A Gift For The Dash Starring Exactly One Bitch And One Slut.

“Lying makes me sweat. That’s why I can’t play poker or talk to pregnant women.”

@hiippocrates

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

𝑈𝑁𝐷𝐸𝑅𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝑃𝑂𝑆𝐸 𝑂𝐹 𝑂𝑁𝐸’𝑆 𝑆𝐸𝐿𝐹 and stacking it against the great and varied needs of which that purpose serves is, at its very best, a lesson in futility; then compounded by the fact that the type of individual Lenoard McCoy was, choosing to serve inside the field he did – there is the potential to habitually feel every effort was not enough. Though, in the very humble opinion of this Comms Officer, was that so many of them [ herself included ] had McCoy to thank for the very air in their lungs, because without him nearly half the crew of the Enterprise wouldn’t be alive to draw breath. The varying instances when it was McCoy alone, whose knowledge in xenobiology - she felt - often surpassed her own knowledge in xenolinguistics [ a point of pride she did not relinquish easily or to just anyone ], was the very difference between Commander Spock being amongst the living and amongst the – not.

It was late evening, both of them having come off the end of their Beta shifts, and the mess hall was thinly populated; a few late diners from Alpha shift finishing their meals, a table of cadets consumed in some deep gossip circulating the lower decks, and then McCoy and Uhura at their happily removed little table; present enough to seem normalized to the cadet class, but a area small enough to deter more company. Nyota’s hand cradled overtop of McCoy’s, and a smile ripped the seam of her mouth;

“Bones — ” her voice, warm like a smooth whisky, said the nickname most favored by their Captain; rarely did Uhura use the moniker unless very specifically trying to convey the gentle and intentional place she spoke from, “ — the difference you’ve made for some of these people is the difference between having their lives or being memory in an eulogy. At the end of it all, the only thing we can give is all that we have, and of anyone on this ship Lenoard ; I have seen you give everything when you didn’t have anything else left but those goddamn brilliant hands of yours.”

Fondly, Nyota’s hand squeezed his, “ — best in the fleet, am I right?”

“ 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

❝ 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

𝖭 𝖸 𝖮 𝖳 𝖠 𝖴 𝖧 𝖴 𝖱 𝖠 ．

． 𝐼 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠

ᶠʳᵉᵠᵘᵉⁿᶜʸ ᵐᵒⁿⁱᵗᵒʳᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵏ

P R O M O

header, icons & promo credit: @fasciinating

animated dividers: @cafekitsune

[ [ all other edits & graphics done by me ] ]

hello there, i’m 30+ & i am mostly writing in the aos / kelvin timeline, but am happy & open to writing inside other star trek timelines ( specifically tos & snw ), but my portrayal will always be grounded in the concepts of the aos trilogy.

quick guidelines: crossover / oc friendly, 21+, slow-moderate activity, multiship, triggers tagged [ — tw. ] & ooc tagged [ — ooc. ], DMs open for plotting & ooc only, extremely heavy on plotting & world building. some nsfw will appear & tagged accordingly. i do use small text, icons, with minimal formatting. will happily adjust anything for mutuals with eyesight difficulties. please operate with basic roleplay ettiquette & manners.

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

@wcrpbubble for Bev!

exploring strange new worlds...

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

“I don’t like the water, Jim. So every time water and I interact I want it to know who is the aggressor and who is the bitch.” She swigged her scotch maintaining an uncomfortable amount of eye contact with the man across from her, missing the irony of how she is both aggressor and bitch.

@endeavvor

“I’m thirty years old, and I’ve peed in every pool I’ve been into. Every single one.”

@endeavvor

conflictaverse . indie sam kirk . 18+ only . oc + crossover friendly . written by aj

❝ 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