⸻ 𝐻𝐴𝐼𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑄𝑈𝐸𝑁𝐶𝐼𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑁.

#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)

Nyota did a slow swivel in her chair from the comms station, her back needle straight, shoulders back, eyes fixed to the good doctor, unpleasant a gaze though it was. Though it wasn’t meant for McCoy, no. Hardly. No, the sourness that bore itself into her face was for the lumbering Vulcan that had vacated the bridge a little under an hour ago.

A little under an hour ago where she distinctly heard him make the statement he was headed in the direction of sickbay.

The direction of.

This semantical, Vulcan, bastard.

And she wouldn’t be fool enough to try and provoke him with it if only to spare herself having to hear recited the exact semantics he escaped on.

She slowly blinked and the only indication to the ire that crept up her neck was the way she slung her earpiece across the comms counter.

“I doubt you’re wrong, Doctor,” Nyota rose from her chair, “— and I have three guesses where he might be, and maybe you should accompany me, because if I find him first, you won’t have to worry about tracking him down ever again, because he’s going out the fucking airlock,” she hissed in a scathing whisper between McCoy and herself.

" Look. I ain't tryin' to piss you off, okay? But I need to know just where the hell he's run off to. An' I know you know who I mean. Damn fool idiot's probably out there blinder than a bat in broad daylight. "

@haiiling

@endeavvor , @fasciinating , @ensnchekov , @he1msman , @silverjetsystm , @brooklynislandgirl , @morgansmornings , @tangleweave , @wcrpbubble , @klasteris , @paramounticebound , @fleetcaptian , @classico-fazbear , @galaeus , @invictasol , @juramentum , @noblehcart , @vicit-vim-virtus

i am legit crying here

ANIMATED LINES | rainbow.

wheeee, just some simple animated line dividers. kinda like the one in my pinned, hahah. I recommend saving on desktop since its smollllllll 😬

please like, reblog, and credit 〜

more dividers →

i'm sorry that i doubted you.

— 𝑇𝐻𝐸  𝑇𝐼𝑀𝐸  𝐹𝑂𝑅  𝐴𝑁  𝐴𝑃𝑂𝐿𝑂𝐺𝑌  had  long  since  passed,  because  as  it  were  they  had  been  stranded  on  a  planet  that  while  hospitable  to  an  atmosphere  of  breathable  oxygen,  it  had  been  an  arid  desert  planet,  long  since  abandoned  by  its  ancient  occupants.  Uhura  had  vehemently  cautioned  the  Captain  on  the  grossly  underestimated  cunning  of  the  Ferengi  -  extending  to  an  incredible  aptitude  of  disguising  that  very  fact.  Though  an  alien  race  still  new  and  not  yet  a  part  of  the  Federation.  In  summation;  it  was  very  easy  to  be  charmed  and  swayed  by  said  cunning. And  presently  was  a  cunning  they  were  both  paying  the  price  of  as  they  walked  on  for  another  long,  scorching  mile. 

