first time he held yours and his baby in his arms. Well, he was utterly smitten! You’ve never seen him be so tender before, and the look of love on his face…it made your heart sing!

•Jean-Luc wants you to choose the baby’s name- you’d done all the work growing and then birthing the baby! But you were determined that he would choose- and he ended up choosing something a little old, unique and of course, it was French. (I’m thinking maybe inspired from French literature?)

•when it’s just the three of you in your quarters sweet Jean-Luc will lounge around in something casual, showing plenty of chest so he could have skin to skin contact with the baby.

•he definitely does LOTS of reading about the different stages of development. So at any given time he knows exactly how your child is changing and growing and forming new links and knowledge.

•naturally, with a Father that’s as academically inclined as Picard, your baby has a story read or told to them every single night- he never misses! Even if he has duties he finds the time to sneak back to you and his child and read them to sleep.

•the only thing Picard perhaps didn’t realise would be such an issue is fear- the first illness the kid suffered nearly sent him mad with distraction, he could barely manage his job!

•the first broken bone…Picard arrived in sickbay ready to have a heart attack, but clever Beverley had nearly patched the poor little mite up to good health. And how had it happened? Climbing trees and rocks on the Holodeck- the kid was clearly a Picard, just like their Dad!

•Jean-Luc was a hands on Dad when the kid was little, but as they grow he delights in following around in their footsteps, answering every question they have about the world!

•and he’s fiercely protective. Whenever Q or the Borg show up Picard goes full throttle bad ass, doing absolutely everything in his power to keep you and his child safe. He did consider sending you to Earth; to stay with his family, but when it came to it he trusts no one more than himself to keep you both from harm.

•it was never really going to be just one child for you two. But there was a fair age gap- Picard baby 2 didn’t come along until Child 1 was 5/6 years old and attending school on the ship.

•Picard stepped up even more then- the pregnancy was tiring and raising your child was exhausting too. So he took time off properly and worked carefully to make everything manageable for you.

•it was like riding a bike when the second baby landed in his arms, it all came back to him.

•Jean-Luc knew it was extremely important that your elder child didn’t feel left out! But it was all ok, they were absolutely meant to be an older sibling! It was what they had wished for for a while!

•two years later another little patter of feet was heard…and this one came with a surprise- a set of twins! You and Jean-Luc agreed that four was the limit, and suitable precautions were taken after that.

•as the kids grew the Picard brood became well known. Each child was different and yet, all shared so many traits of their Father! Starfleet was already watching the progress of your eldest, they were hoping for a dynasty of Picard’s.

•but you and Jean-Luc didn’t mind either way- you simply wanted your children to be happy! They were all loved and safe and warm whenever they were with you both.

•Picard always stayed a hands on Dad, he always encouraged the kids to keep learning, to practice what they were good at. But he didn’t push them hard, he encouraged them gently! Got them the help they needed. And even if they failed, or if they struggled to follow all the rules of being a Captain’s child on a ship, he never ever raised his voice or his hand to them. Everything was solved through communicating, through kindness and understanding.

•he never lost his temper, not like you did sometimes. You started to wonder if he was a saint!

Bonus:

•the eldest became an Ambassador in Starfleet, training and qualifying in record time and earning a prestigious position! They were academic, studious, serious.

•the second eldest became a painter and settled down on Betazoid, staying with Lwaxana Troi who considered them to be her adopted grandchild! They were bohemian and creative.

•twin one became a Doctor in Starfleet, they worked on first Will Riker’s ship and then on Wesley Crusher’s- they stayed very much with the family. Level headed, calm and cool in a crisis.

•twin two…well, there had to be a Picard who went a little wild? Twin two became a space pirate, wanted for breaking rules on warp travel, breaking in secure facilities, stealing artefacts and information from planets. Naturally they found a way to stay in contact with you and Jean-Luc, it may or may not have been with a little assistance from a certain proud Q.

•you were both insanely proud of all of your kids.

#star trek #star trek imagine #star trek x reader #star trek tng headcanons #star trek tng x reader #star trek tng imagine #star trek the next generation #captain picard headcanons #captain picard imagine #captain picard x reader #captain picard

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celestialholz · 4 years

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Riddle Me This

So, uh... casually reblogging on the train yesterday morning, and there was this:

(Find the original over here: https://anxietyproblem.tumblr.com/post/184795738758)

And well, Qcard inspiration, basically. I’m beginning to think I can literally Qcard anything ever, to be perfectly honest, but have some dumb, wholesome and warming fun for your Wednesday evening anyway, because I write far too much angst and sometimes I think I need to lighten up a little lmao

This is dedicated to @q-card as we had a bit of a crap day yesterday and we deserve some silliness and love, as do you lovely people. <3

------

It’s not even a full minute into his shift when he hears an echoed ping; he spins, baffled, almost coating himself in the first tea of the morning, ready to reestablish boundaries in as few syllables as possible, but to his surprise, it isn’t Q. Instead, it’s simply an ancient piece of parchment, and he makes for it in mild intrigue, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes - what in the cosmos could be so important that he couldn’t have said ten minutes earlier, when they were still half-dressed and making their way through overly sugared pastries? If the god thinks this new relationship is about to devolve to the level of note-passing -

He stares at the elaborate cursive for a moment, brilliant in scarlet ink, and purses his lips.

