#starfleets1stmutineer

[captaintilly]

Walks up looking like she has all the confidence in the world taps Tilly on the shoulder to catch her attention. Nervousness shows in her eyes for a fraction of a second and kisses her on the lips for a short moment.

(Tilly is speechless.)

[chosemypain]

@starfleets1stmutineer | liked for a drunk starter

      “--- Burnham. Have you met my tribble yet?”

[xinformation-in-formationx-blog]

Closed with || starfleets1stmutineer ||

@starfleets1stmutineer

T’Pol shuffles off the shuttle and into the docking port of the USS Shenzou. Her elderly beagle, Porthos the Twelfth trailing after her. At her age and after the amount of time in starfleet she’s had, no one says anything about the beagle. The woman standing in the docking bay looks very young to be captain, she must be the first officer.  “Forgive the assumption,” T’Pol says. “But you must not be Captain Gregoriou?” 

[discoveringpike-blog]

Not on My Ship - Lorca & Burnham

Blue eyes narrowed as he read Saru’s report on the incident with Burnham when he’d been in command of Discovery. Lorca’s knuckles tightened on the fortune cookie he’d been fidgeting with, leaving a trail of crumbs on the smooth transparent aluminum of his desktop. He gave the tiny scrap of paper from the inside a cursory glance, and as usual, found the fortune to be inane. At least the paper was edible in this day and age, so he popped it into his mouth along with the cookie bits before summoning Burnham to his ready room.

He didn’t sit. Not there. His desk was made for standing, and he didn’t offer seats to anyone brought before him either. If he felt like having a cozy meeting with a compatriot, he did it elsewhere. His ready room was for picking the brains of his crew not to make friends. Lorca didn’t do friends, which was probably better for anyone in the crew, since his friends tended to die.

“Burnham,” he said, his voice dry, with only the barest hint of his southern accent. “How the hell did you manage to make Saru dislike you more than he already did?” The captain didn’t think it was possible, and it wasn’t because Saru was friendly. He felt Burnham was a threat to the ship and crew, a position Gabriel couldn’t agree with, but that didn’t mean he was blind to her tendencies.

“Wasn’t one mutiny enough for you?” Lorca didn’t much care they were hurting the Tardigrade. He’d been prepared to use it as a weapon—much like all the other toys in his lab—using it as a means to make the Spore Drive work didn’t bother him in the least. Just like having a known mutineer on his ship was a means to winning the war. All that mattered was the End Game.

@starfleets1stmutineer

[chosemypain]

📱

Send 📱 for five texts my muse didn’t send yours, and one that they did | accepting

[ PADD MSSG; Burnham, M DRAFT ] If you get yourself killed, you’re going to regret it. 

[ PADD MSSG; Burnham, M DRAFT ] I need you alive. I can’t do this without you. 

[ PADD MSSG; Burnham, M DRAFT ] Sorry about your Vulcan dad :///////

[ PADD MSSG; Burnham, M DRAFT ] If you want a new one, I’ve always seen myself as something of a father figure.

[ PADD MSSG; Burnham, M DRAFT ] Katrina took all my whiskey!!!!!! Do you have any vlucan port in your quarters???

[ PADD MSSG; Burnham, MSENT - 22:05 ] Good work today. Get some sleep.

[chosemypain]

@starfleets1stmutineer | liked this post for a starter

Unlike most of his officers, Lorca loathed being part of landing parties. It hadn’t always been so; like any ensign, in his youth he had jumped at the opportunity to see new planets, finding something thrilling in unfamiliar terrain and new flora and fauna that strange new worlds had to offer. Nowadays, he had better things to do. The Discovery had a war to win, and Gabriel was most comfortable where he was most useful -- on the bridge of his ship, or in his lab, or just about anywhere other than this godforsaken tropical moon.

The rendezvous had been a trap, of course it had. He should have been more suspicious when the alien ship had requested he and Burnham take a shuttle rather than transport to meet with the Yridians to discuss the acquisition of some rare isotopes found on the planet’s surface. Two Klingon birds of prey had uncloaked as they entered the system, firing on the small shuttlecraft. Two hours and one emergency landing later, they still had no contact with the Discovery --- and it was nearing dawn on the moon.

     “Any progress, Burnham? It’s nearing 40 degrees out here. We’ll be melting by sunup.”

[captaintilly]

(Continuation of this thread with @starfleets1stmutineer & @capt-gabriel-lorca )

•••

(Tilly wants to hide. Or disappear. Yup... disappearing sounds about good right now. I mean... the technology exists. If only she had injected herself with the tardigrade DNA, like Stamets had, she could have perfected the art of blinking out of awkward situations like this and into somewhere else... like the canteen... or her bedroom under her covers... or hiding in the back of the storage bay.)

[captaintilly]

Tilly, would you join me for a run? ( Starfleets1stmutineer )

Heeeey @Starfleets1stmutineer … What are roommates for, right?!?!

Oh yea. Going running. Running runners. Tearing up the place. With our running.

LET’s DO THISSSS!!!

God I hate running!