⸻ 𝐻𝐴𝐼𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑄𝑈𝐸𝑁𝐶𝐼𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑁.

WHAT HE SAID WAS LOST INTO THE DESERT with The Maker while Uhura was lost inside of Spock's proximity – the way it was sudden, but simultaneously time elongated. No one sat this close; Uhura rarely permitted it of anyone. But she dreamt of him. She dreamt of his closeness. She dreamt of it as recently as that morning. For long years Uhura entertained dreamless sleeps, a blank void where exhaustion went to die and be remade into something useful in time for her to meet the sun. Uhura’s slumbers, just as her days, were functional, purposeful and planned; scarcely did she award herself frivolity. She loved her people, her Sietch; her whole, short and brutal nineteen years of life were committed to their betterment, their prosperity and defense – to their survival. Uhura could hear their laughter below echoing up from the Sietch – she wanted to turn her head, to briefly escape the weight of this intimacy. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. A fear lingered that if she broke this moment, if she looked away - it would slip through her fingers like spice on hot winds rolling up from the south. The moons were alight, reflected in vivid detail against the inky dark of his eyes; and if she trained her eyes against his enough, there mirrored in his she could even make out each finger of The Hand of God. Uhura could feel his breath against her lips, his air rolling over her tongue when she breathed in – breathing him into her lungs, into her blood. Uhura pressed their hands hard against her stomach, sliding her free hand overtop, pushing harder into her abdomen creating a natural lean-in, shaving away at the liminal space between their mouths. This pervasive kind of intimacy, fresh and new, like golden sun rising over the dunes - all the same it wasn’t natural to how she connected with people. With anyone at all. Not like this. But few things can survive, whole and joyful, on Arrakis; even in the secret places held by the heart. Because here she felt a stab of what felt like grief, but a grief she had not yet felt, followed with indecent haste by grief’s familiar bedfellow: Dread. What was this feeling? Harder she pressed their hands against the sinewy muscle of her belly, nails digging into his skin. She didn't dare to move. She let grief and dread wrestle against her bones, letting the breath in her throat paralyze while she fell headlong into the endless black of his eyes – there was something ill fated screaming from the expanse of a future she couldn’t dream. Instead rose the heat of her heart, an organ of brimstone promising ruin to anything that dared seek it’s favor. Uhura’s heart was an inhospitable place – molten fire flowed where there should have been blood; it was a place where only dragons could go.  A place where only dragons could stay. “ D’rachanya, ” repeating the word with barely a breath, heady in the way it came from her like a spell or conjuration. She closed the final piece of space between them. Would they burn the other if their lips touch?

Not outwardly. Rather it burned inwardly, where the point of origin was the center of her stomach, the place where Uhura still held fast to his hand with both of hers. Deeper she pushed into him, committing the details of his mouth to sacred memory. The swirling movement of her jaw, her lips, had slowed – slowing until finally she stopped and pulled away, but only just far enough she could level her eyes to his again. “ If you were to become a dragon – would you still come to Arrakis and find me in the desert? ”

@fasciinating

She ran two, slow fingers against the underside of his index and middle fingers. It was a custom entirely alien to her, but Uhura liked the rush of warmth in her chest incited by listening to the way his breath would change, albeit almost imperceptibly. They sat on the ridge of a particularly steep dune, the sun having melted into the horizon hours ago, where Uhura held his hand in hers, like some delicate, invaluable treasure unearthed from the deep desert, idling together in contented silence - broken by the onset of a sudden thought-turned-spoken query. “ Hayalit, ” she began, though the scathing she once married to this term had dissolved bit-by-bit, leaving behind the suggestions of deep affection she had yet to speak aloud between them. An affection that still only lived by touch and sight; in dreams.  “ – I once heard a man in Arrakeen say that long ago dragons ruled your distant, red deserts. Is that true ? ” Uhura’s fingers idly remained against the underside of his, with a slow and steady back and forth as she moved her own. “Could you find them, Mahdi ? ” But a smirk pushed itself in the corner of her mouth. She didn’t necessarily believe Spock to be the Lisan al-Gaib, and from time to time she reminded him of that but the cavalier way she would use all those holy names her people had assigned him.

HE RESISTS A SHUDDER ON THE plains of Arrakis. The sun is gone, bright gold away from the sea of red flecks and shimmering heat. Spock can still see it as it rises from the sands, a contradiction to the sensations she gives him, the cool touch of her fingertips. It is almost reverent, the hiss and curl of a slow-burning fire. But Spock is not so foolish as to consider what she does, the things she says to him, with anything else but teasing. He watches them nonetheless, partially distracted until Uhura calls him by the name given to him by the desert and its people. Hayalit, followed by others, other words that skitter, demanding things, against his skin and the curves of his ears.