“‘I am the beginning of everything, the end of everywhere. I am the beginning of eternity, the end of time and space. What am I?’” He reads aloud in disbelief.

... Dear galaxies, it’s even worse than notes.

He considers it for a moment, chiding himself for even humouring the riddle - it’s hardly the conundrum of saving three Enterprises simultaneously, or proving humanity worthy of continuing. He’s a Starfleet captain, for pity’s sake, and he’s fairly certain that the kindergarten population of the ship could come up with something reasonably accurate in response.

“Do you want to know now?” He questions thin air dryly, narrowing his eyes in anticipation of an amused Q’s appearance; handwriting further writes itself across the page instead, and Picard can almost taste the self-satisfaction.

No, no. I can see you’re incredibly busy, wouldn’t want to disturb your vital mission.

He consults the ready room ceiling in palpable exasperation and takes a seat, surveying the latest duty roster just so he looks suitably preoccupied to any casual, omniscient observer. It takes him a moment to realise something profoundly annoying: this is a riddle from an ancient entity, known for his complex tests, and therefore it can’t be that simple.

... Can it?

-------

“All ahead, ensign - warp five,” he instructs mid-morning, a proud, “aye, Captain” setting them off towards the closest starbase to meet a Risan diplomat. He settles into his seat, glances across at his first.

“Number One,” he begins, “may I ask you something?”

“Of course, sir,” Riker replies goodnaturedly, brow raised. “Do we need to adjourn?”

“Oh no, we’re just fine here. A simple example of wordplay for you, if you’ll indulge me.”

The brow hitches further, and the beginnings of a grin form on his friend’s lips.

“A riddle, Captain? Haven’t humoured those in a while. Go ahead.”

He recites Q’s riddle verbatim, and Riker stares at him for a moment, expression bemused.

“... I’ll be honest with you, sir,” he says eventually, “was kind of hoping for something more elaborate.”

Picard blinks for a second, nodding.

“Mm, so was I,” he replies dryly, staring up at the viewscreen. “It really isn’t any more interesting than the obvious, is it?”

“Don’t think so, no. Sorry to disappoint you.” Riker grins, shrugging, and Picard smiles back.

“Forget I asked, Commander. Thank you anyway. You have the bridge.”

--------

He finds exactly who he’s been looking for for a while in Engineering; Data’s halfway up a Jeffries tube, reciting conduit issues to the computer, and Picard crouches down, glancing up at his second.

“Mister Data,” he greets, “you’re quite the poet, I’m sure you’ll enjoy a riddle I’ve been pondering.”

Data’s head quirks to a curious angle given the lack of space, bewildered.

“Would you prefer we discussed this out in the open, Captain?” He enquires mildly, and Picard barely represses a smirk.

“No, no need - I won’t take up much of your time.”

“As you wish,” says the android, voice echoing around the tube. “I must confess to being intrigued at the prospect, sir.”

“Knew you would be.” Picard smiles quietly, and plays the words back aloud.

“... There are eight hundred and sixteen potential responses in Federation standard,” he replies simply, “ranging from the metaphysical to the -”

“Alphabetical?” Another voice answers fondly, and Picard glances up at his grinning chief engineer. “Sometimes, Data, an egg is just an egg.”

“... I am perplexed by your choice of vernacular, Geordi. What do dietary requirements have to do with the Captain’s riddle?”

Picard doesn’t even need to stare up at the familiar puzzlement of the Commander to acknowledge it.

“Although Commander La Forge is most likely correct, sir - the most logical option is the most plausible in this instance. Riddles do tend to have simple conclusions, and none of the alternate options fit quite as well.”

Amusement fills Picard as he quietly excuses himself with a nod, leaving his colleagues exchanging confused glances.

-------

“Guinan,” he questions, half an hour from the starbase, “how are you with riddles?”

“I prefer my words less shadowed,” the El-Aurian replies from nine decks hence, matter-of-fact. “Why do you ask, Captain?”

“Personal curiosity,” he answers not untruthfully. “What do you make of this one?”

He recites it lightly, unconsciously leaning forward onto elbows as he awaits her response - if anyone aboard could have any manner of higher wisdom, it’s surely his old friend, her mostly eradicated race largely a mystery even to him -

Guinan clears her throat, and he can clearly visualise her dry expression.

“You’re a deeply intelligent guy, Jean-Luc,” she answers in exasperation. “You can’t tell me you don’t already know the answer to that.”

“Well of course I know it,” he exclaims woefully. “But I can’t help feeling it isn’t so easy.”

“... I mean, could be ‘nothingness’, I guess, but that’s even more ridiculous than the answer.”

“Mm,” he mutters in agreement, hesitating - his new relationship with Q isn’t something he ever wants to reveal to anyone, and especially not to Guinan, but perhaps a vague hint couldn’t hurt...

“If I told you this was set by someone known for being, well... difficult, would it alter your solution?”

“That’s most of the known galaxy in my experience. Are they also known for being stupid?”

Picard almost chokes on tea at the very idea. “Good lord, no.”

“No, then,” she replies honestly.

“... Ah.”

------

His afternoon of diplomacy having gone as well as it ever can with such an awkward ambassador and his mind as plagued as it’s become over the course of the day, Picard finds he can’t quite help himself as they arrive in transporter room one. The Risan’s clearly intelligent, has spent the last few hours desperately trying to prove as such, and amiable enough.

