Hello, my darling Curator! I have been so delighted by all your amazing prompt fills, and I wanted to humbly add a request of my own.
Actually, I have two prompts, one I would love you to write for me, and one I hope you'll write for yourself, if that's okay.
1: "so why's it so important anyway" for Rios (with raffi or the holos or someone from the motley crew or someone else entirely - you do what you feel inspired to 💗)
2: "who do you fight for" for Kirsten Clancy. Because I love the way you write her, and I know how much you care about her, and I would love to give you any excuse to revisit her in some way shape or form 😁
I hope you'll enjoy those prompts, and no worries if inspiration doesn't strike for a while (or at all). I'm already so delighted with the stories you have given us 💗
Thank you for sharing all your incredible creativity and joy with us and giving us these gifts! You are a true marvel! 🖖💗🫂
I am honored, appreciative, and so damn grateful to close out this sweet sixteen of Star Trek: Picard prompt ficlets with these two gorgeous prompts from my wonderful, caring, kind, thoughtful, fantastic friend, @procrastinatorproject. 💕
For those who don’t know, I love Kirsten Clancy so much that I wrote an entire “autobiography” for the character, as well as an essay for Women at Warp about her importance. @procrastinatorproject’s generous prompt for me to revisit this character feels like a final gift from the lovely Picard fandom that has been so wonderfully supportive of these ficlets. Here are the last two, my dears, with deep gratitude from me for everything.
"So why's it so important anyway?" (Rios & Raffi)
For those who prefer to read on AO3:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
For those who prefer to read here:
Cris isn’t usually a hoverer.
But he’s peeking over Raffi’s shoulder, pacing the decks of La Sirena, standing at Raffi’s elbow to ask — again — if the upload is complete.
The computer beeps readiness and the isolinear chip pops out, cool in Raffi’s hand.
“Here.” She’s ready to turn her attention to other tasks. There’s so much to do to get the ship ready for Seven. “Take it.”
Cris steps backward, away from the chip, pale when Raffi had expected him to be ruddy-faced with glee that she had finally finished copying such large files. “No, hermana. I want you to keep it.”
This doesn’t make sense. Cris is the one who asked for the files, pestering Raffi for days to make the copies.
The smooth edges of the chip turn over and over in Raffi’s fingertips, light glinting off the surface as the chip tumbles, as if studying the outside would give her a clue as to why Cris wants her to have what’s inside.
“So why's it so important anyway?” Raffi slides the chip into her jacket pocket, pats the cloth to ensure the chip is snug and safe. “These files. I know they look like you, but they’re just holos.”
The breath that escapes from Cris is shaky, shuddery, somehow inward-facing even as the air expels outward. “They got me through a lot. So you keep them safe here,” Cris points toward Raffi’s jacket pocket, “and I’ll keep them safe here,” his fingers tap against the side of his own head, “and between the three of us — your chip, my brain, Seven on La Sirena — I’ll know those guys will be okay.”
Raffi could tell Cris that he worries too much.
She could tell him that nothing’s going to happen.
She could tell him that redundant failsafes for a bunch of holos is more than even his meticulous nature would seem to demand.
But, instead, Raffi nods, the chip secure in her pocket, and she promises to do her part to protect the photonic people Cris won’t say he loves in words, though he proves it in actions time and time again.
"Who do you fight for?" (Kirsten Clancy)
For those who prefer to read on AO3:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
For those who prefer to read here:
Note: Content warning for deep, emotional pain associated with the destruction of Utopia Planitia and Mars.
It’s required — Starfleet counseling. Required after a loss.
Kirsten has been through it before, seen it from both sides as her counselor husband has overworked himself to cradle the psyches of those who were pushed from innocence into profound pain.
Now this, now Mars and Utopia Planitia. The planet her ancestors coaxed from ice is on fire. The station where ships were constructed — ships that carried her away — is stardust.
Construction has become dust.
So she goes to counseling, meets with a blue-uniformed lieutenant who probably has gone to trainings led by her husband, and Kirsten doesn’t say anything.
She’s usually a talker. Gregarious, like most Martians. Eager to chatter and listen and relish the back and forth of conversation.
But what is there to say now?
Five counseling sessions are required.
She has nightmares. Utopia Planitia glowing red — like a red alert only darker, more sinister — then the dream shifts and the people she loves look up to see a Martian sky split by flames.
When she’s awake, Kirsten understands her husband’s workaholic tendencies in a way she never has before. If she works hard enough, focuses enough on her job, then life will snap into balance, and her parents and brother and sisters, her aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews — everyone, all of them — will be waiting for her on Mars, red dust dancing in the air like it always does.
She sits on the chair — always the chair, never the couch — for her last required counseling session.
“Kirsten,” the blue-uniformed lieutenant leans forward, “who do you fight for?”
The lieutenant repeats the question: “Who do you fight for?”
Kirsten fights for Starfleet. Like she always has. The service that binds the Federation together, the crews that become families, the exploration that widens perceptions and borders and knowledge.
But what does that mean when her own planet and people are gone? What does that mean when her children are part of a diaspora with no home?
The minutes of her last counseling session tick past and the question reverberates in Kirsten’s mind. Who does she fight for? Who does she fight for? Who does she fight for?
The session is over and she stands, shakes the blue-uniformed lieutenant’s hand, strides toward the door but stops, turns as if pulled by some invisible force to face her questioner.
“I fight …” her voice comes out reedy, weak, so Kirsten presses her palms to her thighs, stands straighter, lets air fill her lungs, “I fight for those who have no one to fight for them. I fight for realism in the face of cockeyed optimism and dour pessimism. I fight for truth. I fight for remembrance of what we have lost as a motivator to cherish what we have. I fight for myself and I fight for you and I fight for every member of Starfleet who puts on the badge and does the work to help us all become better as a Federation. I fight for the sake of fighting because life isn’t struggle — life is joy and love and kindness — but when we must struggle, we have an obligation to ourselves to fight the fights that are meaningful to us. And I won’t stop living, won’t stop fighting, won’t stop loving Starfleet even when it lets me down. Because the essential question of Starfleet isn’t who we fight for, the essential question of Starfleet is who we fight to protect, and I will do everything in my power to protect the people I have left.”
Kirsten doesn’t wait to hear what the blue-uniformed lieutenant has to say. She just walks out, walks away, her hand clasped on her badge, cool metal that becomes warm in her hand, and she keeps walking.
💗 Thank you all again and again — your wonderful, generous support has made this prompted Picard ficlet experiment fun and fulfilling. 💗
✨ All prompted Picard ficlets are available on AO3 as Decidedly Motley Stories. ✨
