HELLO ALL! I'm a college student in America. I have absolute pitch, and play multiple instruments. I am OBSESSED, I mean, really interested in Star Trek right now TOS and AOS and mega-ship Space Husbands. I draw and occasionally write for them. Enjoy the chaos that is my blog and don't be afraid to say hello!
Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division?
Shit Hydra Is Everywhere, Lock Down.
My sister forgot how to say “turn up the volume” so she said “zoom in on the sound”
I keep thinking oh man, I’m so immature. How am I allowed to be an adult.
Then I spend time with teenagers.
And it’s like, wow, okay, yeah. I am an adult. I am so adult. Look at me adulting all over the place.
- Unknown (via cameronjohn)
- Every single time I read this line in fic, I kinda melt.
Jim loving to be petted because his scalp is extra sensitive and Spock totally exploits it for all its worth
he smooths the errant blond locks down and makes Jim close his eyes and lean into him with utter content
when he heads up to stand at Jim’s side when they’re on the bridge he casually rests his hand on the top of Jim’s head and curls his fingers into it and pulls ever so lightly and just makes Jim grunt and melt into the chair in a pile of goo
when they’re alone he’ll scritch and scratch at the sensitive skin behind Jim’s ears and on the nape of his neck, just to get Jim’s eyes to roll back and make him let out a deep-rooted sigh or relief as the tension just eases out of his shoulders and back, and when Jim curls up with his face burrowed into Spock’s side and lets out little hums that may or may not resemble /purrs/ Spock knows everything’s alright
well i hope they send it to us already
(I couldn’t resist writing from the POV of a claw machine)
They call it a claw, a crane, adjust its strength, set you in the corner next to the battered bill-to-coin machine, tumble prizes into your two by three-foot glass case, power you on.
Children call it a hand, control it for fifteen seconds, move left, right, backwards, down; pout when your fingers brush the black plush cat, the magenta duck but grasp nothing, lift nothing, deposit nothing into the hatch; release the controller disbelieving as that hand glides involuntarily back into place and you wait, wait, wait for that moment again.
Parents call you a rip off, cheap toys filled with sawdust. They pocket their remaining quarters and don’t look back over their shoulders, guide their children to blaring, flashy games as dust settles on your chipping red paint, the joystick, the coin return. Doll eyes stare up, perpetually smiling just out of reach.
Someone trips over the cord, pulls it from the wall, bends the prong. Cease humming. Feel spilled soda pool at your base. Blue scrawl announces “Out of order” on copier paper they tape to the glass. Toys press up against it, unmoving. Beside you, the bill-to-coin machine cheerfully spits out change.
The year is 2743. Society as we know it has collapsed. We have seen the machines take over and experience their own downfall. There are no more countries. There are no more governments. Resources are at a dangerous low. Many have left the Earth in search of a new planet to inhabit. Only one thing is certain: There is a Java Update available.