❛ Oh, This Guy’s Hilarious. ❜

A gift for the dash starring exactly One Bitch and One Slut.

( and I needed to make a test post, so like this if you see this rolling by on your dash - we don’t even have to be mutuals, just want to know if my posts are showing up )

Untitled Headcanon Questions

Part I You can replace the 'your muse' with the name of the muse you're asking. A random assortment of headcanon questions to send to receiver's muse and help both you and them get to know their muse better. Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

What can completely break your muse?

What has your muse witnessed in their lives that has fundamentally changed them?

What is your muse's relationship with sex and/or sexual intimacy?

What is a habit your muse has, which they consider perfectly normal, but others think is weird?

Does your muse believe in marriage? Do they ever want to get married?

What is a dream and/or a nightmare your muse had and can't forget?

What is your muse's relationship with their parent/s (can be biological, adoptive, found family or otherwise)?

What does your muse do to pass the time?

What did your muse want to be when they were a child? Would their child self be happy with what they are now?

Does your muse have any pets?

In what ways does your muse express their love to someone else (platonic, familial, romantic, sexual or otherwise)?

What is your muse's favorite hobby/ies? Are there any hobbies they tried but never got the hang of?

If they could go anywhere in the world right now, where would your muse go on a vacation by themselves?

What is inside your muse's pockets/bag/purse/backpack/etc. right now?

Where does your muse feel most comfortable at?

What is your muse's favorite quote, and why?

What does your muse do in their routine to take care of themselves (physically, mentally, emotionally or otherwise)?

What is your muse's favorite piece of clothing in their wardrobe?

What is your muse's favorite food dish? Are they able to make it themselves?

How does your muse prefer someone else confess their love to them, if they want to at all?

How would your muse confess their love to someone?

Who does your muse consider as a good friend, and why?

What would be your muse's last words be if they died right now?

What is a promise someone made to your muse and broken it that your muse never forgot about?

What is your muse's relationship with their sibling/s (can be biological, adoptive, found family or otherwise)?

𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝙼𝙸𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙴𝙻 𝙱𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙷𝙰𝙼

ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀsᴛ ᴍᴜᴛɪɴᴇᴇʀ ᴏꜰ sᴛᴀʀꜰʟᴇᴇᴛ

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑨𝑳 𝑺𝑷𝑨𝑪𝑬 𝑶𝑫𝒀𝑬𝑺𝑺𝒀 𝑜𝑓 𝑴𝑰𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑳 𝑩𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑯𝑨𝑴 - 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑒𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 & 𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠𝑜𝑑𝑦；𝑎 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑠．

．．．𝑙𝑒𝑡’𝑠 𝑓𝑙𝑦

❝

－ 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘥； 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥． 𝘖𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘥； 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 – 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 – 𝘚𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸．

HER BROTHER HAD LOOKED HOLLOWED OUT.

𝘓𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵； 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯， 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 – 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦．

𝘚𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵， 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 – 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 ． ． ．

𝘚𝘬𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥， 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘥； 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦， 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘹 𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 –

- AND OVER.

𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵； 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦．

❞

ɪɴᴅɪᴇ . ᴅɪᴠᴇʀɢᴇɴᴛ . sᴇʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ . ᴄʀᴏssᴏᴠᴇʀ/ᴏᴄ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ . ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ+

OK MY TREKKIE DEARHEARTS : who wants to really be slutty and do some real hot girl shit with me?

what does that entail you ask ?

WELL MY FRIEND - what say you to getting our tiddies out for a real, live, bonafide —

adventure thread ?

marooned on a barrren planet?

covert away mission?

a holodeck catastrophe episode?

something i haven’t even dreamt of?

can’t think of a plot but still want to?

n e v e r f e a r !

plotting is my favorite tune dialed up until the knob snaps off; i can build us a unique and interactive plot to get started!

shipping is fantastic, but y’all i am literally sending out a call to adventure!

we’re SPACE EXPLORERS ( well writing muses who are / adjacent to lolol ) boldly fucking around and finding out! your muse doesn’t need to be a star trek muse, you just need to have a willingness to want to go on a space adventure - can just be a one off or a plot we turn into a bigger story arch

so what do you say hot guys, gals, and non-binary pals — wanna murk a couple of npc red shirts with me?

then hit that heart ❤︎︎

( i’ll send an adventure starter. don’t be shy sliding into my dms to plot specifics & multis specify muse ! )

stay hydrated & stay classy, rpc 🖖

⸻ 𝐻𝐴𝐼𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑄𝑈𝐸𝑁𝐶𝐼𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑁.

