#both bc he's had alcohol poisoning in the past and he might get hurt and he just like .. .. makes dumb choices

[callmeminseok]

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[hartigays]

rafebarry prompt: not canon compliant but rafe and barry are trying to get away from ward but barry gets hurt so rafe begs sarah + pouges (not on good terms w each other) to help them escape bc he loves barry<33

just a little something i thought about! totally up to you on how this all goes down if you decide to write it, anything you write is amazing !!

this was a stupid fucking idea. stupid, stupid, stupid. rafe knew from the beginning, he should’ve never agreed to this.

there aren’t many things that he and barry don’t agree on, surprisingly. even if they start off disagreeing about something, they generally always end up on the same page. but this plan had been something they’d gone back and forth on, never settling on a definitive decision.

in the end, barry had simply manhandled rafe over to the place he’d formerly called home - before ward booted his ass out - and waltzed them through the front door like they owned the place.

all to steal from ward, to get more money for coke and groceries (re: booze and hot pockets) and whatever other fleeting indulgences they could think of.

rafe had disagreed with this plan throughout its development and execution, not wanting to cross the one and only person in the entire world who scares him: ward cameron. and he’d been right to, because now barry is gasping for air, holding his side while blood spills from between his fingers.

they’re racing through the woods, trying to get as far away from ward’s long-range hunting rifle as they can.

rafe doesn’t know if ward knew he was barry’s companion in this little venture. he’d insisted they wear bandanas over their faces, but rafe is pretty sure ward would know his son in a heartbeat regardless.

he doesn’t even want to think about it. about the fact that ward shot barry, or that he probably would’ve shot rafe too if rafe hadn’t had the presence of mind to shove both barry and himself out of the nearest window, plunging into the bushes below before ward could get off another shot.

another shot on the person he more than likely knew to be his son.

ward had continued taking shots as rafe dragged barry across the yard and into the treeline, disappearing from view.

now, they’re back at the main road, barry collapsing against a tree as he clenches his hand around the wound in his side.

“let me see,” rafe demands, kneeling down and peeling up barry’s shirt despite barry shaking his head.

“ain’t got time, country club,” barry wheezes, trying to push rafe back so he’ll stand up and keep moving.

rafe doesn’t budge, just swipes at the blood with his shirt sleeve to get a better look at the wound. the bullet just grazed him, but it’s enough to warrant stitches at the very least.

“you’re not going to make it to the emergency room like this,” rafe comments absentmindedly, pulling out his phone a firing off a text to topper letting him know he’s going to need to borrow his car.

barry manages to push rafe back an inch this time, shaking his head furiously. “ain’t no way i’m goin’ to no damn hospital. i ain’t got insurance and your daddy done cut you off months ago. how you gonna pay for my little siesta in the ER with them empty pockets?”

and okay, he has a point. rafe will admit that. not to mention, ward has people all over the OBX, and if he sends out word about looking for his son, they’ll surely be caught if they’re trapped in the emergency room.

there’s only one other place rafe can think to go. one place where ward won’t know to look, one place where barry can get some medical help without having to shell out a fortune.

rafe may have to grovel a bit (or a lot), but he’ll do it. damn it, he’ll fucking do it because barry is going to bleed out if he doesn’t and that would really fucking suck because rafe was just starting to sort of like him.

he must’ve said that last part out loud, because barry manages to glare at him and say, “quit that shit. we been dating for a year, dickhead.”

then barry sort of slumps to the side, and rafe has to all but carry him to topper’s place.

rafe has just gotten the keys topper keeps in the cupholder into the ignition when he looks at his phone, seeing a text from top.

can’t let u borrow the car tonight, have a thing in the morning. srry bud.

rafe glances over at barry, who’s blacked out in the passenger’s seat, fresh blood still seeping out of his shirt.

