˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

𝑊𝐻𝐸𝑁 𝐷𝑂 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐺𝐴𝑍𝐸 𝐴𝑇 𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑅 𝑆𝑂𝑈𝐿𝑀𝐴𝑇𝐸

𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦’𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦．

this is all you've ever wanted.

you and them and the promise of a future. you should be getting ready too. but you lay in bed for a moment, still feeling the traces of their warmth on the sheets, their scent on your skin. you watch how carefully they choose their outfit for the day.

you watch as they pair the colors.

you memorize that face they make when they stand at the mirror checking every detail. you savor how routine it is. you savor it because you both earned it. there is something precious in the domesticity and you vow to never take it for granted.

tagged : @fasciinating [ ilysm! ]

tagging : @ensnchekov , @sabctage , @uncertainlogic [ mccoy ] , @nebulaties [ pike ] , @ltnsingh , @ltcommanderandroid , @onlybonesleft

@fasciinating

He is risen

“I’m thirty years old, and I’ve peed in every pool I’ve been into. Every single one.”

@endeavvor

Nyota Uhura stood over a drawer, her face twisted into an expression that settled between annoyed and a general readying for war.

The drawer in question was normally filled with random odds and ends, bits and baubles, scissors that were missing a handle but were entirely adequate for curling ribbons on gifts, blank thank you cards, three broke styluses, hair ties, bobby pins, clips, bands, papers; it was a junk drawer as beautiful as it was random with it’s contents.

But now . . .

Now it was — organized.

The styluses and single handed scissors were gone, her hair ties neatly bound together with some of the loose string (loose strings that had no business holding hair ties together) and a lot of hallmark clues that someone was in here with their goddamn Vulcan fingers that shouldn’t have been.

Nyota swept the long, silvery white main of hair over her shoulder, eyes narrowing and drawing together fine lines of crow’s feet at their orbital corners. Pensively she sipped her tea and the drawer slammed shut.

Her steps were barefooted and silent as she could hear the gentle conversation between Jim and the Old Man. She didn’t care what they were talking about as Uhura stood in the doorway of Jim’s study, a game of chess setting between them.

It was subtle the way she crept over to him, almost affectionate the way her arm slinked around his shoulders, idly smoothing down gun metal silver hair that was already smoother than the surface of still water.

Gracefully, one could say, was the way she leaned over and at random plucked four pieces from the game set, standing back upright and looking down at her Vulcan husband;

“Why,” Nyota tossed a knight at his right shoulder, “— is all my junk,” then cast a rook at his chest, “— out of,” another thrown at the left shoulder, “ — the JUNK drawer?” And the last she lobbed (though to be fair, her softest) against his left cheek.

@fasciinating

“ 𝑾𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑫𝑶 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑵𝑬𝑬𝑫 ? ”

AN ANSWER FAILED HER or at least one that seemed like it would produce any sensical clarity to either of them. The question held an answer so large Nyota wasn’t sure how to respond for several long minutes. In that time, the dark from the room mirrored the darkness that lingered at the edges of her thoughts, a puzzle to carry with her from birth, to this moment, to seemingly the rest of her days.

Uhura did this on occasion; in these private, silent, and intimate spaces she held with him. Where her mind wandered to the end of the galaxy, gently pulling his hand along behind her, only to stop right at the edge where infinite darkness began.

At long last her mind pulled her back into the present reality, back inside of Spock’s quarters with a far more familiar darkness. Darkness that held no pretense, just as the man of whom she laid her body against. The resolute and unrelenting heat from all of her radiated deep into his skin as Nyota made a brief ascent upward where her head came to rest under the point of his chin.

When the words finally came to her, they came packaged inside of a query; “Spock – what do you think is out there . . . beyond the galactic wall?”

This was not the first instance in which Nyota came to her mate with this question; and very nearly each time the way it was asked, changed. The hour of day and circumstance - always different. In some instances appearing as a non-sequitur; as it did now. Conversely — there was hardly anything random in her question; a question she thought on nearly every day of since youth.

It was hardly untoward for scientists and explorers to pose alike quandaries and wonder grand, mysterious things — but it was her tone that never implied Uhura was asking for the purposes of science or exploration.