AoS NYOTA UHURA .

𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍 / 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 / 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 / 𝟤𝟣+

That should have been a query; Whether or not I would understand. 🖖🏽 an independent selective blog for T'PRING of STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS and personal headcanons. / loved by sam.

𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙴𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝙰𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂.

SUN. egotistical. melted wax wings and fingers. stretching sunburnt skin. the most generous soul. blood in the fruit. halos. anger on fire. high vitality. thunderous laughter. is pride really a sin? halogenic aura.

MERCURY. expansion of the mind. silver-tongued. an everlasting wanderer. polyglot. high dexterity. handwritten letters. innately critical. en vogue. eyes in the trees. hidden libraries. there’s always room for improvement.

VENUS. in love with strangers. iridescent waters. love potions for your mirror. selfless devotion. shattering crystal. seafoam upon sand. the golden ratio. drowning in your own passion. material value and high principles. luring. plush lips.

EARTH. fresh springs. tree hugger. we can start again tomorrow. a blazing rainforest. respects survival of the fittest. nature’s adversity. lazy bones. constantly evolving. flowers sprouting from wounds. a granite altar. fossilized remains.

MOON. illusory. silver shimmer off the ocean. secrets and gossip. cycles of reincarnation. a crybaby. physically ethereal. shared glances with a stranger. cat eyes. mistrusting their intuition. fear is a prison. ornate magic wands.

MARS. healthy competition. attraction and repulsion. magma and rubies. a blade being forged. wrath, wrath, wrath. malefic. intense eye contact. cannon fodder and fireworks. blood floods. copper taste on your tongue.

JUPITER. red robes and a suit of armor. beacon of stability. leader from birth. thunderbolts and lightning. guilty but can’t stop. secret rich kid. golden touch, golden tears. innate optimist. failure isn’t an option. constantly reaching for more. unfinished symphonies.

SATURN. traditional. overbearing energy. a sculptor of reality. this existence is a karmic one. has a heart; it’s just way down deep. law, order and justice. avoid all necessary risk. the sound of shackles clanging. sisyphus’ struggle. grappling with the reality of time. self-governing.

URANUS. psychedelic funk music. overflowing cups. a rebellion with skin. looking good in photo id. oblivious but caring. middle fingers in the air. double rainbows. icy diamond exterior. holographic. afraid of their own mediocrity. pearlescent smoke.

NEPTUNE. an elegy for the lost. dissolving boundaries. white horses. the burden of mystical conditions. deceptive. escapism is their reality. a polarising entity. artist’s soul. paranoia. searching for the unseen. a siren’s swan song.

PLUTO. angel statues over graves. power. the cycle of necrosis. transformative. unfathomable depth. an ivory tower toppling over. screaming at the sky. violets and irises. eclipsed darkness. speaks with their shadow. sex, death, rebirth.

tagged by stolen from: @fasciinating

𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙶: @silverjetsystm , @ensnchekov , @brooklynislandgirl , @wcrpbubble , @nightmarefuele , @nursc , @noblehcart , @tangleweave , @he1msman (Scotty or Hikaru!) , @goldshadows , @spybiote , @wnterslder

if looks could kill, it would have been us instead of him. - Pike

The transmission had been broken, but playing back the recording what felt like a loop of times that had the message laser burned into her memory; and after conferencing with her reporting officer and eventually Captain Pike – determining this a grave enough matter that further investigation proved warranted. The deep, subspace transmission Nyota had received while in the middle of her Gamma shift just the night prior, was the gathering of Klingon ships on a fourth and distant moon of a baron gas giant located on the most remote edges of Federation space.

What Nyota had not anticipated was assignment to Captain Pike’s covert away mission. Uhura’s Klingon was widely unmatched by most save for Klingons themselves, and she had also trained in several forms of martial arts and combat, because she found this a more useful application of her time at Starfleet Academy than aimless running and toning on machines and programs in a gym; however she has never had to exhibit the practical application of either.

Though she was Starfleet to her core and she believed in their ideals and she believed in her Captain; what she did not believe of herself to be true until this fateful mission was that she could take the life of another being. Naive was something she never was nor had she ever believed the possibility unrealistic, but given her chosen field and how fresh from the academy she’d been - never would she have guessed herself primed for such a task.