“Ambassador,” he asks as he nods at the chief, “perhaps a parting gift, as a show of good favour towards our new trade agreement. What humans would call a ‘riddle’; lateral thinking, in the form of wordplay.”

“I did think I’d had quite enough of your wordplay today,” replies the man indulgently, and Picard internally winces, “but as it’s an intellectual custom, please feel free.”

“Wonderful. Now...”

The Risan glances at him in disbelief a moment later.

“... Do they tend to be so simplistic, Captain?” He asks in amusement.

“Usually, yes,” he murmurs almost to himself. “Thank you, Ambassador. I’ll inform Starfleet of our conclusions post-haste, don’t let me keep you any longer.”

“Good show, Picard. Travel safe.”

“And you, Kanfla. Engage.”

Miles stares at him as he leaves, agape.

“... You do know that the answer, right sir?”

Picard rolls his eyes. “Yes, chief.”

------

He’s rather exhausted his options at this point, he realises darkly shortly before he clocks off. Beverly, whilst an invaluable friend and exceedingly helpful, is a woman of science and logic who will consider him likely in the first throes of something nasty and neurological if he starts questioning simple conclusions; Deanna, he acknowledges warily, is likely to assume him troubled and attempt to pry the depths of his psyche, and he takes little joy in being his dear counselor’s subject even when he needs to be. So that leaves -

He takes a subtle breath, and spins in his seat, glad the bridge crew’s on a split shift today and therefore that no one has to hear this twice.

“Mister Worf,” he begins primly.

“Captain?” The Klingon asks attentively.

“... May you indulge me for a moment?”

“Of course, sir.”

“A... riddle.” He almost grimaces, hides it admirably - he doesn’t doubt his lieutenant’s intelligence, but Worf is hardly known for his verbal subtleties or affection for the lateral; indeed, he looks mildly annoyed at the very notion.

“... Captain, with respect, I am not certain I would be of much use to you. Perhaps Counselor Troi would be a more... suitable choice.”

Picard’s lip twists for a split second, and he nods, pulls down his shirt promptly, and stares blankly out into space.

“... Mm,” he answers fairly. “As you were, Lieutenant.”

“... Yes, Captain.”

-------

He finds Q sipping something luminous from a spiral-shaped flute upon his return to his quarters, periwinkle blue sequins shimmering upon the evening robe he’s adopted, and the god grins at his appearance.

“Ah, mon capitaine!” He greets in delight, and damn his cursed riddles, but Picard admits privately that there’s something distinctly warm in his chest at the sight of him - of having someone he cherishes to come home to.

... Not that he has any intention of showing him as such, of course; their kiss is perfunctory at best, and his withdrawing look could sour honey.

“Oh, come now, dearest - you aren’t stuck, are you?” He teases, amused. “Do give me your answer, won’t you? The anticipation’s been driving me mad.”

Picard stares at him, trying desperately to cling to irritation rather than silently melt at the excitement in those eternal eyes.

“You challenge me,” he’d said not two nights earlier against a pillow, fingers trailing across his captain’s cheek. “IQ of two thousand and five, darling. I see everything, I can do everything; do you have any idea how rare that is?”

He valiantly maintains his exasperated countenance, and answers dryly, “The letter ‘e’.”

Q’s face falls with an almost comical suddenness.

“... What?” He says in disbelief. “What in the galaxies -”

He snaps, summons back the paper that’s spent its day upon the ready room desk, scanning it for a half-moment before raising disappointed eyes back to Picard’s bemused ones.

“Well yes, alright, fine,” he dismisses, “admittedly that does fit quite nicely, but did you really think I was going to offer you something with such a depressingly basic solution? Think about it, man!”

This is their acquaintance, Picard notes with a quiet thrill; the permanent game, ramped up to warp ten now that they’re lovers, every touch and night cycle whisper a tease, a promise, an idle nothingness laced with potential meaning.

He has no intention of failing, however little he has to prove any more, and so he thinks through that brilliant stare, mulls the words over his mind.

Beginning of everything; end of everywhere. Beginning of...

“... Ah,” he murmurs, humoured despite a certain weariness. “Ought to have realised it was self-indulgent.”

“’Self -’? Oh,” Q answers softly, smirking. “Well obviously it could be me, yes, but I was thinking rather, er... closer to home, Jean-Luc.”

Picard’s mouth opens, though he realises belatedly that he has nothing of note to say.

“You... meant me?” He asks dumbly, baffled. “How can I possibly be -”

“Perspective.” Q smiles warmly, dots fingers across his uniform before clasping a hand quietly. “You begin and end everything for me, my dear. Honestly, your colleagues are morons - you’re right here! How could that not have occurred to th -”

Picard embraces him spontaneously, buries himself in a warm chest, treasures the arms that encircle him fiercely in response.

“You’re an overly dramatic fool,” he scolds tenderly, no heat at all to the words. “You can just say things sometimes, Q.”

“Too dull,” he drawls, grinning from somewhere above his favourite mortal. “We don’t do dull, dearest.”

He presses a soft kiss to Picard’s skull, and the captain wonders idly how he could ever have been annoyed.