This was a secret thing she asked him — with no expectation of a specific answer, leaving it to be little more than a rhetorical question, far from direct or specific.

@fasciinating

Her fingers smooth down the midnight hair covering Spock’s chest while her voice breaks through the silence of his bedroom — “ . . . are you sleeping?”

                                        IN THE DARK, HE SNAPS ALERT at the touch of Nyota’s slender fingers, long and ruminating across bare skin and the steady heart beat drumming under his ribs. Parsing a quick mental check, his internal time sense tells him that it is close to oh two hundred, the room dim with only the silhouette of her face.

Blinking slowly, he looks down at her.

“ Negative, ” or not anymore, but catching the smooth glide of her hand, Spock attempts to convey through the haziness of sleep that he has no complaints. He shifts slightly, careful not to jostle or deter her gestures — he desires it, contact, when they are alone like this — pinning their hands on his chest.

“ What do you need? ”

@haiiling

"I don't think the badger is actually rabid; I think he's just kind of a dick."

@he1msman

“ Conversation ran short. ” [Sardaukar Marc]

UHURA LOOKED DOWN AT THE DEAD ROMULAN at Marc’s feet, clearly unprepared for the lone Sardaukar he would cross blades with this far out in the northern desert; Romulans proving better equipped to survive further in the desert than most who aren’t Fremen. With swift hands she immediately began stripping the body of anything valuable, upwards to collecting his water; water from Romulans being far more useful and consumable then the chemical-ridden water of the Harkonnens. While at her task, Uhura pried out loud at Marc the reason a singular Romulan was this far in the desert, clearly meant to survive out here for at least a week given the presence of that many rations and a frem-kit. But she was met with a very concise and unsatisfying reply– “ Conversation ran short. ” She certainly didn’t buy into the fact he attempted to extract any intelligence from his kill. Uhura was Fedaykin and few others understood the art and necessity behind combat as they did, but given the nature of the fight being for their very freedom and autonomy to live on their own world untrammeled by outworlders; they also deeply understood the necessity of subterfuge and interrogation. Setting aside a para-compass, the frem-kit, rations, various other small tools and devices, she spoke without looking up from the black, rubber pouch she filled with the body’s water of Marc’s dead Romulan, “ — you would think a Sardaukar would be interested to know why his enemy is so far from their normal patterns. Though I never thought Sardaukar did much thinking, so can I really say I’m surprised? ” The vitriol in her tone apotheosized at the very end of her statement, where she cut herself short, abruptly so. She didn’t like him. Very nearly the whole Sietch had shared this sentiment – until prophecy was spoken. Lines of holy script, but really just venomous propaganda spewed for centuries by Bene Gesserit missionaries. Uhura loved Layla – and yet no one in the Sietch could rile her to anger as quickly as Layla. The antecedent cause to that anger was always rooted in prophetic and religious beliefs that Uhura could simply not subscribe to; particularly in the exacting way with which Layla tended to believe in these Holy Signs. Holy Signs where Uhura only saw lies meant to enslave the faith and beliefs of her people, while Romulans and Harkonnens saw to enslave them in a more literal sense. Marc had fit the lines of prophecy; things about the foe becoming the friend, a man of three. Lines that didn’t even register as sensical to her nor did she care to have them explained by Layla inside of her religious fervor or Spock inside of his logical litanies. So it was decided to reform the Sardaukar rather than to take his water and give his body to the desert. Uhura didn’t understand it, and there was a large part of her that didn’t want to, not when she was there squatting on the ground watching the blood drip off his blade and wondering how much blood from her people ran down the same metal edge. Admittedly the only ones who really spoke to him in the Sietch, beyond functional discourse, were Spock and Layla. When the last of the water was drained, she threw the packs over her shoulders, and looking at his sword and back at Marc, she spat “ – feel better, Sardaukar? ”

@silverjetsystm

80's AU.

@endeavvor, @ensnchekov, @scrapratsoldier, @haiiling, @hiippocrates

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.”

exploring strange new worlds...

montgomery from star trek - mixed media influence and 21+. told by olivia | sideblog