Latest Posts by haiiling - Page 2

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

the idea behind the japanese art of kintsugi is that cracks in an object are part of its history. you know, those bowls that break & then the cracks get filled with gold so then they're even more beautiful ? we've all been damaged, but it's good damage because it makes us more who we are.

He will be known by the fox as though he always has.

@fasciinating & @haiiling

@fasciinating , @ensnchekov , @silverjetsystm , @endeavvor

𝐝𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐯𝐞

@fasciinating

He is risen

I need everyone to understand about the fremen.

They do not cry. Ever.

To give water to the dead is the most sacred honor that anyone could give but they rarely and never do that because it's ingrained in them to not waste water from birth. A single tear could mean life and death for them. To give water to the living? Unheard of.

Paul crying over killing Jamis in the book was a moment that astonished the fremen around him. Jessica ponders their reactions and knows that this is a holy moment.

Jessica then forcing Chani to cry for Paul(this was not in the book btw but I love it) is the ultimate betrayal of her autonomy. To force her to give what is essentially a piece of her life to him without her consent is sacrilegious and she knows it.

Water of Life indeed.

I’M SCREAMING 🩵♥️✨☀️

@galaeus, @mutiineer, @ensnchekov, @noblehcart, @haiiling, @juramentum, @endeavvor, @dimensionalspades

if you are tagged, feel free to snag it for whatever you choose to do with it! <3

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 🐝 ✨

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 )

credit to @fasciinating

⸻one never knows how loyalty is born. ”

spock & nyota, madmen au

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

@wcrpbubble [ also tagging brandy! ] AHHHHHH, MY GUY, MY LOVE, JL

Happy Pi(card) Day!

Thank you @frogayyyy for the inspiration :') he's glorious

DIVIDING THE SELF INTO CONTRARY PARTS can very easily tempt the elasticity of the mind into snapping; only those with the right mental dexterity and constitution can withstand conditions of such deep social and behavioral shock. In the methodology of a daily routine that consisted of combing through her procedural and implicit memories, Nyota, as best she could, established some kind of inward touchstone - a method on which to rely that would remain even amongst the tumult of their situation. In doing so it allowed her to also suss out the underlying emotions that would betray their identities, risk their lives. To take those memories and carefully place them in the sacred and secret places of the mind and heart. The memories shaped like people she longed for, that she dreamt of in the night - only to wake with that familiar feeling of a weight sitting on her chest, compressing the air from her lungs; reaching out across the bed for someone who was light years and light years away.

The hollow aches of home filled by further retention of data, schematics, all things that would have to be recorded down to be deliberated with the Federation after the fact. All a part of a stringent order and application so as not to be discovered while gleaning the necessary intelligence they were sent for; operating like the spies of old fallen regimes like the Soviet Union and United States.

And through it all she had Pavel - her comrade, her brother in arms. Her dearest of friends.

Her last hope at this seeming edge of darkness.

[ Or so it had the bitter way of feeling like. ]

Uhura had been sitting on the edge of her bunk, wide legged, forearms on her knees, while she inspected her hands. They were chartreuse, as they had been for these long months, posing as Orion Arms Dealers. Though the color, on this dreary and aimless night in space, struck a different chord - one that plucked a bittersweet note from the stretched out sinew of her heart.

The thought that was lending itself to the painful sting of welling emotion in her throat was mercifully cut short and snuffed out by Pav’s harried return, but before her questions could be asked, her friend was already answering them and swiftly pulling out a cloth - on it all Pavel could scribe. Uhura and Chekov knew better than to recite aloud their intel while still aboard the Chonnaq; leaving them often to simply scribe things down, speak in code, or simple vagaries. So the clever Lieutenant naturally made use of anything and everything available to him; she often considered herself immeasurably lucky to have had Pavel Chekov with her on this mission. For reasons that seemed beyond counting, but presently he was demonstrating one of those many brilliant points of why right then.

This information was invaluable.

“You know what this means though? When we dock at the next outpost - we can make our way back, finally. This pattern proves what you’ve been saying, Pav,” Nyota, fully in agreement with her cohort that even in what was supposed to be their sleeping quarters, they couldn’t be entirely direct in what they said. “One of the moons of XurXur is the next Outpost,” her voice was low, rushed “ – this isn’t just all that the captain needs, but … ” Uhura lowered her voice even further, “Pav, this is what the Federation needs to try the The Orphan for – everything.”