“sorry about this, top,” rafe says to himself, turning the key and hearing the engine roar to life. “i’ll get you back later.”

he peels out of the driveway, speeding down the familiar streets until they become more and more unfamiliar, figure eight bleeding into the cut.

he zooms past more and more unfamiliar houses, searching for the only one he knows, starting to feel hopeless, starting to really worry that barry might actually die in the passenger’s seat of his car.

or topper’s car, rather. it’d be super annoying to have to apologize for that on top of having to apologize for stealing it in the first place, to be honest.

then suddenly, rafe is idling outside a house that is both familiar and unfamiliar. the few times he’s been here before, he’d been fucked up beyond belief and fueled by violent anger. it seems almost foreign to him now, while he’s sober as a judge (only due to his current circumstances, mind you) and fueled by nothing but pure adrenaline.

rafe practically drags barry to the house. there are all sorts of lights on, both inside and out, and rafe can hear the sounds of music and laughter drifting out from an open window nearby.

he only hesitates for a moment before circling around the house and banging on the door.

john b answers the door with a smile, a small wad of cash in his hand, clearly expecting some sort of food delivery. his smile fades instantly when he realizes it’s not his pizza or what the fuck ever, and is in fact rafe cameron and a half-dead barry.

“no,” is all john b says before trying to shut the door. rafe kicks his leg out, foot jamming between the door and the frame, preventing john b from closing it.

“fuck off, rafe,” john b grunts as he tries to shut the door. rafe can hear concerned voices from inside the house. “you’re not dragging us into whatever shit this is! literally fuck. off.”

“sarah!” rafe shouts, ignoring john b’s protests. “sarah!”

footsteps, and then sarah is pushing john b out of the way gently, looking at rafe in confusion, then at barry in horror.

“rafe? oh my god, what happened?”

sarah ushers them into the house, and rafe is literally dragging barry at this point. still, no one helps him get barry onto the couch. he manages regardless, but he’s panting when it’s all said and done, sliding down onto the floor with a grunt.

“i need you to help him,” rafe says, and he’s looking at pope, who’s seated in the corner beside jj, a guitar that he’s no longer strumming still sitting in his lap.

but john b is the one to answer, shaking his head. “no. besides, we can’t even help him. we don’t know how to do shit like that.”

“he does,” rafe says, still looking at pope, who’s now looking at barry thoughtfully.

“what?” kie laughs, looking bewildered. “pope may be smart, yeah, but he doesn’t have a medical degree. this guy needs a doctor.”

“i know how,” pope sighs, and rafe suppresses a smug smile. “i volunteered at the hospital last summer, remember?”

“and you knew this how?” john b asks rafe, accusatory.

“he was on my rounds once,” pope says calmly, leveling rafe with an unreadable look. “alcohol poisoning and a drug overdose all in one night.”

rafe fights the urge to look away, choosing instead to shrug nonchalantly.

“just another night in the cut, right?” rafe asks, arching one brow. “look, we can dredge up my poor life choices later, if it’ll make you all feel better and get your fucking panties out of a wad. but right now he needs help, so are you going to give him that or are you going to let him bleed out on your ugly ass couch?”

“i say let him bleed out,” john b snaps, clearly irked by rafe’s demands and insults.

rafe wants to knock the guy’s teeth down his throat, but he just breathes steadily through his nose. just like barry has been teaching him. “we can’t go to a hospital. no insurance, and ward’s hunting us down as we speak. so do i want to fucking be here? no. but i have to, so name your fucking price and we’ll pay it.”

“besides,” rafe continues, turning his eyes to sarah, challenging her, “you’re not just going to let someone die, are you?”

sarah narrows her eyes, hands perched on her hips. “no, that’s more your style, isn’t it?” then, she looks at pope. “come on, help him. he isn’t dying on john b’s couch. that’s way too creepy for me to deal with right now.”

pope nods and disappears from the room as sarah and john b bicker quietly. kie and jj glare daggers at rafe, while also eyeing barry, lying on the couch looking far more dead than alive.

when pope reappears, he has a first aid kit in one hand and a sewing kit in the other. he shoos rafe out of the way. rafe just scoots a little further to the left to give pope room, but stays close to barry.

“rafe, we need to talk,” sarah says after a moment. “outside?”

rafe shakes his head. “not until i know he’s okay.”

the room falls silent, and rafe looks around, glaring. “what, it’s illegal to care about people now? fuck off.”

“so do you want us to like… give you a room, or something? maybe some champagne and rose petals? we could get some ambient beats going, really set the mood, you know- ”

kie throws a pillow at jj, effectively shutting him up. “gross, jj. don’t put that image into my head.”

“look, whatever,” sarah interrupts, rolling her eyes. “but once he’s patched up, we’re having a conversation.”

rafe puts his hands up in mock surrender. “your house, your rules.”

he’s only trying to irritate john b, and it works. rafe smiles to himself when john b starts grumbling about it being his house actually, storming off to his room, undoubtedly to pout. sarah follows, and kie and jj trail after them a moment later. jj is the only one to look back, throwing a concerned look in pope’s direction before inevitably disappearing into john b’s bedroom.

rafe looks back at barry, all smugness disappearing from his expression when he sees just how bad the wound really is now that pope has cleaned it up a bit.

he really doesn’t care if he has to talk to sarah later - all he knows is that if barry dies, he’s sure as hell not going to be outside listening to sarah bitch at him when it happens.

rafe takes one of barry’s hands, ignoring the way pope’s eyes flicker down to the movement before returning to his work, remaining silent.

“you love him,” pope says suddenly, still not looking at rafe. he’s began sewing up the wound, his hands surprisingly steady.

“what’s it to you?” rafe asks defensively, but he curls his fingers tighter around barry’s, a little possessively.

pope just shrugs, like he doesn’t really care one way or another. “just an observation.”

he ties off the thread and cleans up the remaining dried blood from the wound with a rubbing alcohol-soaked cotton ball before applying a bandage and tugging barry’s shirt back down. it’s a lost cause, the shirt, but rafe appreciates the gesture anyway.

“it’s good to know you care about someone other than yourself,” pope says, finally turning towards rafe and giving him a hard look. “maybe there’s hope for assholes like you after all.”

rafe opens his mouth to say something bitchy back, but pope just claps him on the shoulder, stands and cracks his back, then leaves the room.

it’s just rafe and a passed out barry now. at least this way he can openly worry about his boyfriend, gnawing on his lip as he thinks about what it’ll be like if barry doesn’t make it.

rafe has been living with barry for some time now, ever since ward kicked him out. it’d started with sarah - she’d ran away and no one had known where. rafe ended up finding out through topper, but never seemed to get around to telling ward. don’t ask him why - he really doesn’t fucking know.

after sarah’s disappearance, ward’s temper reached its peak and rafe was kicked out mere weeks after his sister had gone missing. he stayed with topper for a while at first, often making trips to the cut to harass the dirty pogues who’d whisked his sister away from their supposedly happy family and her happy relationship with one of rafe’s closest friends.

when topper’s mother got sick of rafe loitering around her house, the only place left to go was barry’s. it’d helped that they’d already been screwing around for a while, initially so rafe could get discounts on coke, then turning into a full blown something over time.

their relationship has a definition now. barry had manhandled rafe into bed one evening and declared them to be officially official. meaning a relationship, meaning a bunch of figuring shit out as he goes because rafe sure as shit has never done any of this before.

he’s also pretty sure other relationships don’t involve hard drugs and robberies and shootings, so he thinks he’s got a few more obstacles to overcome than most when traveling the rocky road of a first relationship.

“rafe?” sarah calls, suddenly re-entering the room. “think we can talk now?”

rafe looks at her for a long moment. she looks different - happier, maybe? rafe wonders if he looks the same. maybe not right at this moment, with barry’s limp, clammy hand resting between his own, waiting on bated breath for barry’s eyes to blink open.

the need to hear barry’s slow drawl of coUnTrY cLUuUb is almost too much to bear, so rafe cuts his line of thought off, nods at sarah in answer to her question, and follows her outside.

they don’t talk for a long while, just staring out across the yard in silence. it’s not uncomfortable, per se, but rafe still wishes she’d say what she wants to say so he can get back inside. back to barry.