The  shuttle they had been piloting  was  taken  in by  a  deep  space  salvage  ship  when  it  locked  their  shuttlecraft  in it’s  tractor  beam. This ship itself was a  massively  large  vessel  that  belonged  to  an  alien  race  known  as  the  Drookmani.  A  scavenger  race  whose  whole  lineages  of  families  operated  together  on  ancient  and  gargantuan  ships,  sweeping  the  quadrant  for  whatever  they  could  lay  claim  to  over.  Drookmani  were  also  brutal  and  aggressive  in  nature,  and  per  their  cultural  and  social  structures  that  were  vaguely  similar  to  Klingons.  Their  escape  had  been  made  possible  through  the  cooperative  efforts  of  herself,  Kirk,  and  two  Ferengi  tradesmen  who  had  been  in  their  similar  situation.  This  help  came  on  the  contingency  they  would  be  allowed  to  take  ownership  of  the    entire  Drookmani  salvage  ship.  A  contingency  Uhura  snuffed  out  by  jumping  into  regulations  regarding  the  amount  of  Starfleet  cargo  and  ship  salvage  the  Drookmani  had  obtained.  Nyota  further  moved  on  to  cite  that  the  ship  itself  proved  vital  to  their  way  of  life,  and  as  a  result  would  not  be  permitted  to  assume  control  of  the  ship.  However,  in  an  act  of  good  faith,  Jim  offered  the  Ferengi  their  own  shuttle  once  they  returned  safely  to  the  Enterprise,  it  was  Starfleet  grade  and  Uhura  added  on  to  he  Captain’s  more  than  generous  offer  the  estimated  amount  of  gold  latinum  they  could  get  on  the  Romulan  blackmarket  for  Federation  craft.  Normally  this  isn’t  something  she  would  just  offer,  but  being  two  shrewd  salesmen  known  for  their  dealings  in  the  Romulan  blackmarket  trade,  she  simply  just  cut  to  the  point  of  what  the  both  of  them  were  thinking. Conversely,  Uhura  mentally  estimated  how  much  gold  latinum  everything  on  this  Drookmani  ship  would  be  worth,  and  she  knew  the  Ferengi  had  done  just  the  same.  The  Lieutenant  also  knew,  with  absolute  certainty,  a  more  precise  calculation  than  her  own. The  only  thing  they  could  have  offered  more  valuable  would  have  been  the  Enterprise  herself.  And so naturally it rang painfully false to the shrewd linguist as they put on a deeply appreciative and reverent show for she and Jim. There  was  nothing  about  that  she  trusted  and  insisted  to  him  that  he  not  trust  their  complacency. If  looks  could  kill  the  skin  would  have  melted  from  Jim  Kirk’s  whole  body  with  the  razors  that  dripped  from  his  Lieutenant’s  glaring  eyes  as  both  Ferengi  marched  Uhura  and  the  Captain,  at  phase  point  [  their  own  phasers  ]  into  escape  pods  that  would  maroon  them  on  this  fucking  godforsaken  planet:  It  was  a  one-hundred  and  twenty  miles  to  a  deep  space  outpost  and  the  only  company  she  had  was  the  one  person  whom  she  wanted  to  suffocate  by  holding  his  face  into  the  sand  until  he  stopped  moving. 

To  regulate  this  stabbing  agitation  Nyota  walked  about  twenty  paces  in  front  of  Jim.  The  short  leather  jacket  she  had  worn  for  their  original  mission  to  a  First  Contact  planet,  was  wrapped  around  her  waist,  the  sleeves  of  her  shirt  rippled  to  fashion  a  scarf  over  her  head  to  assuage  the  heat  to  some  degree.  A  heat  that  was  making  James  T.  Kirk’s  too-little-too-late  apology  to be taken seriously. 

“ Well  Captain,  that  might  be  useful  if  apologies  were  water.  Or  if  apologies  were  a  means  to  travel  back  in  time  to  the  SEVERAL  times  I  explained  why  we  shouldn’t  trust  them,  why  we  shouldn't  allow  them  phasers  –  it’s  as  though  you  entirely  deleted  the  fact  I  spent  our  last  shore  leave  at  the  Academy  taking  Doctor  Pheaser’s  course  on  Ferengi  Dialects  in  tandem  with  Alegheri’s  night  course  on  Ferengi  known  history  and  culture  –  you  signed  my  entry  request,  Jim! ”  The  shrillness  that  came  from  the  edges  of  her  blooming  anger  hung  at  the  back  of  her  throat,  stopping  now  and  turning  to  face  Kirk. “You  know  –  an  alien  race  in  which  we’re  trying  to  induct  into  the  Federation,  but  why  as  Captain  of  the  fucking  flagship  should  you  either  have  to  know  any  of  that  or  trust  the  person  appointed  to  know  EXACTLY  THAT should you be bothered with such pedantic things, right?”  Hands  that  were  thrust  onto  her  hips  now  hung  as  limp  arms  at  her  sides.  Uhura’s  head  tipped  back. She  took  in  a  deep  and  even  breath,  understanding  that  shouting  at  her  Captain  was  never  a  good  idea  and  not  representative  of  how  she  liked  to  conduct  herself  no  matter  Jim’s  flagrant  disregard  to  codes  of  conduct.

“𝐴𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑒𝑠,  𝐶𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛.” 

She  wasn’t.  They  both  knew  that.

Love. 🩵♥️✨

In the evenings they would often play music together, she on the kora and he on the kaʻathyra, creating etherial music all their own.

Commission for @jolaoso48's The Returning! Go give it a read!

✨ 🐝 Commissions | Instagram | Buy Prints 🐝 ✨

My friend asked me how many people on tumblr really watch Star Trek on a regular basis.

Reblog for Star Trek.

Ignore for a soul-crushing sense of being alone in the universe.

Pluto in Colorized Infrared NASA

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+