;; &* ( ᔕᕼᕮᕮᖇ ᑎᕮᖇᐯᕮ )

best damn pilot in the resistance galaxy ( mobile nav )

[cneofakind]

there were so many other places he could have chosen for fixing his flight suit, most of which   ( bb assumes )   would be more comfortable than atop a crate. so why did he have to choose here to do it? his presence should have stopped her && sent her to some other location, but instead she attempts sneaking past. && now here she is, sitting as still as a spherical droid can beneath her best friend’s gaze.

       bweepboopbwooiipwhrrboop        << i am up to nothing. >>

that’s it bb, play dumb && maybe you’ll still get away with it.

[daringflight-blog]

     had she merely rolled by with a chatter of a greeting, poe may not have even questioned it, but to catch a droid sneaking --- well, those were some very red flags indeed. a brow lifts in speculation, needle and thread pausing, as head shakes in gentle amusement that leaks through to his voice.        “ that’s a difficult statement to believe --- just the other day i saw what you did with that pilot and mechanic. ”        it’s just the smallest jump from his seat to the ground ( much smaller than that of a cockpit to the floor ), and he makes it, boots colliding with cement.        “ so what’s it this time? ”

[daringflight-blog]

     low fuel. also like this for a starter!!!

[daringflight-blog]

     low fuel. sorry for the slow relies but happy munday, friends!!! have a kinda old selfie that i took on prom night lol.

[fysw]

[daringflight-blog]

     he’s sitting atop crates of who-knows-what ( food or clothing most likely going by the smaller nature of said crates ), needle and thread in hand as he repairs the tears in his flight suit from the most recent expedition --- the result of some foolery and overestimation of flexibility. brown gaze raises from neat stitching to the droid, lips quirking up into an amused smile.      “ i know what you’re up to, pal. ”

@cneofakind

[daringflight-blog]

     “ general organa ----- ”      he stands much too quickly from where he’d been laying on one of the med-bay beds --- the movement pulling at heavily bruised ribs and sending vision a little blurry as blood rushes past throbbing temples. all this cuts his greeting short, a hand coming to prod at where his head had swelled to outrageous proportions only days before. the woman drifts back into focus, dark gaze sharp as it can be fixing intently on her.      “ any news? ”       the query is already familiar on his tongue and undoubtedly will only become moreso in the coming days ( there’s already a sort of desperate edge to the words, born of the of the promise taste he made to bb-8 on the sands of jakku -- ‘where ever you end up, i’ll find you’ -- and the way failure sits heavy in the pit of his stomach ).

@lastorgana ( x )

[afraidtcleave-deactivated202007]

A TOUCH of a smile FLITS across sun-worn features as familiar chatter fills her ears. She’s felt so LOST here among the Resistance – some part of her had futilely hoped that she would walk onto the base and feel at HOME – and it’s nice to finally have some form of comfort amidst the noise. Finn still hasn’t recovered form his wounds enough to wake, and she’s spent the majority of her time at his bedside, only emerging when she needs to sleep or fetch food or meet with somebody.                  “BB-8!”  She has the impulse to race over and throw her arms around the unit, but two things hold her back. First off, it would be somewhat odd to hug a droid, and second, she’s being WATCHED. If course, it’s reasonable to assume that this is the famous Poe that she’s heard so much about, but that doesn’t lessen her WARINESS. She’s met a lot of people recently, and she’s reasonably sure that she’s rubbed most of them the wrong way. Introductions and small talk aren’t really her strengths,                   “Don’t worry. He likes you more.”                            “ – You shoulda seen him when                               he first saw Finn in your jacket.”  Fiercely loyal to a fault, that droid.               She can’t blame him; she is too.

[daringflight-blog]

     poe laughs at that, giving a playful nudge of a shin against the droid --- just enough to send gyroscopes whirring to keep him upright.     “ i won’t --- it’s good to see him make friends. ”     the pilot wears his affection like the sun does her rays, the emotion potent in the smile directed at the faithful droid ( too faithful sometimes, perhaps, the indignant beeps still ringing in his ears from when he ordered him away between the shifting sands of jakku --- he’s been nearly glued to poe’s leg since the attack on starkiller base ). dark gaze lingers a moment longer on the unit before roaming to the young woman, the warmth found in brown irises waning only the slightest bit --- and that is more a phenomenon of not knowing the scavenger turned heroine very well.

      he’s never had anyone betray his trust so violently, no reason to be wary of the woman that stands before him. bb-8 trusts her, after all, and if she managed to override the skittish self-preservation protocols with her strength of character, that’s good enough in poe’s book.      “ i’m poe. ”      he offers, probably an unnecessary statement, but they’ve never been properly introduced, and the pilot is polite before anything. a hand is thrust forward as well, bb-8 happily chattering in the background.     “ --- poe dameron. ”

[memes-for-the-rper]

Not-doing-too-good sentence starters

“Whoa, are you okay?”