“this is a one time deal, you know,” sarah finally tells him.

when he looks at her from the corner of his eye, she’s staring directly at him, her expression serious. “i know,” is all he can come up with.

“i expect a thank you, just so you know.”

“i’m not thanking you,” rafe says immediately.

sarah actually smiles, just a little bit, then parrots back, “i know.”

“what did you want to talk to me about?” rafe asks eventually, pulling a cigarette from the pack he keeps in his pocket and lighting up.

sarah doesn’t answer for a moment, then shrugs, looking down at her hands. “i hate you, for the way you’ve treated me. and my friends. but sometimes i miss you. i miss my brother. what happened to you?”

it’s almost like she’s just thinking aloud, but rafe knows it’s a genuine question. one he doesn’t have an answer to. because he doesn’t really know where he went wrong - just that he could never seem to get anything right. not as a kid, not as a teenager, and not now as an adult.

“i don’t know,” rafe answers honestly, for the first time in a long time. he doesn’t know what else to say, so he tells her, simply, “but thank you for helping anyway.”

yeah, yeah. he wasn’t going to thank her, blah blah blah. whatever, shit happens.

the back door swings open, and rafe and sarah turn to watch barry stumble out of the house, still clutching his side but finally looking like a living, breathing person instead of a corpse.

“ain’t i tell you them things gonna rot your lungs?” is the first thing he says, plucking the cigarette from rafe’s lips and taking a drag.

rafe rolls his eyes, but lets barry rope him into a hug, careful not to bump into his wound.

“ugh, gross,” sarah huffs, making fake gagging noises before going back inside. rafe doesn’t miss the small smile that’s playing on her lips, though, and he’s suddenly filled with warmth.

it’s disgusting, and he’s surprised that he’s missed it. and that maybe, deep down, he’s missed his sister, too.

she said this is a one time deal, but maybe there’s a possibility of reconciliation. it’s a thought to revisit at a later date, rafe decides, wanting to focus on this moment right here, where barry is blessedly alive and safe.

so rafe just leans down a bit and buries his face in barry’s neck, taking a deep breath, feeling barry inhale and exhale around his cigarette as they stand in each other’s arms, companionable silence falling around them.

“you done saved my life, country club,” barry says, the first to break the silence.

rafe smiles against barry’s neck at the nickname, pressing a kiss to barry’s pulse point before pulling back a bit to look at him.

“yeah, you’re the only one who knows how to empty the septic tank,” rafe replies, deadpan.

barry throws his head back and laughs, one hand coming up to cradle the back of rafe’s head, pulling him down gently so he can press a kiss to his forehead.

“damn good thing you saved my ass, then.”

“sure is.”

when barry kisses rafe, he tastes like tobacco and blood, sour and metallic on his tongue. rafe should think it’s gross, but he just kisses barry harder, trying to scrub all the thoughts he’d had about barry dying from his memory.

it helps to have barry here, real and solid in rafe’s arms, lips soft against his own.

“can we get outta this shithole and back to our shithole?” barry asks when they separate, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “‘m pretty sure them shits would object to us christening their couch.”

rafe, for a moment, is tempted to try just to see what kind of reaction he’d get. but instead of following the urge, he lets barry guide him back to topper’s stolen car.

“who’s ride is this?” barry asks when they’re both buckled in, backing away from the routledge property.

“topper’s,” rafe explains, smirking to himself. “i, uh. borrowed it for the time being.”

“for the time being?” barry questions, and when rafe looks at him, barry is looking right back, brows raised and amusement written all over his face.

“mhm,” rafe confirms, matter-of-factly.

barry just glances around the car, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “sweet ride. think ol’ topper’d object to a little christening, too?”

rafe starts the car, letting his own smirk grow. “as a matter of fact, i think he would.”

barry blinks at him, then stares at his nails casually.

“so where we gonna park her?”

rafe just smiles, peeling away from the routledge house, cruising into the night.

“i know just the place.”