It means to change, creature of the deep crimson sand with mutating scales. Spock stares nowhere, everywhere all at once, eyes dark when they pin somewhere between the ravines of her fingers. How can he change for the good of the many, never the few?

Never the one.

Spock cannot pretend to know; he loathes the answer. It seeks him regardless.

—fire and glass, a red flag streaming across a battlefield with the symbol of his father's house.

" Dragons? " Spock raises a brow. " D'rachanya, " he explains, Vuhlkansu knife-like where it sears off his tongue and he twitches his chin, sharp and an observant like a bird, " So they say. "

His hand fists, gripping hers, flexing and immediately stilling, as though aghast of its own involuntary movement. Spock shakes his head, " I have no wish to. " He cannot, calculating; despite its strangeness, there are greater possibilities than such a discovery. He leans, mouth quirking slightly above hers. " It would be more likely to become one. "

@haiiling

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

“You could have an emotional connection to a shoe on the side of the road — and I don’t mean that as a negative.”

@brooklynislandgirl

A FUNNY THING TO COMMIT one’s life to adventure amongst the stars, and yet still be overwhelmed in awe of the infinite splendor of the universe. For a long while she fell into an absorbed gaze with the slow dying star that Starbase 12 had orbited. Then all at once she had been vividly aware of the faintest of warmth from an even fainter touch of fingers to hers. Scotty. A surge of something that teetered on thrill rushed up from her belly, heated by her heart where it left a flush of deep tawny in her cheeks. There was still the giddy sort of excitement that comes with the blush of new love; the kind of newness where the moments come and do so with a flagrant disregard to the laws of time’s passing. Nyota liked when the moments moved very slowly between them, as they did now; where she felt just breathing each other’s air would sew them to a fixed point in time - like the universe reaching through it’s own vast abyss to present to them something infinitely precious. A moment that they may claim, a rooted plot on the cosmic timeline - to exist always until its radiance burned through until the last stars. Then she says a silly thing. He smiles when she does. He already had a coin. For a moment she thinks he’s magic. Then he says a soft thing. Nyota’s hand entangles with his that holds the coin, it’s metal cool against her palm. Their touch was new, tapered, and discreet. Existing in that space where a kiss shared between them numbers a vanishingly thin amount, but each one committed to her memory as though they’d been with her always. She feels the impulse to commit another entry to those memories and rises slowly from her feet so that her mouth might meet his where finally she kisses him. Nyota kisses Scotty and there’s a beat of swirling silence; like the silence that lives between the death of the star and the birth of the supernova. And here is where they’ll crack open the fabric of the cosmos.  Hands moving up and away from his so they could creep featherlight along the avenue of his arms, splaying out flat against his chest, and smoothing the material of his shirt below her fingers. Higher her feet lifted her, deeper her kiss went, and followed by the ascent of her hands to his shoulders; resting finally against either side of his jaw.

The moments between them began disregarding time again, as she was sure she had only just kissed him, yet the swollen ache in her lips suggested otherwise. Just as slowly as she’d risen to meet his mouth did she descend away from it, but held his eyes with hers so she could say, with great conviction in her heart, she answered his question with a much weightier meaning then either might have expected — “Both. Not me. Not you. Us. Both.” She touches her fingers lightly to her mouth feeling that dull ache there, the place where he had been and she could still feel him there; it had struck her why some had described kissing like a kind of fusion. “Both,” she said softer, but committed wholly to what it meant. To Scotty.

"Let's flip coins. Heads, I'm yours. Tails, you're mine."

FACE BREASK INTO A WIDE GRIN. No matter how they flip the coin, it works out in Monty's favor. And Nyota's.

The skin around his eyes crinkle, hues dancing in the pulsing lights of the starbase. Someone thought it was a good idea to have neon light to draw attention to store fronts and galleries.

The station hums under their feet, maintaining its orbit around a dying star. A sight in and of itself but Scotty is trapped by the mischief lining Nyota's mouth.

