𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 & 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

⸻ 𝐻𝐴𝐼𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑄𝑈𝐸𝑁𝐶𝐼𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑁.

AOS NYOTA UHURA .

𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍 / 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 / 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 / 𝟤𝟣+

The vastness of space was harrowing as it was inviting. She stood there, not more than four foot two, her small button-nose pressed against the window, where she took a great deep breath as the two amber eyes setting behind thick glasses invited in the abyssal darkness running endlessly to forever-and-a-day and beyond. That darkness, however, was also consuming. Consuming in a way that it became a vivid awareness starting as a cold feeling in her toes, that crept up her legs and knobby-knees like a spindly legged spider. An awareness that told her something very old and very slow moved out in that sprawling void. She dearly loved space; but this was ancient space where strange things lurked in the bones and dust of long dead stars and systems. Pushing back from the window, she looked down the long narrow white hallways, the calm blinking lights on the panels of the wall split a joyful grin across her face, following a dreamy kind of impulse to idle left down the corridor – occasionally giving her high-top, cherry red sneakers an intentional squeak for the sake of the sound alone. After a seemingly arbitrary wander, she had arrived at a rather large arch. Each door panel had a frosted window, with a very long and important looking panel next to it with a constant stream of information, leaving her with a keen feeling she should go inside. 

The doors opened with the pleasant sound that reminded her of paper sliding against paper; revealing behind them a room that did not disappoint her expectations. All manner of soft white light illuminating even brighter floors, walls and counters. Instruments with great silver knobs and dials, glass jars and beakers of every shape and size containing materials and liquids of every color in the rainbow, and some colors she was certain she had never seen up close with her own eyes. It was perhaps one of the most magnificent rooms she had ever seen or at the very least was certainly amongst her top ten favorite rooms she had ever been in.

An interesting thread of thought of favorite rooms entertained her while she peered closely at what had appeared to be a sentient kind of liquid, undulating in a closed jar, when she noticed two great, earthy brown eyes peering through the same jar on it’s opposite side.

She did not scream (she was, afterall, very brave – which she knew to be true, because everyone in her family had said so), but rather gasped sharply and covered her mouth to avoid more sounds coming out of it, and stepped to the side so she could see clearly to whom the eyes belonged. A boy.

A Vulcan boy.

She almost stated this very fact. She had the impulse to state a great many facts just then, because she knew more about the planet Vulcan than anyone in her class.

Even Junior Thomas, who claimed he knew everything and he didn’t even know the difference between the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth, Sarek, and Surak the Vulcan who (as she believed) invented logic. He was so stupid. And she was right. And she should say it. And she did. And then sometimes her teacher had to write a letter home to her mother for being unkind.

She resisted sharing any of this information with him with a tremendous effort on her part, for she was profoundly curious and fascinated by a great many and all things Vulcan, as it was one of her most favorite subjects in the whole galaxy to discuss with anyone willing to listen (and very occasionally the unwilling). She had only ever even seen, in person, a very few Vulcans and normally they were there to have very serious and grown-up conversations with her parents.

Vulcans were very grown up.

The boy hadn’t even spoken and she could tell that he was very grown up.

“Hi!” She winced, noting the over excitement in her own voice.

“Hello,” she began again, a little more seriously, in an attempt to try and sound more adult.

“My name is Nyota Uhura and three facts about me are that I really love space, Carl Sagan is my favorite scientist, and I just turned nine years old.”

Gingerly, Nyota rocked on the balls of her feet hoping with a great tremendous leap of her heart that he would be interested in looking at the Carl Sagan hardcover book in her backpack, complete with full color pages of planets. It was a very old book that her grandfather gave her for her birthday and it was currently her third most favorite thing she owned.

@fasciinating

@fasciinating

The Barbie movie but make it Nuclear Wessels

TEN OUT OF TEN VALENTINE RESPONSES. HONESTLY 'GIVE ME YOUR CREDIT CARD INFORMATION' IS FUCKING SENDING ME!! ♥️🩵♥️🩵✨

I THINK YOU ARE SO NICE TOO!!

KISSING YOUR CHEEK RN ACTUALLY!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I DIDN'T MAKE THIS BUT HERE @haiiling

also i am not sure if you've seen ds9 ( I HOPE YOU HAVE BECAUSE I THINK IT'LL MAKE YOU LAUGH HARDER ) but BONUS valentine's day card for you and the ds9 girlies

jk ( or am i )

EDIT OF H. SULU. MUTUALS CAN REBLOG.

“ 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

“I don’t want to kiss and tell, but we ruined my dresser during intercourse. Will you go to old San Fran and find one with me?”

@fasciinating

@fasciinating

He is risen

ミ★ 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩’𝙨 𝙪𝙥, 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙧𝙨 !

here’s more FREE graphics.

no need to credit me !

(but you are welcome to if you want !)

no need to interact with this post !

(but again, you can if you would like! )

here’s a link to the previous post as well !

( post #1 )

☟︎

❤︎︎ 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 ＆ 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘺 !!