❝ 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 - 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃

@fasciinating

A gift for the dash starring exactly One Bitch and One Slut.

( and I needed to make a test post, so like this if you see this rolling by on your dash - we don’t even have to be mutuals, just want to know if my posts are showing up )

𝘋𝘖 𝘕𝘖 𝘏𝘈𝘙𝘔

HOW BORG IS YOUR BORG WHEN YOU BORG?

What is your Borg name?: The Borg Ultimatum

Do you appear in the dreams of the Borg Queen?: I hope so, that bitch is sure in mine. Yowza

What is the best thing about the Borg?: All the shit we stole from y’all

What is your dream planet to assimilate?: The Moon

How many of your character arch’s tie into Captains Picard and Janeway?: Too many

Are you that fucking traitor Hugh?: Fuck no

What y’all did to Guinan was messed tf up: Yeah? Well do sumn about it, Chief

Have you ever met Q?: No, and I hope I never do. That weird, theatrical, attention seeking cooze

If you could assimilate anyone - who would it be?: Jay

Do you mind the constant clammy flesh?: Not at all, I’m 97 and have no wrinkles

Have you ever quietly not added someone biological distinctiveness to your own?: All the time. It happens more than you think

Did you kind of hate Locutus?: Only because he just showed up and suddenly he’s the favorite? Nah, fuck that

Easiest assimilation?: Your Mom

tagged by: god & destiny

tagging: @fasciinating , @ahtlus , @hiippocrates , @spokh , @pointyxearedbastard-a , @antiivenom

BECAUSE YOU GET ME 😂😂😂♥️

⸻ 𝐻𝐴𝐼𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑄𝑈𝐸𝑁𝐶𝐼𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑁.

𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 ／ 𝘰𝘤 ＆ 𝘥𝘶𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 ／ 𝘢𝘶 ＆ 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 ／ 21+

“ 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

Pluto in Colorized Infrared NASA

“ 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

exploring strange new worlds...

a roleplay blog for hikaru sulu from star trek - mixed media influence and 21+. told by olivia