“The Very Fact That Socks Exist Is Proof Shoes Don’t Work.

the idea behind the japanese art of kintsugi is that cracks in an object are part of its history. you know, those bowls that break & then the cracks get filled with gold so then they're even more beautiful ? we've all been damaged, but it's good damage because it makes us more who we are.

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

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 )

❝ 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 - 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃

L U N A T I C , cratered with a ɢᴏᴅ’s ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀᴘʀɪɴᴛs . the deep structures of my mind have been irreversibly changed by communion with an ultraterrestrial intelligence . this is my 𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 . this is my temple . but i take my weakneꜱꜱeꜱ && turn them to my advantage . i take my ꜱcarꜱ && make of them my 𝑤 𝑒 𝑎 𝑝 𝑜 𝑛 𝑠 . ❞

． ． ． ． ． 𝑆 𝐸 𝐿 𝐴 𝐻

ᴠᴇʀsᴇs • ᴍᴇᴍᴇs • ɢᴏᴏɢʟᴇ ᴅᴏᴄ • ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛ • ᴘɪɴɴᴇᴅ

Keep reading

“ 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

Ok, but what an utterly perfect reply Valentine. THIS IS AS PRECIOUS TO ME AS @brooklynislandgirl ♥️🩵♥️🩵♥️

                      ⸻ LIVE LONG & PROSPER.

STAR WARS: REBEL RISING PROMPTS *  assorted lines from the book by beth revis, adjust as necessary ** credit to the amazing vicioushope for providing the content :)

where am i going to run?

welcome to the worst days of your life. 

no one else is here. 

can you teach me how to fight like that?

i’m teaching you everything i can. 

if you’re going to shoot, you always shoot to kill. 

what other information can you give me?

forging takes work and patience. 

i won’t say anything. i just want to listen. 

i want the truth. 

just because you don’t want to hear a truth doesn’t make it less true. 

i’m just here to talk.

i don’t know what you expect of me. 

i’ve heard the rumors. 

i didn’t want to believe it was true. 

i do what needs to be done. 

the resistance needs a martyr. 

don’t give them another thought. 

one fighter with a sharp stick and nothing left to lose can take the day. 

i already knew you were strong enough. 

don’t come any closer.

it’s always rough when it’s your first kill. 

you can’t protect me. 

at least i taught you to protect yourself. 

you constantly amaze me. 

must run in your blood. 

you clean up well.

silence isn’t the same as peace. 

what do you think war is? 

how did you track down the traitor? 

i thought i was going to die. 

that’s not a very high standard. 

i know you like to be in charge. 

i’m coming with you. 

you’re not leaving me behind, are you?

you’re coming back for me, right?

what really makes people work harder is fear. 

can you fly this thing? 

i can fly anything.

i never thought it would be like this. 

it’s over. whatever happened, best not to bring it up again. 

it’s over. you’re safe here. i promise. 

i have seen so much blood. 

i remember the face of everyone who’s died because of me. 

why are you following me?

could i make a difference?

that’s what i’m afraid of. 

it never ends.

how much to fix this?

for what price?

i don’t see how i can help you. 

you do a job and you’re done. 

don’t start a fight you can’t win. 

am i being arrested?

i just want to sleep. 

you could do so much more.

"The Lady in Red" l Betul Turksoy