The Lieutenant’s Captain clearly felt otherwise.

This had given her both a sense of pride, and even more importantly a keen and staunch sense of duty, because she did not want to give Captain Pike a reason to think he may have misjudged the assessment of his comms officer.

The away team was small, only four, and had shuttled to the small outer moon while the Enterprise lay hidden on the other side of the planet, hidden from Klingon sensors by the large magnetic field surrounding the planet as a result of ongoing electrical and ion storms throughout the planet’s atmosphere. Conversely, it meant the away team would be temporarily cut from communications with the ship.

This had been functional, right up until it wasn’t.

What they had come to realize the Klingons had discovered, on this miniscule moon, was uncovered dilithium veins in ancient and entirely frost covered mountains and were covertly mining the crystals while taking advantage of the planet’s magnetic field distorting sensors on long range scans. Their mission parameters were clear; assessing Klingon operations, obtaining evidence to present to Starfleet high command, abscond back to the shuttle to rendezvous with the Enterprise. What no one’s knowledge allotted for was the Klingons having set black market Romulan traps armed with trilithium resin based explosives taking out the two other ensigns assigned to the away team. The Captain was able to dispatch three of the four Klingon patrolmen, but the fourth had gotten the drop on Pike, and a strange sense of both calm and urgency gripped her as tightly as Uhura gripped her phaser rifle; Nyota began to open fire with an adrenaline-fueled-accuracy that she did not yield from until the only one of the two moving was Captain Pike.

There was a suffocating quiet as she looked down at a now lifeless Klingon. Sorrow wasn’t the sensation she felt, but hollowness followed by an abstract sense of satisfaction knowing that feeling was an indicator to her that killing and death were not something she aligned with outside of the most extreme circumstances; and now Uhura saw clearly what those circumstances entailed. Nyota came unfroze from her existential reverie at the sound of Pike’s voice, and she knew the gallows-quip was to meant exactly for that.

The Lieutenant’s attention was back and honed, she repressed the preceding moments to be in the present one, duty sidestepped her Captain’s words and assessed him up and down in search of fatal injury;

“Captain,” her voice steady as she could manage, “ – are you alright? The shuttle is just over this hill, but we have to go now … they won’t let us leave alive, not when they know we’re with Starfleet.”

N Y O T A  –  K A N

IT  FELT  ALMOST  DECADENT  WHEN  THEY  WERE  this close; pulled together by a ligature of the souls that was, by Nyota’s very limited life through the cosmos, incomparable to any of her experiences. These hallowed moments of ardency that bloomed between them like this – in the quiet of the dark with just distant and blinking stars to observe them – were necessary to remind Uhura how this had been one of the earliest intimacies of her heart. A venerated thing that she manifested, with him, out here in the wild yon of space. Spock lays flush against her so closely that she breathes in the timbre and words of his Vulkhansu so that it might cast out the polluted air left by fear’s hand; – before falling into him the way people fall into dreams. Legs tangling and twining around his with a renewed, albeit libertine, kind of vitality. Briefly her mind dwells on the velveteen soft of his mouth, the warmth of his hand splayed along her face, and then circles back to that intimate place in her heart, the sacred place where his name is carved into the ventricles and sinew. The place where she loves him. A nexus point so profound it spiders out through the rest of her being – ingratiating so deeply it reaches her at the atomic level. She’s lost to him in that moment, somewhere fixed in time, a plotted place where he might always return and there she would be, wrapped around him so tightly that it seemed like she might try to fuse with his skin, flood beneath it, live there with him until the universe returned them to stardust. To never be parted, to share a single, last breath. Perhaps not in this reality or universe, but maybe so in another. But for now, laying bare at the altar of Spock, she had him and he had her; an irrefutable and universal truth as it was written in that moment.

Because a few short months prior, Dorian  N I N E  showed her in brutal, real-time that the sum of any one being’s life is a collection of moments that can and most certainly will change from one to the next. It will happen without warning, without seemingly any rhyme or reason, and it will occur with savage and equally cruel indifference.  She holds him with that same, uncharacteristic tightness from only a little while ago, eyes shut. She’s in one of the Dorian escape pods vaulting to the surface of it’s planetary ocean, watching the nova-like explosion from the submerged city. She’s watching where they left Spock. Where he shoved her into a pod, tapping into some deep Vulcan logic of The One & The Many, while he turned away from the desperate pleading and protesting from his mate. 

