⸻ 𝐻𝐴𝐼𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑄𝑈𝐸𝑁𝐶𝐼𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑁.

EDIT OF H. SULU. MUTUALS CAN REBLOG.

exploring strange new worlds...

montgomery from star trek - mixed media influence and 21+. told by olivia | sideblog

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

@silverjetsystm for steven!

Untitled Headcanon Questions

Part I You can replace the 'your muse' with the name of the muse you're asking. A random assortment of headcanon questions to send to receiver's muse and help both you and them get to know their muse better. Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

What can completely break your muse?

What has your muse witnessed in their lives that has fundamentally changed them?

What is your muse's relationship with sex and/or sexual intimacy?

What is a habit your muse has, which they consider perfectly normal, but others think is weird?

Does your muse believe in marriage? Do they ever want to get married?

What is a dream and/or a nightmare your muse had and can't forget?

What is your muse's relationship with their parent/s (can be biological, adoptive, found family or otherwise)?

What does your muse do to pass the time?

What did your muse want to be when they were a child? Would their child self be happy with what they are now?

Does your muse have any pets?

In what ways does your muse express their love to someone else (platonic, familial, romantic, sexual or otherwise)?

What is your muse's favorite hobby/ies? Are there any hobbies they tried but never got the hang of?

If they could go anywhere in the world right now, where would your muse go on a vacation by themselves?

What is inside your muse's pockets/bag/purse/backpack/etc. right now?

Where does your muse feel most comfortable at?

What is your muse's favorite quote, and why?

What does your muse do in their routine to take care of themselves (physically, mentally, emotionally or otherwise)?

What is your muse's favorite piece of clothing in their wardrobe?

What is your muse's favorite food dish? Are they able to make it themselves?

How does your muse prefer someone else confess their love to them, if they want to at all?

How would your muse confess their love to someone?

Who does your muse consider as a good friend, and why?

What would be your muse's last words be if they died right now?

What is a promise someone made to your muse and broken it that your muse never forgot about?

What is your muse's relationship with their sibling/s (can be biological, adoptive, found family or otherwise)?

ENSNCHEKOV — Indie roleplay blog for Pavel A. Chekov of the Abrams reboot films (Alternate Original Series). Multiverse/crossover & AU friendly, multi-para to novella length writer with a bias towards plotting. Heavily headcanon based with inspirations drawn from films, comics, novels, and the prime timeline. Written / loved immensely by Red, 25+.

well hey hey, explorers ! so listen, i fell down a rabbit hole of hyper fixation and colors this morning trying to make some graphics for this blog, and i think some of the stuff turned out really fun, i just have ZERO use for any of them. so if anyone wants these for whatever reason, please have at them. you don’t need to credit me, thank me, you don’t have to interact with this post at all. either this can be a fun little holiday surprise in someone’s day or i’m just out here showing off my trash — either way, help yourselves!

i have a couple other graphics and stuff i’ll be unloading that will also be free to a good blog for anyone who needs them!

… and if you got down here and were like “damn bitch — are you colorblind?” lmfaooo, no, but some of these friggin things would absolutely lead an mf to believe otherwise 😂

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

@fasciinating

Cosmic Heart and Soul © AstroFrontyard

                      ⸻ LIVE LONG & PROSPER.

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.