[kashimos-hajime]

the shakes | p.d.

summary: “It’s the Shakes, darling. Makes everything excruciating.” Or, you’re experiencing the terrible side effects of being horny and Poe Dameron knows just how to fix it.

WARNINGS: SMUT (18+), oral (fem!receiving) and just a whole lot of banter, bruh poe is just feastin TONIGHT, sprinkle of plot pairing: poe dameron x fem!reader word count: 5.1k

a/n: uhhh so,,, heh,,, enjoy. bc smut. 

“Ow, fuck.”

“You’re stepping on my foot.”

“My bad. It’s not like we’re stuck in a fucking closet.”

“Who’s fault is that?”

“Yours.”

You breathe out through your nose, struggling to contain your annoyance as you try to back up away from man but no dice. Instead, your back jams awkwardly against the busted control panel.

Said control panel is one of the reasons why you’re stuck in a closet with a man you met only twenty minutes before. Other reasons may or may not include you, the man mentioned, and a certain droid both of you are supposedly waiting on.

“You said that droid is coming?” you grunt as he lets out a heavy sigh against your collarbone. You’ve been squished in a four by four foot supply closet for the past twenty minutes at least and there’s barely enough room as he reaches around to jam the button again. “That’s not going to work,” you say pointedly and he scowls at you, pressing the button again.

“BB-8’s coming,” he growls. “He’ll know I’m missing.”

“Oh, thank the Maker for that!”

“Do you have a problem?”

“Uh, yeah. You’re breathing in my air, in my general vicinity.” A pause, and then: “Can you breathe in any other direction?”

In response, he sucks in a huge breath and lets it out in one big exhale towards the vent above them before glancing down again and arching a brow as if to say, Happy now?

You are most certainly not.

“At least this gives us a moment to breathe. It’s better than being arrested,” he says as if offering a ceasefire. The man leans away from you and you sigh, readjusting the strap of your short dress. His eyes are determinedly staying on yours but even you know they’ve dipped the few times your back was turned. “We can get to know each other.”

Not that you haven’t been thinking about his ass all day either. You spotted him earlier in the markets today, even if he hadn’t noticed you, with that orange and white droid rolling around behind him. Cute and memorable.

What can you say? A good looking guy tends to stick out in a crowd.

“I think I’d rather be arrested,” you say as you lean against your own wall and tug at your dress where you think it doesn’t fit too well. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“You mean, you don’t lock lips with any random handsome stranger?” he fires back. “I’m hurt.”

“Right. You know what I meant.” You nod to the chip in his pocket. “What do you wanna do with that?”

“Top secret, Snatch.”

“Snatch?” you repeat, frowning. “Never mind. I’m sure it’s a secret you can share with me.” At this, you push off the wall and, by the limitations of the closet, stand in his space. Dameron straightens up, an unimpressed smirk printed on his face. “So?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It could be.”

“It really couldn’t.” His nose brushes against yours and his soft breath tickling at your lips makes a hot spear shoot into your gut. You can taste the sunfruit on his breath, the sweet swipe of his tongue across his lips and your eyes narrow as his chest presses against yours. You don’t budge from your spot as a curl of his dark hair falls into his eyes. Almost automatically and before you can register what you’re doing, you reach up to brush it back and he catches your wrist before you can, grin growing. “I knew I recognized you.”

“I’m so happy for you,” you reply dryly. You shake his hand free from your wrist and back up against the wall, crossing your arms. “I’ve seen you in the markets a few times. The only eye-candy way out here,” you admit grudgingly, thinking of the weird fantasies you had about the guy you dubbed ‘The Man from the Market.’

Not your most graceful or catchy nickname, or your most dignified moment, waking up to soaked panties and a flustered sensation glossing over your skin, but you also didn’t expect to see him again. At this party, no less, of some merc bastard and his friends.

“Likewise,” he says, eyes dropping from yours to your lips and then darting up again. He chews on his lip, as if fighting back that cocky smile before he adds, “You’re the only thing that’s caught my eye in the past two days.”

“Charming.”

“Hm. Poe Dameron.”