@ensnchekov

While each day onboard the Chonnaq grinds away at his already fraying nerves, Pavel is still mildly surprised to find that every day he wakes up, the interior of the ship has not morphed around them into the abysmal dungeon he'd always imagined a Klingon Bird-of-Prey to look like on the inside.

It doesn't make their mission any easier, but he will take whatever small comforts where he can find them when surrounded by enemies who would not bat an eyelash at stringing them up and using them as leverage.

The reports about the Orphan have not been exaggerated.

Pavel waits until the door is fully shut behind him, double-checking for good measure, before walking up to Nyota, voice conspiratorially low. He still does not trust the Orphan is not yet on to them, that he does not have eyes and ears in the walls even he couldn't find.

"Normally I am not the one to say this, but I think the captain is wrong. You know as well as I do that for someone to change, they have to want to, and the Orphan does not. I've been digging through some of the ship's files, and—" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded up scrap of cloth which has been repurposed as paper.

"I was not going to risk the chance he finds out I downloaded information. But look at this."

@haiiling, sc.

@fasciinating

Beauty ❤️

Uhura trying to be normal & Pav just like “I’m tired.”

@ensnchekov

🧍‍♂️

N Y O T A  –  K A N

IT  FELT  ALMOST  DECADENT  WHEN  THEY  WERE  this close; pulled together by a ligature of the souls that was, by Nyota’s very limited life through the cosmos, incomparable to any of her experiences. These hallowed moments of ardency that bloomed between them like this – in the quiet of the dark with just distant and blinking stars to observe them – were necessary to remind Uhura how this had been one of the earliest intimacies of her heart. A venerated thing that she manifested, with him, out here in the wild yon of space. Spock lays flush against her so closely that she breathes in the timbre and words of his Vulkhansu so that it might cast out the polluted air left by fear’s hand; – before falling into him the way people fall into dreams. Legs tangling and twining around his with a renewed, albeit libertine, kind of vitality. Briefly her mind dwells on the velveteen soft of his mouth, the warmth of his hand splayed along her face, and then circles back to that intimate place in her heart, the sacred place where his name is carved into the ventricles and sinew. The place where she loves him. A nexus point so profound it spiders out through the rest of her being – ingratiating so deeply it reaches her at the atomic level. She’s lost to him in that moment, somewhere fixed in time, a plotted place where he might always return and there she would be, wrapped around him so tightly that it seemed like she might try to fuse with his skin, flood beneath it, live there with him until the universe returned them to stardust. To never be parted, to share a single, last breath. Perhaps not in this reality or universe, but maybe so in another. But for now, laying bare at the altar of Spock, she had him and he had her; an irrefutable and universal truth as it was written in that moment.

Because a few short months prior, Dorian  N I N E  showed her in brutal, real-time that the sum of any one being’s life is a collection of moments that can and most certainly will change from one to the next. It will happen without warning, without seemingly any rhyme or reason, and it will occur with savage and equally cruel indifference.  She holds him with that same, uncharacteristic tightness from only a little while ago, eyes shut. She’s in one of the Dorian escape pods vaulting to the surface of it’s planetary ocean, watching the nova-like explosion from the submerged city. She’s watching where they left Spock. Where he shoved her into a pod, tapping into some deep Vulcan logic of The One & The Many, while he turned away from the desperate pleading and protesting from his mate. 

Fear is insidious.

It bleeds.

The tips of her fingers [ though the nails are kept short and smooth at the edge ] dig hard into the muscle of his shoulders and back, cementing him against her, eyes held shut - tighter than what was necessary. The beating of her heart accelerates, but not to the tune of two amorous lovers, but in the way a rabbit’s heart beats when a fox is sniffing near the glenn.

“Spock,” his name is a hush she dares to speak against his skin, burying the sound in the crook of his neck.

