At long last, Celia Rose Gooding can talk about the “Star Trek: Strange New Worlds” Season 4 finale. And it’s a finale that belongs almost exclusively to her.

In the finale episode, now available to stream on Paramount+, communications officer Nyota Uhura (Gooding) comes face-to-face with an older version of herself.

In order to save Scotty (Martin Quinn), Uhura must uncover a mystery and confront the leader she was always destined to be.

It’s one step closer to “Strange New Worlds” closing the gap between “The Original Series,” where fans were first introduced to Uhura through Nichelle Nichols’s iconic performance back in 1966.

“We see them confront each other and love each other in a way that can only breed more self-acceptance, self-understanding and self-actualization, which is what fans have been hungry for this whole time,” Gooding says of Uhura’s interaction between past and future self.

Gooding spoke with the Washington Blade to break down the emotional final episode, why she was hesitant to pay homage to Nichols’s beehive hairdo, and her hopes for the future of Black and queer representation on “Star Trek” amid the Paramount-Warner Bros. merger. This interview has been edited and condensed.

I know you’ve already finished filming the upcoming fifth and final season, so first of all, congratulations! This finale is such an exciting showcase for you. Can you break down this time travel twist and how you approached playing these two different versions of Uhura?

So much of what this episode meant to me was about honoring everything Uhura means — not just to me, but to Trekkies across the world, to people who’ve seen themselves in Uhura, and most importantly to Nichelle Nichols. I didn’t get the opportunity to meet her, although I’m desperate to have had that. But I think there’s something really special and unique about being able to have a conversation with a version of yourself that you no longer recognize in the past, and also a version of yourself that you do not recognize in the future. So much of the conversation between the two Uhuras in the beginning is filled with tension; they’re not super fond of each other just because they are so different. There’s so much growth and separation between their two mentalities. Given the stakes of the episode, “Strange New Worlds” is hearing things and is called on in a way that she does not understand. And so much of Uhura’s job, as a communications officer, is to understand — especially the things that she’s hearing, the conversations that are going on. When she is detached from that understanding, she’s left floating in this really uncomfortable space. The first thing that she can reach out and grab onto is something that should not be happening; she should not be able to speak to a version of herself that exists in the future. It breaks so many directives; she is breaking a lot of rules about time travel and temporal anomalies.

And then on the flip side, we have “TOS [The Original Series]” Uhura, who gets back on this mission, and something has gone terribly wrong. That tenacity, that perseverance, that reminiscent characteristic between both of these Uhuras is that they’re not going to give up. I love that in Uhura’s mind, if something doesn’t make sense to her, it’s because something is wrong. And not because she is incapable of understanding what’s happening; it’s that something has happened and it must be corrected. I love the confidence that we see in “TOS” Uhura of talking to her friends and crewmates and being like, “You aren’t listening to me. You need to listen to me!”

What was the most challenging part of playing these two parts?

The time jump between the two of them. Originally, it was three years, but now in the edit it’s just one. And playing “Strange New Worlds” Uhura, who knows all of this time has passed but doesn’t know what’s in it that makes her future self so unrecognizable — at first, I was trying really hard to make sense of that tension, trying to establish something. I kept coming up against the obstacle of, “How can I make this make sense?” Even when we only had 16 hours until shooting, I was down to the wire. I had conversations with director Chris Fisher, and he really implored me to not focus so hard on trying to make it make sense; the moment it makes sense is the moment we don’t have a story anymore. So much of the tension and conflict is that we don’t understand how this has happened; these two characters have to make it make sense together, and they do, because they always do! But it was a real challenge as an actor to live in that liminal, unknown, uncharted space and let that discomfort be the fuel for the engine that is the story. Even as I talk about it now, I fear that I’m not making any sense!

Finally, I think fans of Uhura have been so hungry for her to just inch closer and closer and close that gap, and I think while [the Season 4 finale] doesn’t completely close that gap all the way, we see them confront each other and love each other in a way that can only breed more self-acceptance, self-understanding, and self-actualization, which is what fans have been hungry for this whole time. 

And you get to pay homage to Nichelle Nichols with that iconic beehive hairdo.

Story-wise, it was important for us to give the audience a way to immediately recognize who was talking because they’re both me, with my face. And it wasn’t just my hair that established the timeline change — it was the lighting, color grading, and everyone else’s different looks and costume changes. But the conversation around that iconic beehive- at first, I was a little resistant. I’m not gonna lie to you. I didn’t love the idea of recreating this iconic hairstyle because I have such admiration for Nichelle Nichols. God, I owe her so much for this era of my career. It is all thanks to her and what she has done, and so it felt like blasphemy, sacrilege. I was like, “I don’t know if this is right, guys; I think some things are just meant to be precious.” And then I saw it on camera, and I was like, “You know what? Maybe there’s a reason why they’re the showrunner, and maybe I should just do my part and let everybody else do their part.” It’s so recognizable, iconic, and immediately present.