#qcard #writing #tng #jean-luc picard #Q #fic #this is peak domestic qcard tbh

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ask-q-and-picard · 4 years

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Q: ... Jean-Luc. You know, of course, what day it is.

Picard: ... It would appear to be Tuesday, Q.

Q: Mm, mm... try again, darling.

Picard: It’s, erm... 48734.39, which I believe is -

Q: New. Year’s. Eve.

Picard: Oh, at least we actually celebrate that one nowadays.

Q: And what do you tend to do for it?

Picard: Well, there’ll be a speech or three from myself and the good Commander - I do normally prepare something, though I’ve been rather waylaid recently by unforeseen circumstances -

Q: I can be foreseen, if you’d prefer it dear...

Picard: Oh good lord, hush. Still, I ought to be more than capable of summoning the relevant eloquence in the moment; we’ll engage in a synthohol toast to the continuing mission, naturally -

Q: Lovely, I’m sure, though it does involve a distinct lack of, ah... fireworks. I think we can rectify that, don’t you?

Picard: ... And what exactly are you prop - Q!

...

Q: Oh, nothing too grandiose, you know me!

Picard: Oh no, of course! Grandiose, you? Pah! Where the devil are we, man?

Q: Where on Earth, even - Paris! Away from the crowd, in case they steal the goods.

Picard: ‘Goods’? Is that a basket -

Q: The wine, darling, the croissants! No one shares my pastries, Captain, with a single notable exception. Do help yourself, there’s a good man.

Picard: Q, this is -

Q: Ineffable? Well, I’m not sure what you were expecting at this point, frankly.

Picard: - Charming, my dear. I was going to say ‘charming’, but unnecessary.

Q: You never think any indulgence is necessary, in my defence. Look, I’ll get you back in time for your infernal speeches, though it may be via some curious dimensional loophole. It’s midnight everywhere and nowhere at once, after all.

Picard: Q, I don’t mind how it long it takes.

Q: ... You don’t?

Picard: No. Well, assuming you’ll correct -

Q: Yes, obviously, and good - I might just have a little something else in mind for our first new year.

Picard: ... You are absurdly sentimental for an ages-old entity.

Q: You bring it out in me, darling. Ready for the fireworks? They’re about to count down, and I’d be a shame not to inform you of that classic new year’s tradition -

Picard: Oh, do you mean the kissing one? I quite agree, it would be a tragedy not to indulge that one...

Q: How on earth do you know - you are a consistent surprise, Jean-Luc. Was it the misspent youth?

Picard: Oh, almost certainly. Trois...

Q: Deux...

Picard: Un...

Q: ... Should have mulled the wine, really - mmph... but then, never mind...

Picard: Telepathic link? Cheap trick, though highly effective. Happy... whatever year this is, Q.

Q: You too, darling. Best you don’t know, trust me - just enjoy it. Allow me to fix that wine... a toast, then, albeit not under your precious bartender’s sinister gaze, and perhaps aloud?

Picard: To... France, some time in the future judging by the architecture, and to persistently stubborn gods who insist on taking me out of time.

Q: Oh, but you love me!

Picard: ... So help me, I truly do.

Q: You see, that... 2657, Jean-Luc, to your mortal linearity at least. The year the Continuum’s civil war began. We don’t quite work on the same scheduling as mortals, of course, and... I needed a decent memory. Not necessarily today, but - and you appear to be kissing me again. Against a backdrop of fireworks. This isn’t at all cliché.

Picard: Are you complaining?

Q: Oh stars, no. Piling on the positive connotations, mon capitaine?

Picard: Doing my best to, yes.

Q: Oh, you always do. I can think of better locations, though...

...

Picard: Well, it’s a little more exotic than Paris, I’ll grant you that...

Q: A celebration on both our terms, dear. And the cusp of the correct year, too.

Picard: I... where are we?

Q: Ah, and now that’s the question, isn’t it? I’m a god, Jean-Luc - immortal, of course, all-powerful, with more than enough gravitas to name as-yet undiscovered nebulas. Thought I might grant you the honour, darling.

Picard: ... You want me to christen this?

Q: Mm - though you might want to watch it explode first, get a feel for its totality. Ready for the real fireworks, Captain? Paris has nothing on this, I assure you.

Picard: ... I... you’re quite mad, Q! Deep space pyrotechnics, on New Year’s Eve.

Q: You’re welcome in advance, darling. Is that a yes?

Picard: Oh, always, mon dieu.

Q: Excellent - here we go!

...

Picard: I... I’m a diplomat. I’m not accustomed to running out of words, but...

Q: ... Never thought I’d see the day! I’m absurdly proud of myself, I’ll have you know.

Picard: You ought to be. You are astonishing, truly. I was going to make a speech, Q.

Q: Oh, you still are. Hopefully you’ve been a little more inspired, too?

Picard: I... completely, but - Q?

Q: Yeah?

Picard: Why do you want me to name this nebula?

Q: ... I take it you’re not going to accept ‘sentimentality’ as an answer?

Picard: You’re going to have to do a little better than that, I’m afraid. This is a grand responsibility for a human - this will, I take it, be known throughout the cosmos by the name I select?

Q: Oh yes. That’s the entire idea.

Picard: I... why, Q?