There’s the familiar hand of fear crawling up the back of her throat, pulling back the words, covering her eyes to memories that were covered in the dust from over long, forgotten years. Shoved at the back, in a place where it does not want her to look. A place that held all the grief she was never permitted, because in the way they had been taken from her, the sound of it…

It was coated in fear.

It was a place she did not want to discover.

But discover she must.

Perhaps, not alone, however.

Nyota, with a great deal of reluctance, pulls back from him just enough so that they once again are looking at each other while alternately her hand slips over top of his, guiding it to lay flush against her face.

Spock was the help she needed.

Uhura couldn’t pretend any longer as though he weren’t – distantly she did wonder if it was less shirking the importance of how Spock could help and more an ulterior need to shield him from what lay beneath in the places she had buried Fear in her memory.

A tear, hot and glistening, rolls down against the ridge of his nose and splashes against the pillow – it wasn’t an easy thing to be the Communications Officer of Stafleet’s flagship, the U.S.S. Enterprise, pride herself for years and years on her ability to communicate in ways that far exceeded words, and yet here with a person to whom she trusted everything to implicity - she could not find any way to express to him the burden that clung to her bones.

This beast of burden. Of fear.

So she invited him to look. To see what she could not say, to know the place where words and any other means of expression had categorically failed her.

Nyota invited her mate to chase the devil from her heart.

@fasciinating

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

Teacher, Student Teacher, & Their Favorite Student

@ensnchekov & @cosmiicheskaya

Uhura and Chekov (and Tribble)

#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)

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

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

INTERSTELLAR (2014) SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ I thought you were the ghost. ❜

❛ You got to figure it out. I'm not always gonna be here to help you. ❜

❛ Well, I guess that answers the old "if I asked you to drive off a cliff" scenario. ❜

❛ It's like we've forgotten who we are. Explorers, pioneers, not caretakers. ❜

❛ You're the one who doesn't belong. Born 40 years too late, or 40 years too early. ❜

❛ We used to look up in the sky and wonder at our place in the stars. Now we just look down and worry about our place in the dirt. ❜

❛ You were good at something and you never got a chance to do anything with it. I'm sorry. ❜

❛ Don't make me take you down again. Sit down! ❜

❛ It's pretty clear you don't want any visitors. So why don't you just let us back up from your fence and we'll be on our way? Huh? ❜

❛ You're sitting in the best-kept secret in the world. Nobody stumbles in here. Nobody stumbles out. ❜

❛ I hesitate to term it supernatural, but it definitely wasn't scientific. ❜

❛ We'll find a way. We always have. ❜

❛ Okay, now you need to tell me what your plan is to save the world. ❜

❛ We're not meant to save the world. We're meant to leave it. ❜

❛ You're asking me to hang everything on an almost. ❜

❛ I'm asking you to trust me. ❜

❛ This world was never enough for you, was it? ❜

❛ Don't trust the right thing done for the wrong reason. ❜

❛ Mankind was born on Earth, it was never meant to die here. ❜

❛ We're just here to be memories for our kids. ❜

❛ Once you're a parent, you're the ghost of your children's future. ❜

❛ You have no idea when you're coming back. No idea at all! ❜

❛ Don't make me leave like this. Come on! Don't make me leave like this! ❜

❛ I love you. Forever. You hear me? I love you forever, and I'm coming back. ❜

❛ We're going to be spending a lot of time together. We should learn to talk. ❜

❛ Absolute honesty isn't always the most diplomatic, nor the safest form of communication with emotional beings. ❜

❛ We'll be waiting for you when you get back. A little older, a little wiser, but happy to see you. ❜

❛ You don't think nature can be evil? ❜

❛ Why are you whispering? They can't hear you. ❜

❛ This gets to me. This. Millimeters of aluminum, that's it, and then nothing out there for millions of miles won't kill us in seconds. ❜

❛ Everybody ready to say goodbye to our solar system? ❜

❛ You can't just think about your family. Now you have to think bigger. ❜

❛ I told you to leave me! Why didn't you? ❜

❛ One of us was thinking about the mission! ❜

❛ I was trying to do the right thing! ❜

❛ Oh, we are not prepared for this. ❜

❛ You eggheads have the survival skills of a Boy Scout troop. ❜

❛ Time is relative, okay? It can stretch and it can squeeze, but it can't run backwards, it just can't. ❜

