He Will Be Known By The Fox As Though He Always Has.

the enterprise senior crew at 100% power

the enterprise senior crew at 99% power

Stephanie Garber, The Ballad of Never After

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

“ 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 from on occasion; in these private, silent, 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.

Back inside of Spock’s quarters, in a far more familiar darkness; that 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 had not the first instance in which Nyota came to her mate with this question; and very nearly each time the way in which it is asked, the hour of day and circumstance - all different. Going so far to appear as though a non-sequitur - as it did now. Though there was hardly anything random in this question, a question she thought on almost every day of her life from youth.

Not untoward for scientists and explorers, to pose such quandaries and wonder grand and mysterious things; it was that her tone never implied Uhura was asking for the purposes of science or exploration.

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

@fasciinating

“The very fact that socks exist is proof shoes don’t work.

@wcrpbubble for Bev!

EDIT OF H. SULU. MUTUALS CAN REBLOG.

𝙃𝙚𝙮 , 𝙀𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙧𝙨 !

𝖨’𝗆 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒，𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 food 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝗈w, 𝖨’𝗆 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉 𝗎𝗉 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝖨 𝗈𝗐𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 ．．．

𝑨 𝑫 𝑽 𝑬 𝑵 𝑻 𝑼 𝑹 𝑬 𝑻 𝑰 𝑴 𝑬 !

If you’re just seeing this or recently just started following me HERE is the post for the adventure call. Were you feeling like maybe 𝑄 needs to put your muse to the ultimate test or that it’s about time your muse had some trouble with goddamn tribbles? Go ahead and like that post and I can either throw you a random adventure or you’re more than welcome to jump right into my DMs to plot something totally different!

I’m going to do my very best to write the starters in the order the adventure call was liked, and hopefully can get two or so out tonight and trickle the rest out over this coming week. If you feel like you’ve been waiting a long time and aren’t sure if I remembered you or not - please don’t be shy! Hop in my DMs and drop me a line!

— until then . . .

. . . stay curious, explorers !

“You Treat an Outside Wound with Rubbing Alcohol; You Treat an Inside Wound with Drinking Alcohol. It’s Science."

@silverjetsystm for steven!

❛ i wish i could say i’m making a difference, but i don’t know. ❜ - from mccoy

𝑈𝑁𝐷𝐸𝑅𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝑃𝑂𝑆𝐸 𝑂𝐹 𝑂𝑁𝐸’𝑆 𝑆𝐸𝐿𝐹 and stacking it against the great and varied needs of which that purpose serves is, at its very best, a lesson in futility; then compounded by the fact that the type of individual Lenoard McCoy was, choosing to serve inside the field he did – there is the potential to habitually feel every effort was not enough. Though, in the very humble opinion of this Comms Officer, was that so many of them [ herself included ] had McCoy to thank for the very air in their lungs, because without him nearly half the crew of the Enterprise wouldn’t be alive to draw breath. The varying instances when it was McCoy alone, whose knowledge in xenobiology - she felt - often surpassed her own knowledge in xenolinguistics [ a point of pride she did not relinquish easily or to just anyone ], was the very difference between Commander Spock being amongst the living and amongst the – not.

It was late evening, both of them having come off the end of their Beta shifts, and the mess hall was thinly populated; a few late diners from Alpha shift finishing their meals, a table of cadets consumed in some deep gossip circulating the lower decks, and then McCoy and Uhura at their happily removed little table; present enough to seem normalized to the cadet class, but a area small enough to deter more company. Nyota’s hand cradled overtop of McCoy’s, and a smile ripped the seam of her mouth;

“Bones — ” her voice, warm like a smooth whisky, said the nickname most favored by their Captain; rarely did Uhura use the moniker unless very specifically trying to convey the gentle and intentional place she spoke from, “ — the difference you’ve made for some of these people is the difference between having their lives or being memory in an eulogy. At the end of it all, the only thing we can give is all that we have, and of anyone on this ship Lenoard ; I have seen you give everything when you didn’t have anything else left but those goddamn brilliant hands of yours.”

Fondly, Nyota’s hand squeezed his, “ — best in the fleet, am I right?”

#L1STEN, an independent portrayal of the twelfth doctor, as created in the bbc's ᵈᵒᶜᵗᵒʳ ʷʰᵒ & portrayed by peter capaldi. est 2024. by heretic ──── 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 [ ... ] 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘, 𝐈 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃. (ᶰᵒᶰ⁻ʳᵖ ᵇˡᵒᵍˢ ᵈᶰᶤ)

   Weep, little lion man

                         You're not as brave as you were at the start

                        selective. kelvin timeline focused. crossover friendly. dash only