“You took that hit pretty hard…”

“Don’t stand up yet.”

“That definitely looks broken…”

“Walk it off.”

“How are you feeling?”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“You look like shit.”

“Have you been eating enough?”

“Here, let me help you.”

“Why are you limping?”

“You’re really pale…”

“Did you just go throw up?”

“Why aren’t you eating?”

“______? You’re bleeding…really bad.”

“That looks infected.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”

“I told you you’d get sick.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Wake up–you were hyperventilating, are you okay?”

“It was just a dream, you’re alright.”

“Look at me–you’re safe.”

“Take a deep breath.”

“Are you bleeding?!”

“How’d you get a bruise like that?”

“What happened?”

“Let me help you!”

“Can you hear me?”

“You hit your head pretty hard.”

“Don’t move.”

“I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

“Breathe.”

[assortedrpmemes]

Meet the People in My Muse’s Life

Send a Symbol, and they’ll tell you about:

🌻 - Their Father 🌷 - Their Mother 🌟 - A Different Family Member 🐶 - A Pet 👊 - A Best Friend 👋 - A Friend 🔍  - An Acquaintance 🍼 - A Child (Theirs or Not) 🎭 - A Former Friend 👿 - An Enemy 📪 - A Neighbor 💘 - A Love Interest 👻  - Someone They Don’t See Often 💀 - Someone Deceased ☀️ - Someone who Can “Turn Lemons into Lemonade” ☔️ - Someone who Can “Turn Lemonade into Lemons” 🍀 - Someone Lucky 🍰 - Someone who Loves Food 🍜 - Someone who’s A Great Cook

[daringflight-blog]

     low fuel. i really want this paper to write itself, but...it probably won’t. like for a little thing tho?? so i can break up the tediousness?

[daringflight-blog]

TAGGED BY: @solumagus

TAGGING: @afraidtcleave, @ncrfherder, uh.....anyone else???

Bold = Can Do Italics = Can [probably] do but doesn’t advertise Bold and Italics = significant skill

MY MUSE CAN:

bake a cake from scratch | ride a horse | drive a submarine | speak a second language | dance | catch a fish | play an instrument | throw a punch | build a deck | ice skate | unclog a drain | program a computer | change a flat tire | fire a gun | sew | juggle | play poker | paint | fly a kite | sculpt | write poetry | change a diaper | sing | shoot a bow and arrow | ride a bike | swim | sail a boat | do a back flip | play chess | give cpr | pitch a tent | flirt | stitch a wound | read palms | use chopsticks | write in cursive calligraphy | use an electric drill | braid hair | make a campfire | make a mixed drink | do sudoku puzzles | wrap a gift | give a good massage | jump-start a car | roll their tongue | do magic tricks | do yoga | tie a tie | skip a rock | shuffle a deck of cards | read morse code | pick a lock

[solumagus-blog]

              discernible undercurrents of ineluctable exhaustion tenaciously occupy glistening pools that languidly consume masculine features bearing scant intimations of unfeigned familiarity. though the memorable name that is to be solely associated with this unmarred visage is most definitely not lamentably elusive, few colloquies have actually united them and it is because of this mutable actuality that a plethora of invaluable details regarding him - appreciable nuggets of wholly unfabricated information that could eventually result in the auspicious formation of an imperishable bond - unforgettably lies just beyond her reach.  

❝ he’s ALRIGHT. ❞

          a transparent phantom that tentatively ghosts across springtime gates, the contentious asseveration solicitously bestows unadulterated reassurance unto the charismatic personage. a patently immaterial yet irrefutably palpable treasure that the incisive adolescent so ardently craved herself mere moment ago, it eternally holds the power to temporarily placate exceedingly vociferous thoughts that are frequently conceived by seemingly inexhaustible perturbation so that ephemeral tranquility can properly console uncharacteristically tempestuous minds. will this innocuous message manage to satiate the perennial concern that has undoubtedly compelled the eminent pilot to judiciously venture to a place where frangible threads of health are assiduously fortified? perhaps, but to what extent can only be soundly determined by the pertinent individual. 