"Sounds good to me lass. Now, who is doing the flipping?" A hand slips into his pocket as he produces a coin. "You or me?" @haiiling

&. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  dialogue  prompts  taken  from  the  batman  (2022),  directed  by  matt  reeves.  feel  free  to  edit  and  change  as  you  seem  fit.  ) 

❛ two years of nights have turned me into a nocturnal animal. ❜

❛ it’s a big city. i can’t be everywhere. ❜

❛ fear is a tool. ❜

❛ the hell are you supposed to be? ❜

❛ i’m vengeance. ❜

❛ what does a liar do when he’s dead? he lies still. ❜

❛ happy fuckin’ halloween. ❜

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

❛ the city’s eating itself. maybe it’s beyond saving. but i have to try. ❜

❛ you’re becoming quite a celebrity. ❜

❛ have a shower. ❜

❛ if this continues, it won’t be long before you’ve nothing left. ❜

❛ if i can’t change things here, if i can’t have an effect, then i don’t care what happens to me. ❜

❛ you’re not my father. ❜

❛ some fresh berries there. ❜

❛ oh, this guy’s hilarious. ❜

❛ get out of here. you hear me? or that little suit’s gonna get all full of blood. ❜

❛ take it easy, sweetheart. ❜

❛ boy, you’re everything they say, ain’t ya? ❜

❛ you got a lot of cats. ❜

❛ i have a thing about strays. ❜

❛ you’re not safe here. ❜

❛ i can take care of myself. ❜

❛ hey, why am i starting to feel like a fish on a hook? ❜

❛ boy, you’re a real sweetheart. ❜

❛ look at me. ❜

❛ that’s one of the guys i got into it with the other night. looks like i broke his nose. ❜

❛ is bruce wayne making an actual appearance? ❜

❛ serial killers like to follow reactions to their crimes. ❜

❛ you have to keep up appearances. you’re still a wayne. ❜

❛ i’ve been trying to reach you. ❜

❛ i’m giving you a chance. no one ever gave me a chance. ❜

❛ it can be cruel poetic or blind. but when it’s denied, it’s violence you may find. ❜

❛ if you are justice, please do not lie. what is the price for your blind eye? ❜

❛ since your justice is so select, tell us which vermin you’re paid to protect. ❜

❛ is this how you get your kicks, hon? sneaking up on girls in the dark? ❜

❛ what the hell is this? good cop, batshit cop? ❜

❛ no habla español, fellas? ❜

❛ jesus. his next victim is bruce wayne. ❜

❛ wasn’t sure i’d see you again. ❜

❛ was it worth it? compromising yourself for money? ❜

❛ who are you under there? what are you hiding? are you just hideously scarred? ❜

❛ i told you, baby. i can take care of myself. ❜

❛ do you know who i am? ❜

❛ i could see the fear in your eyes, but i didn’t know how to help. ❜

❛ i could teach you how to fight, but i wasn’t equipped to take care of you. ❜

❛ you needed a father. and all you had was me. ❜

❛ i never thought i’d feel fear like that again. ❜

❛ come on, vengeance. let’s go kill that son of a bitch. ❜

❛ listen to me. don’t throw your life away. ❜

❛ don’t worry, honey. i got nine of ’em. ❜

❛ whatever i know, whatever i’ve done, it’s all going with me to my grave. ❜

❛ i just ordered a slice of pumpkin pie. ❜

❛ my life has been a cruel riddle i could not solve. ❜

❛ i know now what i must become. ❜

❛ if only you knew how long i’ve been waiting for this day. for this moment. ❜

❛ god. look at you. your mask is amazing. i wish you could’ve seen me in mine. ❜

❛ you and i both know i’m looking at the real you right now. ❜

❛ i told you, we’ve been doing this together. you’re a part of this. ❜

❛ we didn’t do anything together. ❜

❛ this is not how this was supposed to go! ❜

❛ oh, you’re really not as smart as i thought you were. ❜

❛ what’s black and blue and dead all over? you. ❜

❛ i can already see things will get worse before they get better. ❜

❛ people need hope. to know someone’s out there for them. ❜

❛ one day you’re on top, the next… you’re a clown. ❜

❛ gotham loves a comeback story. ❜

❛ riddle me this… the less of them you have, the more one is worth. ❜

❛ don’t you ever just say hello? ❜

❛ you know this place is never gonna change. ❜

❛ the bat and the cat. it’s got a nice ring. ❜

❛ take care of yourself. ❜

This one's for the dreamers.

DOCTORBROWN — an independent, semi-selective roleplay blog for Back to the Future's Doctor Emmett L. Brown. Headcanon based with inspiration being drawn from the trilogy, the comics, the novelisations, the musical, and BTTF: The Game. Written by Red, 30+, multi-para to novella length writer and crossover/AU/OC friendly!

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

  ——— INDEPENDENT ORIGINAL CHARACTER within the worlds of fallout, dune, star trek, & more. mature & triggering themes present. / CREATED BY AMY.

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

@wcrpbubble for Bev!