Fear is insidious.

It bleeds.

The tips of her fingers [ though the nails are kept short and smooth at the edge ] dig hard into the muscle of his shoulders and back, cementing him against her, eyes held shut - tighter than what was necessary. The beating of her heart accelerates, but not to the tune of two amorous lovers, but in the way a rabbit’s heart beats when a fox is sniffing near the glenn.

“Spock,” his name is a hush she dares to speak against his skin, burying the sound in the crook of his neck.

There’s the familiar hand of fear crawling up the back of her throat, pulling back the words, covering her eyes to memories that were covered in the dust from over long, forgotten years. Shoved at the back, in a place where it does not want her to look. A place that held all the grief she was never permitted, because in the way they had been taken from her, the sound of it…

It was coated in fear.

It was a place she did not want to discover.

But discover she must.

Perhaps, not alone, however.

Nyota, with a great deal of reluctance, pulls back from him just enough so that they once again are looking at each other while alternately her hand slips over top of his, guiding it to lay flush against her face.

Spock was the help she needed.

Uhura couldn’t pretend any longer as though he weren’t – distantly she did wonder if it was less shirking the importance of how Spock could help and more an ulterior need to shield him from what lay beneath in the places she had buried Fear in her memory.

A tear, hot and glistening, rolls down against the ridge of his nose and splashes against the pillow – it wasn’t an easy thing to be the Communications Officer of Stafleet’s flagship, the U.S.S. Enterprise, pride herself for years and years on her ability to communicate in ways that far exceeded words, and yet here with a person to whom she trusted everything to implicity - she could not find any way to express to him the burden that clung to her bones.

This beast of burden. Of fear.

So she invited him to look. To see what she could not say, to know the place where words and any other means of expression had categorically failed her.

Nyota invited her mate to chase the devil from her heart.

@fasciinating

D I S C O V E R. THIS WAS A WORD WHICH INCITED from her fathomless ambition; Nyota Uhura had always wanted to be an explorer for the sake of brilliant and beautiful – discovery. And yet there are things that perhaps needn’t be discovered or explored; but should serve as caution to the rest. The consequence of going too far; to toe along the edges of where lingers the apotheosis of fear. The eldritch things that live in the dark parts between the stars – were such nightmares meant to be found? How far can malevolence be explored? And to what end? Nyota drew herself closer, chasing the warmth from him, again finding comfort in that familiar darkness, face pressed into the crook of his neck; clinging far tighter than what would be her conventional grip into his skin. In hushed, slow inhales and exhales she sidestepped Spock’s sentiment about discovery as the idea felt strange and tight in her chest, a concept that did not belong. Instead she followed the invisible equations he drew into her body, a great many she could not guess their beginnings, middles or ends, but she did catch patterns, numbers and the occasional order of operation; it was the secret she kept with his hands, had yet to ever say aloud her hypothesis to what he left etched into her skin. Briefly smiling into his neck, Nyota drew her leg high, sliding slowly through the middle of his – smooth skin against soft, black hair.

It was a feeling she wanted to chase.

But fear is insidious.

It bleeds.

Her hand, that was soft snaking a delicate line up his neck to the tip of his ear and back down again, finally stopped to rest against his chest, smoothing the hair idly with her fingers.

Fear bleeds – bleeding into the familiar darkness she found in the comfort of Spock. The dark of a vacant rip in the cosmos, a singularity of darkness - unquantifiable fear.

“Spock–” his name trembled in her mouth, “ . . . do you think fear is tangible? If it’s observable and quantifiable - couldn’t it be tangible? A sentient thing?”

The question itself sounded like nonsense, she knew it to be true, but there was a context that she couldn’t explain. It was how she knew fear was tangible; it was a cold hand that held sense at the back of her esophagus and reached down and polluted the air in her lungs with which to speak it.

Maybe Spock might draw an equation of numbers with which to unlock the words trapped in her throat.

@fasciinating

Not fucking @tangleweave coming at me full force with my love, my light - goddamn Doctor Julian Bashir. CHEF’S KISS 🤌 ♥️🩵♥️🩵

Were you expecting resistance? 🤣