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Happy Mothers' Day to the Moms of and among the crew of the USS Enterprise-D!
Just watched the TNG episode "The Child" and since Taylor Swift's new song is trending, this is all I can think about at the ending.
Jean-Luc Picard has the saddest backstory in all of star trek
New Headcanon!
Ian Troi, lover of all ancient Earth history and artifacts, gets his Starfleet buddies to bring him things from Earth antique shops when they pass by Betazed. Every time he has to go to Starfleet Headquarters he comes home with boxes of things. Except the antiques are like weird boring stuff we have now that will maybe be interesting in the future. Like Tupperware and the hamburger phone.
“Darling, couldn’t you just replicate a - a -.” “A salad spinner!” “Whatever.” “But, Imzadi, it’s not the SAME!”
They eat nothing but salad for two weeks straight.
Deanna has a razor scooter and Barbie’s Glam RV and the Betazoid kids are like, “........ the fuck?”
He gets a George Foreman Grill and invites the Fourth House over for steaks.
He forces Lwaxana to have Christmas and goes to TOWN decorating. I bet he has the vintage fake white tree with the spinning lights that change color. He lives for this shit and Lwaxana is half horrified, but really secretly loves it.
He’s basically Arthur Weasley.
I think I’m writing a new fic. >.<
Me: I got mad at Erik for telling he was Tom Paris or Will Riker, I'm having a fucked up day right now.
Mikey: Paris and Riker aint all bad. You can’t be mad if someone's like "I identify with Ian Troi because I knock women up, almost destroy their household, and then leave."
Besides, look at this pic. Ian may not have been Riker's kid, but he may as well have been. Peas in a pod.
He was strong and tall. He carried me when the ground was muddy. He chased away the monsters that hid under my bed at night. And he sang to me, and kept me safe. And he went away. What I wouldn’t give to hear those songs again. To feel his arms protect me. I never will, but I can still feel his warmth and his love as though he were here with me.