❛ When you become a parent, one thing becomes really clear. And that is that you want to make sure your children feel safe. ❜

❛ I thought I was prepared. I knew the theory. Reality's different. ❜

❛ There's nothing here for us. ❜

❛ So it would be a real good time for you to come back. ❜

❛ I didn't mean to intrude. It's just that I've never seen you in here before. ❜

❛ I'm not afraid of death. I'm afraid of time. ❜

❛ Are you calling my life's work nonsense? ❜

❛ Love isn't something we invented. It's observable, powerful. It has to mean something. ❜

❛ Love is the one thing we're capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space. Maybe we should trust that, even if we can't understand it yet. ❜

❛ I let you all down. ❜

❛ Pray you never learn just how good it can be to see another face. ❜

❛ I hadn't a lot of hope to begin with, but after so long, I had none. ❜

❛ I just want to know if you left me here to die. I just have to know. ❜

❛ There are some things that aren't meant to be known. ❜

❛ We can care deeply, selflessly about those we know, but that empathy rarely extends beyond our line of sight. ❜

❛ Panic won't help. We just have to keep working, same as ever. ❜

❛ Before you get all teary, remember that as a robot I have to do anything you say. ❜

❛ A machine doesn't improvise well because you can't program a fear of death. Our survival instinct is our single greatest source of inspiration. ❜

❛ When I left Earth, I thought I was prepared to die. ❜

❛ Nothing worked out the way it was supposed to. ❜

❛ You fucking coward. ❜

❛ Listen, if you're not going to go, let your family go. Just save your family. ❜

❛ Dad's not coming back. He never was coming back. ❜

❛ You're gonna save everybody? ❜

❛ He left us here to die. ❜

❛ Don't judge me. You were never tested like I was. Few men have been. ❜

❛ You're feeling it, aren't you? The survival instinct. That's what drove me. it's what drives all of us. ❜

❛ I'm sorry, I can't watch you go through this. I'm sorry. I thought I could, but I can't. ❜

❛ The only way humans have ever figured out of getting somewhere is to leave something behind. ❜

❛ No, don't go. Don't go, you idiot. ❜

❛ They didn't bring us here to change the past. ❜

❛ I don't care who describes it, there is no way for it to be exaggerated. It was that bad. ❜

❛ Is this really what it was like? ❜

❛ I don't care much for this pretending we're back where we started. I want to know where we are. Where we're going. ❜

❛ Nobody believed me. But I knew you'd come back. ❜

❛ No parent should have to watch their own child die. ❜

---TO THE STARS

BOUND BY THE NEBULAE. a primarily sci-fi multimuse blog. (x)

BUT THIS IS EVERYTHING! Listen, I’ll die on the hill of Spock and Uhura, but man - Uhotty is like the hill right behind that one and imma connect them with a bridge. LOVE THIS. ♥️🩵♥️🩵♥️✨

TEN OUT OF TEN VALENTINE RESPONSES. HONESTLY 'GIVE ME YOUR CREDIT CARD INFORMATION' IS FUCKING SENDING ME!! ♥️🩵♥️🩵✨

I THINK YOU ARE SO NICE TOO!!

KISSING YOUR CHEEK RN ACTUALLY!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I DIDN'T MAKE THIS BUT HERE @haiiling

also i am not sure if you've seen ds9 ( I HOPE YOU HAVE BECAUSE I THINK IT'LL MAKE YOU LAUGH HARDER ) but BONUS valentine's day card for you and the ds9 girlies

jk ( or am i )

Not fucking @tangleweave coming at me full force with my love, my light - goddamn Doctor Julian Bashir. CHEF’S KISS 🤌 ♥️🩵♥️🩵

Were you expecting resistance? 🤣

Ok, but what an utterly perfect reply Valentine. THIS IS AS PRECIOUS TO ME AS @brooklynislandgirl ♥️🩵♥️🩵♥️

BECAUSE YOU GET ME 😂😂😂♥️

Nyota Uhura: Decorated Starfleet Officer, Captain of her own ship, also in her spare time an Ego Wrangler of Immortal beings ✌️♥️