I’m just filled with pride. I’ve been holding on to this episode for so long. I’ve been dying to talk about this episode because we shot it a year and four months ago, in June 2025. And I’m just really excited for fans to see it. It was a labor of love. It is an ode to Nichelle, but it’s also an ode to the version of Celia that said yes to playing Uhura because she had no idea what she was fucking in for. She had no idea, and just as Uhura held her hands and said, “You’re doing great,” I just want to hug that version of myself who was so hard on themselves, the same way the “Strange New Worlds” Uhura is, and just tell her to exhale and be like, “Baby, you got it. The hard part is behind you now. You get to just show up, do your job, and learn the lessons day-by-day.

As we’re celebrating “Star Trek”’s 60th anniversary this year, it’s been a moment to recognize the show’s diversity and inclusion. There are, naturally, some fears about what the future of the show will look like considering where the industry is going amid the Paramount merger. As a queer person, how do you feel about the potential for the show to continue embracing diversity and perspective?

I know my publicist is holding her breath right now! I am really excited to be surprised about the future of “Trek” because right now, realistically, there is no “Trek” in production. We have another season of “Starfleet Academy” to release, and another season of “Strange New Worlds” to release, and then it gets quiet for live-action “Star Trek.” I know there’s a Nickelodeon show coming; there’s a lot of animated “Trek” happening, but when it comes to Gene Roddenberry’s vision, I don’t know what the future holds. The unknown can mean so many different things, and I am really excited about what I’ve been able to donate to this franchise. I’m so excited about what it means as a dark-skinned, Black queer individual to exist in Trek, to have my vessel that Uhura lives on in, and what it means for me and my community.

I can’t imagine that “Strange New Worlds” is going to be the last of “Trek.” I hope that is not the case because “Trek” has done so much for how people think about the future and how people embrace the future. There is so much positivity and diversity embraced in “Trek,” and the world is only going to get more diverse, despite what the powers that be want you to believe. We’re not going back, and I am excited for “Star Trek” to continue to be at the forefront of the stories that are told about how we do not go back, about how we move forward and embrace each other and embrace the unknown, embrace the diversity of opinion and experience. I’m just really excited to be surprised. I want to wake up one day and be like, “I could never have imagined this for ‘Trek’!”

Abraham Lincoln treasured poetry and it turns out his particular favorites were pretty queer, but I never would have detected that if I hadn’t decided to write a stage comedy about his sex life. In my research for the play, I stumbled across what I believe is new evidence that Lincoln and Joshua Speed were lovers. The remarkable thing is that the evidence has been sitting in plain sight for more than 150 years. 

The rabbit hole swallowed me in 2019, when C.A. Tripp’s revolutionary biography “The Intimate World of Abraham Lincoln” somehow fell into my hands. I was embarrassingly late to the Lincoln-was-gay party—Tripp’s book had come out 14 years earlier—and the wonderful-to-me news that Lincoln played for my team started me plotting out a play, because I was pretty sure if I didn’t know this, lots of people didn’t and inquiring minds want to know, and the young queers of America should be told that they have yet another genius over whom to kvell. 

Historians and myth makers alike—often it’s hard to tell the difference—have always painted Abe straight, and now that it’s in question they’ve gotten peevish and insistent because, c’mon, bro, everybody knows that in the 19^th century all the guys were writing each other gushingly romantic letters and sharing a bed every night for four years. Meanwhile, the Queer Studies crowd assures us that they, the inventors of homosexuality, had not yet invented it, so it couldn’t be that. 

But what kind of play to write? I wanted to put at least two of his lovers into it, and no playwright with any sense of drama would omit Abe’s mad, physically abusive, spendthrift wife Mary. To get all of them in the same place at the same time meant bedroom farce. Keeping one’s lovers from knowing about each other is the keystone of bedroom farce and why the sets have so many doors. Speed, the great love of Lincoln’s life, who often visited the White House during the Civil War, would arrive while Lincoln’s wartime lover Army Captain David Derickson was there, too, and Abe would conceal them from each other and from Mary, who is suspicious and dangerous and prone to striking her husband. I also folded in Lincoln’s writing of the Emancipation Proclamation, which in the play is helped along by an invented Black housekeeper, who has suspiciously 20^th-century opinions and a shiny new invention: the animatronic steampunk Lincoln robot. “The Loves of Lincoln” finally had its world premiere on June 19 of this year in Memphis, Tenn., where it was nominated for the best new original play of the 2025–26 season, and lost. Now we’re getting to the part about Lord Byron. Wait for it. It’s coming. We’re still setting the scene.