Q: ... You know, I wasn’t kidding about the sentimentality, Jean-Luc. You are the core of my universe; felt it best to make it official. After all, I imagine you’re familiar with this: ‘When wasteful war shall statues overturn and broils root out the work of masonry, nor Mars his sword nor war’s quick fire shall burn the living record of your memory.’

Picard: Sonnet 55. You... you wish to have a piece of me with you, out here.

Q: Would be quite nice, really... it’s very, very large, my dear, and so often empty.

Picard: You... ‘’Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room even in the eyes of all posterity that wear this world out to the ending doom.’

Q: ... And everyone will know, yes, however indirectly, how very important you are.

Picard: ... Q?

Q: Jean-Luc?

Picard: I hereby christen this nebula 2383; Almond Croissant.

Q: You... you’re actually being serious. Have I ever told you how much I love you?

Picard: Mm, you may have mentioned it, though do feel free to elaborate. ‘It’s midnight everywhere and nowhere at once’, isn’t it?

Q: That it is, my darling... though we may have to revert back to the telepathic for a while...

#non-asks #aesthetics #date night #on a tuesday? I think it's worth it just this once #q speaks #picard speaks #happy new year folks! <3 #welcome to the ultimate in cultural merging and blog headcanons for the occasion #we've got croissants!#mulled wine!#shakespeare because picard!#exploding nebulas and paris!#not quite sure how I've managed to avoid sonnet 55 on here for so long but the gross oversight has been rectified for your reading pleasure #it's literally about eternal love #it doesn't get more of a qcard mood than that #celestial would like to thank you lovely people for supporting and enjoying this insanity and hopes you'll continue to in 2020 ^_^#now if only they'd give us all what we want and chuck this level of adorable into STP...#2020 - the year of Qcard #MAKE IT SO CBS #I've just made a croissant nebula canon #I am absolutely wild

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ramajmedia · 5 years

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Star Trek TNG: 10 Hidden Details About The Costumes You Didn’t Notice

Some things about Star Trek: The Next Generation are unforgettable, including the customing. Women could wear the pantsuit too, and wearing red didn't mean a character was marked for death. The show tried some new designs that didn't work out. Remember the man-skirts, also known as "skants," from the earliest episodes? There's something Paramount wants you to forget. Well, it was the '90s. Never mind that Gene Roddenberry had some weird ideas when it came to fashion in the future.

RELATED: 5 Reasons The Next Generation Is The Best Star Trek Series (& 5 Why It Will Always Be The Original Series)

What about the small things that we didn't notice? The following is a list of the features or details of the Star Trek: TNG uniforms and costumes that you didn't notice because you were mesmerized by Beverly Crusher's shoulder pads, Riker's chest hair, or Deanna's Troi's deep V-neck pantsuit.

10 Colour Changes

The color palettes of TNG were different from Star Trek: The Original Series in a lot of ways, with muted maroon and teal making up most of the scheme as opposed to the much brighter primary hues of the old series. Even the reds were taken down a few notches to a much darker tone.

This was a major change but unless you were familiar with the original show, and even if you were, it might have slipped under the radar. These changes applied to virtually all the costumes, with bright colors reserved for specific characters. Deanna Troi wears purple on a regular basis while very few others ever do. The very first episode, where Q's clothing as a judge is a bright red set against black, is an example.

9 One Piece, Two Piece

The updated uniforms for our intrepid explorers went through a few changes, some obvious, others subtle. Did you notice how the one-piece jumpsuits from Season 1 and 2 changed to a two-piece uniform in Season 3? The actors were uncomfortable in the spandex jumpsuits. The costumes were deliberately fitted to be a size too small, intended to streamline the actor's body.

RELATED: Star Trek TNG: 10 Things You Didn't Know About The Theme Song And Intro

Even Patrick Stewart's chiropractor didn't like them. The costuming department made a more comfortable alternative, but the jumpsuits never went away. You'll still catch some extras wearing them in later seasons if you keep an eye out.

8 Officer Ranks and Insignias

You might have noticed those three gold buttons that officers have on their lapels. Someone with a naval or military background probably understands the important underlying meaning of this small detail. These buttons are actually called "pips."

In the case of Starfleet officers, the number of gold pips denoted their role in the hierarchy of leadership. For Cadets, they mimic the ranks used for Lieutenants in the United States Army. This was used for the first time in TNG and continued into Voyager and Deep Space 9.

7 Rata, Tafar, and Tapan

Vulcan attire seems plain at first, which goes along with their generally modest aesthetic, but you'll notice there's more to the patterns if you take a closer look. The use of certain sacred letters on Vulcan clothing started in earnest with the Star Trek films and continued into TNG.

RELATED: Star Trek: Picard Is A Hybrid Of Discovery & Next Generation

The meaning of these symbols is still fairly secretive, but we know that they are the Vulcan words Rata, Tafar and Tapan. They represent concept, mental discipline, and the cerebral process, and are written in vertical lines on robes, shrouds and other types of Vulcan clothing. Malat, the word that means nature, is sometimes included.

6 Gemstones and Triangles

Certain symbols and shapes recur in ritual clothing from Vulcan well beyond what we know about the three main sacred symbols. These include triangles, gemstones, and unique attire never seen outside of sacred Vulcan rituals.

At the end of Star Trek: The Search for Spock, most of the robes worn in this scene are mostly either unmarked or decorated with an equilateral triangle, with some subtle exceptions. In TNG, Vulcan clothing often includes large gemstones, sometimes with the sacred letters that represent any or all of the letters for Malat, Rata, Tafar, and Tapan.