[daringflight-blog]

     the pilot hesitates, feet only just crossing the threshold. perhaps he should not have come here. there is peace to be found under the outstretched wings of his aircraft, peace in the unyielding black metal fading to grey ( perhaps it has something to do with being able to fix x-wings unlike the unmalleable complexities of human flesh ) --- there is little comfort in a sick bay as the healthy perch beside the ill, the wounded, the afflicted. poe dameron has long come to terms with the idea of death when he came to take his mother away ( when muran dipped too shallow and exploded ), and now, staring into misleadingly serene features, the reminder of the thin barrier between the living and the death comes yet again. 

     a small nod meets her words, a little jerk of a movement that seems to spur muscles into walking once more. ( alright is a relative term ).      “ thank you. ”      gratitude is such an ambiguous thing here ( thank you for the information? for taking care of him? for watching? for being here? ), but ambiguous or not, the emotion stands true as he takes a stance at the head of the pod, one shoulder supported by the wall as hands find their way to pants-pockets. perhaps it’s not entirely about the male still stuck in healing slumber’s embrace --- it’s about bb-8, the map and the mission he had failed to complete; a failure that still haunts him as sharply as finn’s injuries do now.      “ couldn’t sleep either? ”     the question falls after a breath of hesitation, sounds casually dropping from lips as almost all his words do even in the heat of high stakes conversation. 

[daringflight-blog]

     when he comes to, the world looks a little too fuzzy for comfort, like black one’s canopy has fogged over; only he is certainly not in his beloved x-wing’s cockpit ( he should be, the realization dawning slowly as trees and blue sky drift just as lethargically into focus --- but he’s not ). it’s the pounding in his head that the pilot comes to terms with next, blood rushing loudly past his ears in one throbbing pump after another. why isn’t he flying? because of falling. the answer comes nearly as quickly as the question crosses his mind ( falling is the same as flying until you hit the ground --- someone told him that once ). he had certainly hit the ground. crashed; the word helpfully drifts to the forefront of his consciousness.      “ ----- mmmmmmggh. ”      it’s a groan that exits his lips, however, as he attempts to roll from his position on his back to one better suited for preparing to stand. something’s definitely broken.

@ncrfherder ( x )

[daringflight-blog]

     low fuel. i see there’s a few more of you about!! so how about a starter call?

[starwarsrpcomm]

Hey SW roleplayers, if you would like to be added to STARWARSRPCOMM’s masterlist, please:

reblog this post

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stuff to include in the tags: [ CHARACTER NAME, CANON/OC ] and/or if they originate from the LEGENDS / EU / COMICS

you do not have to be following us! 

please do not reblog this post if you are an rp blog with a star wars verse - we’ll make a separate post for that.

[daringflight-blog]

     “ hey! where’re you goin’, buddy?”     the exclamation is directed at a certain orange and white bb-8 unit, skittering away from poe with a frenzy the pilot is accustomed to seeing in reverse ( the chattering droid rolling as fast as gyroscopes would allow in his direction ). dark gaze shifts from machine to human as the unit skids to a stop, poe finally moving to stand from where he’d been kneeling to give pursuit. it’s a familiar face that greets him; familiar in the same sense as a system is familiar because one spent hours examining the halo map; familiar as in recognizable, but not yet comforting.      “ it seems he’s quite found of you, rey. ”     it’s a simple statement, given without jealously stained thick over it; an amused sort of smile curling easily across olive features.

@afraidtcleave ( x )

[princessofwar-a-blog]

     His words caused an arched brow to raise, a small hint of amusement present, though it was at the very least visible, a bit of the usual tension in her shoulders releasing at his familiar presence. “Well hello to you too.” Leia managed to quip, turning her attention away from her holopad to meet his gaze. “I say that you must have too much time on your hands, Commander. Do you really want to spend an entire day painting? If you need something to do, we can always send you out on more missions.That or you can make me a proper office.” She jested, her gaze warming just in the slightest. “But if you really want to, we’ll make it happen. She could use a bit of pampering, it’s true.”

[daringflight-blog]

     it is not quite a smile that passes over the time-worn face, but poe deems the mission a success all the same ( if only by measuring the less caustic line of the general’s shoulders, and the lilt that shadows her reply ).    “ that she does, general --- ”    sure footsteps bring the pilot further into the office ( or rather what is a shadow of on ); the boxed lunch in hand is set upon one of the few clear places on her desk.  he does not sit while she stands; the respect for the woman before him running too deeply.    “ ---  but she’s just as functional without a shiny new job. only as good as her pilot, not her appearance, some might say. ”    the resistance, too, has better things to spend their limited funds upon than paint for fully functional x-wings, and poe is quickly losing momentum with the conversation --- the joke running thin too fast.    “ do you need anything? ”