A cute, redheaded, gay Broadway producer told me the play would be stronger with a different kind of ending and for once a producer’s note was spot on—the play needed a final confrontation between Lincoln and Speed over love and slavery. The Speeds had dozens of slaves—lots more than Mary Todd Lincoln’s family, who had a few themselves. To write the scene I needed to know more than I did about the Speed-Lincoln relationship during the war. Speed was helping Lincoln keep the border state of Kentucky in line, but on the other hand his great wealth depended on slavery. 

Time for some research. Enter “Your Friend Forever, A. Lincoln: The Enduring Friendship of Abraham Lincoln and Joshua Speed” (2016, Columbia University Press) by Charles B. Strozier, a “psychobiographer” who does the usual somersaults to explain away Lincoln’s behavior as straight because writing gushingly romantic letters to other guys and sleeping in the same bed for four years was absolutely not gay in the 19^th century, which is proved by the fact that all the guys were doing it. Which kind of made me want to build a time machine and stop off in 19^th-century Illinois on my way to ancient Greece. And then, suddenly, sitting there quietly on page 45, like a dangling thread on a cardigan begging to be pulled, was the interesting datum that Joshua lent his gangly, athletic bedmate books, among them Joshua’s “favorite”: Lord Byron.

The same Lord Byron who cut a swath a kilometer wide across the comely young men of Greece? The notorious libertine and sodomite—that Lord Byron? Well, yes, and it’s not hard to draw a line straight from there to Lincoln’s closet (coincidentally, one of the doors in The Loves of Lincoln leads into a closet—“Why is my husband always in the closet?”), but for some reason, up to now, no one I know of has drawn that line.

Understand, just reading Byron does not make Josh and Abe homosexuals. Byron was a big seller and lots of straight men read him, though perhaps not while gazing dreamily into each other’s eyes (Joshua’s wide and blue, Abe’s a melancholy gray), and OK we don’t know that’s exactly how it went down, but we do know other interesting things thanks to William Herndon.

Bill was a clerk in Speed’s general store, the store Speed and Lincoln slept above, and later the junior partner in Lincoln’s Springfield law practice. Herndon worshipped Lincoln. After the assassination he interviewed pretty much every significant person in Lincoln’s life, in what Strozier called one of the first oral history projects in America. Naturally, he interviewed Speed, who reported Lincoln’s passion for the poetry of Byron. The sexual significance of the connection between Speed, Byron, and Lincoln has up to now been ignored by all biographers—even the queer ones, like Tripp, who tried and did make the case for Lincoln’s homosexuality.  Speed told Herndon he had introduced Lincoln to Byron: “I don’t think he had ever read much of Byron previous to my acquaintance with him.” Lord Byron’s poetry was a stew of intense male friendship, forbidden sexuality, secrecy, alienation, and erotic misbehavior, and in the wake of his scandalous divorce his name had for years been a transatlantic byword for transgressive sexuality. Byron also became, alongside Burns, Milton and Shakespeare, one of Lincoln’s four favorite writers.

Here’s where things get juicy. Speed said that, in particular, “Lincoln loved The Bride of Abydos.” Byron wrote the poem in the wake of his travels through the Ottoman Empire, which was partly what we today would call sex tourism. The poem’s beautiful young hero Selim is extremely feminized, conceals his true identity from his girlfriend (whom everyone thinks is his sister but they’re cousins), and only later reveals that he has a secret double life—in the case of the poem, as the leader of a band of pirates. Now there’s a secret life with an All-Male Cast. We’ll let you supply the pirate joke that goes right here.

It gets better. Herndon’s admittedly fragmentary notes from the Speed interview also specifically bring up Byron’s “To Inez,” the extraordinary lyric in “Childe Harold” in which a man tells a woman that her beauty gives him no pleasure, that her eyes scarcely charm him, and that she must not attempt to discover his “secret woe” or “unmask” his heart. The subtext that leaps off the page, given that Byron was, as the actor Michael Redgrave described himself to his son, “to say the least of it, bisexual,” is that the speaker is in the closet. In the last stanza, he begs her not to pry:

What is that worst? Nay, do not ask—

In pity from the search forbear:

Smile on—nor venture to unmask Man’s heart, 

and view the Hell that’s there.

So, queer-coded Byronic poetry formed an important part of Lincoln’s imaginative world, and Speed remembered that fact nearly 30 years later, and told it to Herndon almost as if leaving literary breadcrumbs for posterity. As far as I have been able to determine, no previous Lincoln biographer or scholar of Lincoln’s sexuality has examined the queer implications of the Byron poems Speed specifically remembered Lincoln reading. Why has this been missed?