5 Fictional Boobage

Oh, so we're calling ourselves "woke" because men can wear skirts and women can be in charge of security? Then what's with all those padded bras, complete with seamless cups, that are required in every woman's costume?

RELATED: Star Trek Voyager: 5 Times Janeway Was the Best Captain (And 5 Times She Was the Worst)

Sorry to break your hearts fellas, especially you, Riker, but almost all of that cleavage was fake. This is nothing new, the practice had been going on since The Original Series. That is, until Captain Janeway showed up. Local Hollywood legend has it that Kate Mulgrew famously ripped her padded bra out of her uniform and threw it on the producer's desk, flat-out refusing to wear it. You go, girl!

4 Klingon Fashion

As their alliances changed, so did their clothing. The details of Klingon attire shifted dramatically between The Original Series and The Next Generation. That clunky gold Klingon Baldric was so overwhelming it drew your eye and obscured any other details.

Apparently, even actor Michael Dorn wasn't fond of the original design, as a Klingon might want something more rustic, and the costuming department agreed with him. By Season 2, in a change you probably missed, the Baldric was made out of a series of bicycle chains to make it look more Klingon and less Federation.

3 Smoking Accessories

This is more about the accessories for costumes, which can be as important as the costumes themselves. In a move that seems to contradict how modern and politically correct TNG was trying to be, take note of how often we see someone smoking.

RELATED: Star Trek: The 10 Deadliest Villains The Next Generation Crew Ever Faced

Whoopi Goldberg's recurring character, Guinan, was often seen smoking a cigarette. Data as Sherlock Holmes, or sometimes not as Sherlock Holmes, smoked the iconic pipe. Once you notice this, it's impossible to forget, and you'll be surprised at how often it happens.

2 The Combadges

It's more than a convenient way for Starfleet to find you. The badge each character wears has a specific design and meaning, and it's an essential part of your uniform. You know that stuff just got real when someone removed a combadge, making it a convenient plot device on top of everything else.

Somewhere between TOS and later episodes of TNG, there was a small design change. The combadges of later Star Trek shows, like TNG and Deep Space 9, have a more pronounced Starfleet "V" shape with a circle in the background, as opposed to the square design used on Star Trek: Voyager and later episodes of Deep Space 9.

1 Geordi's Visor

When Geordi Laforge is first examined by Doctor Crusher, they are discussing remedies for the constant pain he's in because of his visor. You had no idea since LaVaar Burton is a talented actor, but he really was in a lot of pain because of that thing.

It was an essential part of his costume, too, so there were few alternatives. When it was replaced by a heavier one that required actual screws, things got even worse. We know that actors are often coached to use discomfort or pain to their advantage, but this is too on the nose, or maybe we should say, on the head.

NEXT: Star Trek: The Essential Next Generation Episodes To Watch Before Picard

source https://screenrant.com/star-trek-tng-hidden-details-costumes/

#screenrant

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weepylucifer · 7 years

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41 Qcard!!!

41: “What are you doing in my house?”

“Visiting you!” Q chirped. “I come bearing gifts.” He set an outrageously enormous bouquet of roses down on a table. Humans liked being presented with arrangements of specimen of their native flora for some reason - he was quite proud of himself for remembering that.

“Flowers?” Picard blinked up at him with open distrust from where he was seated in his armchair. “Is that another one of your games, Q?”

Q kept the smile on, but it froze a little around the edges. “No game, no challenge, no strings attached, mon capitaine. Just flowers.” He snapped up a vase, then went to the kitchen sink and manually filled it with water. Then he began to arrange his bouquet.

“Wouldn’t it look splendid here on this coffee table?”

“I am not keeping these flowers here.”

“Hmm. Maybe you’re right. Maybe on the table in the dining room.”

“I do not want anything of yours in my house,” Picard clarified. “Neither do I want you in my house. I don’t know what you came here for, or if there’s something wrong with these flowers, but… I want you to leave.”

Out of fondness and respect for the old man in front of him, Q didn’t sigh out loud. Besides, he didn’t feel like going through the trouble of inhaling breath all the way down into his lungs and then pushing it out again for no other reason than to exclaim frustration at a man who had done nothing wrong. But he sighed telepathically, and it echoed through the ether, unheard.

“You forgot all about us again, huh, Jean-Luc? This wouldn’t happen at all if you just allowed me to rummage a bit in your silly little primate brain.” What had once been an insult was now said with affection, and he bent down to plant a kiss on Picard’s magnificent bald head to soften the verbal blow. But the old man pushed him aside with a quite surprising force. Q couldn’t help but stumble, his back colliding with the coffee table.

His essence was in turmoil from being physically provoked, millennia of instincts kicking in. He parked his body on the floor and internally went through one of these little mindfulness exercises they taught you in the Continuum. A thought was a thought was a thought did not have to become a reality. He didn’t have to smash an entire solar system to cope with the emotional fallout of Picard having shoved him.