All of this would be meaningless if Speed and Lincoln didn’t understand that Byron was a lover of men, but I assert that they would have. Lincoln was a discerning reader with a famously penetrating, tenacious mind that wouldn’t let go of a thing until he understood it thoroughly—and a huge fund of worldly knowledge. He was by this time in the Illinois Legislature, had campaigned all over the state, and lawyers often encounter the seamy side of life, whether they seek it out or not. Furthermore, although Byron’s indisputable affairs with men weren’t explicitly documented in 19th century biographies and periodicals as they are today (the conventions and laws of the time all but guaranteed euphemism), rumors of Byron’s “unnatural” conduct crossed the Atlantic even during his lifetime. Articles repeatedly referred to an unnamed, horrifying, or “unnatural” offense, a “peculiar enormity,” and conduct violating the “ban of nature.” In 19th century usage, “unnatural crime” was a familiar euphemism for sodomy, while phrases like “peculiar enormity” and “ban of nature” invited readers to imagine sexual offenses too scandalous to name. Why use the words at all if readers weren’t going to get the point? American readers had easy access to Byron biographies and memoirs, including Thomas Medwin’s “Conversations of Lord Byron” and Thomas Moore’s enormously influential “Letters and Journals of Lord Byron,” while American periodicals discussed the Byron memoir burned by his friends and the salacious suspicions around its contents. Lincoln and Speed would certainly have understood that one of the unmentionable sexual accusations surrounding Byron was man-on-man action.

Lincoln’s love of Byron’s queer-coded writings, fostered by Speed, “proves” little on its own, but a lot when added to the rest of the evidence. And it’s part of an even bigger story: reversing the erasure of queerness from history and documenting that many of humankind’s greatest achievements are thanks to queer individuals. Both Lincoln and Speed had beards, literal and metaphorical—they didn’t want their secret spilled while they were alive. But then again, I like to think that when Joshua Speed told William Herndon of Lincoln’s love for those poems, he imagined a day when their love could be decoded and celebrated. Come to think of it, that day is today.

Online personality Clavicular, whose real name is Braden Peters, has been accused of rape.

According to NBC, Aleksandra Vasilevna Mendoza, an 18-year-old influencer known online as Alorah or Alorah Ziva, accused Peters of sexual assault, and the case is making its way through the court system.

The alleged incident occurred on May 23, 2025, when Mendoza was 17.

According to a criminal complaint from the Chatham (Mass.) Police Department, Peters called her an Uber to his family’s home. Once there, he allegedly got her drunk on vodka while they livestreamed on Twitch and then raped her. His mother and grandmother were allegedly in the house.

The documents allege Clavicular committed rape, drugging a person for sexual intercourse, and procuring and providing liquor to a person under 21.

According to court documents acquired by NPR, Mendoza began communicating with Peters on Instagram, where he paid her to appear on his livestreams to help her “make her name known on social media.”

According to those documents, Peters arranged for the minor to come to Cape Cod home to participate in a videostream for his 437,000 followers on Kick, 1.2 million followers on TikTok, and more than 1 million followers on Instagram.

At his home, Peters allegedly instructed Mendoza to say she was 18 on his videostream and to claim the alcohol on camera was water instead of vodka. Mendoza said she felt peer-pressured to drink the spirit and that she became noticeably intoxicated after a couple of drinks.

The allegations go on to state that after stopping the stream, Peters and Mendoza kissed on a couch and then had sex in his bed without her consent. Mendoza said she did not receive a sexual assault forensic exam after the incident. NPR does not name alleged victims of sexual assault.

The charges come months after Mendoza sued Peters in Miami, accusing him of sexual battery in connection with the events of May 2025. The civil lawsuit also separately alleges that he injected her face with a non-FDA-approved fat-dissolving substance during a November livestream in Florida.

Peters is known for his “looksmaxxing” concept of vanity, which is at the core of his online presence. The “looksmaxxing” culture he has helped cultivate combines elements of incel culture and heterosexuality, with the stated goal of attracting the opposite sex. He has gone as far as to say he has undergone “bonesmashing,” or hitting his own face with a hammer; taken anabolic steroids to more rapidly grow muscle; and used crystal meth as an appetite suppressant.

At the same time, looksmaxxing has been described as having elements of homoeroticism, with “looksmaxxers” appearing more concerned with impressing other men than women. Peters has multiple times pointed to openly gay actor Matt Bomer as the gold standard for male facial aesthetics.

Peters’s arraignment is scheduled for Oct. 14.