He hadn’t minded at all when Picard, years into his retirement, had started getting all wrinkly and saggy and slow. It hadn’t mattered at all. Q had still found him utterly irresistible. He had only felt a loss when Picard’s mind had started to go. Now there were days when Picard forgot he wasn’t Captain of the Enterprise anymore, when he forgot about Q completely, when he forgot they weren’t in rivalry anymore. There were good days, too, of course, fully lucid just amazing days, but they didn’t make the bad ones feel less like some great galactic injustice. It was unfair, thought the part of Q that was used to absolutely everything going his way, that he should be deprived of quality time with the mortal of his choosing even before that mortal inevitably shuffled off the mortal coil.

He sighed again and let his thoughts travel while he fiddled idly with the simple gold band on his left ring-finger. He had wanted a ring that was really something to look at, but Jean-Luc had insisted on gold, no extravagances. There were no such things as weddings in the Continuum but alas, Q was nothing if not a hopeless romantic. He had wanted to do this right, had wanted to do right by Jean-Luc, and, yes, he’d wanted to celebrate finally winning that stubborn man over in grand style. And he did love flaunting that ring to the other Q. Who out of all of them could claim that they had touched any hearts lately? Yeah, that’s right. Not one of them.

When he returned to his human-shaped shell, it had already gotten dark around him. He’d never quite gotten the hang of Terran time. Meanwhile, Picard had dozed off in his armchair.

Q stood and poked the man’s shoulder until he blinked awake. “Time for bed, I’d say.” He whispered it. Even at 130 years, Picard’s hearing was still excellent. “Go on, lean on me, if you must.”

He was raw power, rattling the stars in his wake, destroying and creating whole solar systems on a whim, and he was guiding this frail human to bed and it was like handling eggshell-fine and infinitely precious china. Occasionally he muttered, “mind the stairs” or “slowly now” while Picard said nothing but leaned on him readily enough. He finally deposited him safely on the bed, handed him his pajamas and smoothed his blankets. If someone had told him a few decades ago that one day he’d find himself doing this, Q would have snapped that person out of existence for daring to presume he’d ever lower himself this far.

He was about to say goodnight and go off gallivanting into the cosmos when Jean-Luc grasped his hand. There was a tiny clinking noise as the wedding band on his finger made contact with the identical one that Jean-Luc was wearing.

“Q,” he said.

“Yes, mon capitaine?”

“I was unkind to you earlier.”

Q waved it off. “Trivialities.”

“I married you… I remember that now.”

Q couldn’t keep the stupid smile off his face. “So you did.”

“I married Q.” Picard’s voice was full of wonder. “How could I have forgotten that? You were so glorious that day.”

“Your primitive brain has developed an illness that makes you forget things. I do not hold it against you.” It was nothing that the powers of the Q could easily heal. Frankly, Q was afraid to even try. The damage he could accidentally inflict… hurting this man in the bed in front of him was the last thing he wanted.

“You’re here because you love me,” Picard said.

Q nodded in the darkness. He felt close to bursting this shell of a human body apart with all the emotions that ravaged his essence.

“Come, stay a little,” Picard said, tugging him down into an embrace.

“I won’t be here when you wake.” It was better that way. One never knew what kind of a day it was going to be, and he didn’t want to give Picard the shock of waking up next to a stranger, or an entity he dreaded and feared. It had happened before, and it had always been nasty.

“I know, mon ange. Just stay until I fall asleep.”

Mon ange. Picard knew full well that Q could never refuse him anything when he used that particular endearment. So he didn’t leave. He just leaned in for a kiss. And watched over the mortal of his choice for hours as he slept.

#this one's sad folks!!!!!!!!!!!!!#answer'd #mortal/immortal #and all that entails #picard is old as balls

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theliterateape · 5 years

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American Shithole #46 | The Beautiful Things: PBS

By Eric Wilson

It’s raining in Vegas; I can see winds ravage the palm trees just outside my window. I reside in a quiet house today — which is rare; the dogs are unusually silent and Ari is away — and I am going to take my dead wi-fi adapter (keeping me from Sling, which in turn keeps me from CNN) as a cue to write about something I love.

Coincidentally, I might have made a breakthrough in my eternal battle with my temper. I think I broke the wi-fi adapter on the desktop moving it across the room last night, and I reacted poorly this morning when I discovered my predicament. I’ll save the details for another time, but I might have turned a corner.

I hate my temper; yet I have not mastered it. If we are lucky, we learn, we grow, we become better people, etc. — but damn, some of these challenges are fucking life-long. Where’s my End Boss on my anger quest already?

I know one thing that will make me angry — watching our marmalade princess of a president fail at reading sentences on live TV. Fuck the SOTA, let’s talk about the Public Broadcasting Service.

Like many Americans my age, my introduction to PBS was with Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood and Sesame Street.

As I sat this morning pondering my temper, and reflecting on the television I watched as a child, I was struck by a rush of memories, feelings really, when I thought about PBS; everything else, not so much.

I can still remember the comfort; I can’t remember the specifics of episodes, but I recall the comfort — especially with Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.

I caught a promo for one of the biographies of the man a week or so back; one of the snippets they used was from the time he spent with a severely disabled child, Jeff Erlanger, and he so masterfully navigated that moment at the end of their encounter. To convey to someone so young, dealing with such a difficult situation, that it is okay to feel sad and then to immediately turn that around into joy. Fucking magical. Beautiful. My chest literally swells every time I think of it.

If humanity were on trial for some reason (an unfortunate turn of events for sure) and I were asked to represent our species in some sort of intergalactic court of law (think: Picard vs. Q in Star Trek: TNG), I would introduce as evidence masterpieces of the arts for sure, great deeds, historic events — but I would open with Fred fucking Rogers.

Sesame Street didn’t need to sell me on multiculturalism, my parents are as progressive as it gets in the States, and they certainly fostered in me a sense of social democracy long before I knew what the term meant. But Sesame Street did need to reach millions of Americans unaware of the melting pot they were living in — and reach them they did.

Here’s a snippet from Wikipedia:

“A 1996 survey found that 95% of all American preschoolers had watched the show by the time they were three years old. In 2008, it was estimated that 77 million Americans had watched the series as children. As of 2014, Sesame Street has won 167 Emmy Awards and 8 Grammy Awards — more than any other children's show.”

167 Emmys. Wow.

In my YA years, PBS delivered again. On Sunday nights in the late ‘70s/early ‘80s, WTTW Chicago unleashed Monty Python on young American lives. (KERA Dallas has the honor of being the first station to share Python with America, back in 1974.) Regarding the development of humor, I cannot think of a more prominent driving prepubescent force than Monty Python’s Flying Circus — except perhaps the Carlin, Pryor, and Martin vinyl I somehow had at the age of ten (back in the ‘70s before the internet).

Venerable programs like Nova (1974–present) and Nature (1982–present) were also favorites among the few kids I knew that were encouraged to learn, and actually enjoyed doing so. PBS really did right by my generation.

Carl Sagan’s Cosmos (1980). Holy shit, how could I forget Cosmos? I recall (now) how it felt as a twelve-year-old to watch that show. I was confused, full of doubt; and here comes Cosmos, where the Universe is a place of wonder that stretches beyond imagination. (Vonnegut, Herbert, and Asimov had already clued me in.)

I am very, very thankful for the influence PBS had on my life.

PBS has done more good for the minds of American children in the last fifty years than any other institution I can imagine. No wonder the fucking republicans hate PBS so goddamn much (the fucking dirty shitbags).

I was thinking about this a few months ago (as it has always been my plan to honor PBS), if I were limited to only PBS broadcasting, I don’t think I would mind a great deal. The PBS NewsHour is the finest hour of news available (in my opinion), and they always follow that (at least locally) with a show I like. Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays at 8 p.m. are Antiques Roadshow (1997–present), Finding Your Roots (2012–present), and Nature, respectively.

And that is about as much time as the average American has for television anyway.

If you do have the time, there is no shortage of quality programming — old and new — on PBS. Frontline (1983–present) has been around forever (and has received every major award in the business); it’s still the vanguard of investigative journalism. American Masters (1986–present), American Experience (1988–present), Masterpiece (1971–present) — it’s a long list of quality programming.

Even reruns of This Old House (1979–present) are useful as Sunday morning salve; for when you need to nurse that particularly painful hangover. Sure, there’s a bit of hammering, but seeing as you got hammered the night before, it only seems befitting.

PBS has a lot of feel-good shows actually, and not just for the kids. Nature to me is a fantastic example of feel-good television — of which I find there are three categories.

Category 1 feel-good television can improve your mood after a hard day; there are quite a few on PBS. Antiques Roadshow is a category 1 feel-good program for me.

Category 2 is rare; it’s the kind of feel-good show you can put on when there’s been a tragedy, and you and your loved ones are exhausted at the end of the day (one probably spent crying, perhaps looking at photographs of a beloved pet). I stockpile these now; they are like gold. Cosmos: A Personal Journey is a winner there, come to think of it. (Into the category 2 emergency file you go.)

Category 3 is the rarest of all — a show that makes you feel so good you can’t sully it by linking it to pain. It’s just too damn good, and you’d never wait anyway.

That’s The Great British Baking Show (2010–present).

And again, it was PBS that first introduced me to this (acutely British, it’s known as The Great British Bake Off over there) well-spring of good feelings. Every season, every episode — ambrosia-like god-food for the soul.

For fifty years, PBS has been the shining example — perhaps the only example — of what television could be; versus the advertisement-laden, thought-controlling, corporate skull-fucking monstrosity it is nearly everywhere else.

Look, I’m a statist. I’m hardwired for cooperation. I like societies. I like the things societies provide. I don’t think it would be better if society collapsed and I had to shit in the woods every day.

When I think of PBS, I think of the very best our society has to offer.

PBS: Because nobody really likes to shit in the woods.

So I skipped the State of the Union this year, and despite the storm front, it’s been a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

(Author’s note: I watched it.)

Okay, I watched it. A little — but I put it on mute. I can’t stomach his voice. What bristled me from the moment he set foot in the Capitol Building, was the fact that almost everyone else in the room knows he’s guilty of treason. Yet still they stand and smile, and clap (and chant “U.S.A.”f or fuck’s sake!).

I was heartened to see that SOC doesn’t clap for traitors (or suffer those who do), and I was moved by Stacy Abrams’ Democratic Response.

Also, by no design, I watched PBS this evening after the SOTA and DR, and was blown away by American Experience: The Greeley Expedition (2011).

For my entire life, in each decade, PBS has surprised, entertained and enlightened.

#State of the Union #SOTA #PBS #Public Broadcasting Service #Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood #Sesame Street #Monty Python #Cosmos

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