You glance at the unopened door, sighing out a, “Good for you,” as you cross your legs at your ankles. Dameron only frowns, turning to the door and you observe the darkness around you. You can’t really make out anything but the solid shape of your fellow closet companion. You can’t even make out his features too well unless he’s extremely close to you, and even then, it’s a guesstimate.

You’re going to kill Yvonna. If she wants the intel, she’s going to have to pay you double the credits.

The darkness seems to crowd in on you and you take a deep breath, the heat of the room getting to you. You feel sweat gather underneath your arms, in the creases of your thighs, and maybe it’s the alcohol getting to you, but you swear your feet aren’t attached anymore. They’ve been strapped to some stupidly high heels to accentuate your legs and it's gathered in a trembling pain in your calves now that you’ve a moment to stop moving. You want to keep moving. It’s the dancing in your stomach, the strange flutter in your lungs, the involuntary clenching between your legs.

Normally, you’d be fine but right now…

God, it might’ve been something you ate. You don’t know, but right now, you feel like you’re a hollowed out piece of scrap.

“C’mon, BB-8,” Dameron murmurs as you let your head drop back against the wall. Your eyes slip shut and it’s not too different from the darkness surrounding.

Maybe it’s cause you haven’t seen Krieg in a moment which is part of the reason you’re here. Hasn’t given you a chance to take the edge off and you’re so full of this energy that needs to be spent or you’re going to die in this closet, in that ship…

You needed to do something.

Your eyes open and see the shape of Dameron’s head.

Or, someone.

Yes, you had kissed him first, pushed him into this closet, let his hands wander, but that was because a guard was coming and you weren’t about to get caught red-handed.

This fucking sucks.

“My friends call me Y/N,” you say glumly, your fingers gingerly tugging at the hem of your skirt. An uncomfortable slickening is occurring down there just thinking about that kiss that occurred in a time when you weren’t stuck in a closet, and you can’t help but think that Dameron was a good kisser.

Give credit where credit is due, all that bullshit.

“Y/N, huh?”

“I said my friends,” you reply pointedly. “Associates and otherwise know me by my callsign.”

“Which is?”

“Bandit.”

“How original,” he mutters almost under his breath and you roll your eyes. The burning in your gut spreads like a fan of fire, following where your knuckles press against your thighs as you try to adjust your dress to fit comfortably, but it’s too damn hot and you shift again, catching his attention. “You okay? Not afraid of the dark, are you?”

“No. It’s just… it’s just hot in here,” you mumble with a scowl directed at your own body betraying the way his arm bracketing you on one side of your head is radiating a heat you want to choke on. “When did it get so hot?”

“When they started serving spiced whiskey?” he tries and, this time, your scowl is directed at him with another poison to kill a small snake. “Maybe you’re having the Shakes.”

“The…” You blink, and you’re not sure if your eyes are adjusting to the blinding darkness or if you can actually see him clear as day when he bends his arm and leans against the wall by his elbow. You don’t move away and his breath, searing, tingles at your sweating neck. The drawling exhales only serve to send more thigh-clenching spasms into your stomach and you shoot him a weak glare. “The what now?”

“The Shakes,” he repeats as if he’s totally unaware of what he’s doing to your body. Maker, he must be able to smell it. There’s no way he can’t because you can feel just the effect of him being so close to you has done and— “You know.”

“I, uh, I really don’t.” If he knew a fraction of what his voice did to your panties, he would not be talking right now. Or he’d be talking more. You don’t know which one you want more.

“Oh, you know, when you haven’t had sex in a long time. I call it the Shakes. Every little thing sets you off, you get cranky and flustered, you’re all wired up and your gut feels like the first time you go into hyperspace.” He sighs, and you hear the quiet thump of his head resting against the wall. Y’know, darling?”

“Hm?” you hum, distracted by the index knuckle running over your cheek.

“It makes you distracted.” You can hear his smirk and you roll your eyes with a scoff. “It’s why I call ‘em the Shakes. Throws everything off, doesn’t it?”

“Stars, you love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

“You know, I see the it often enough that I can recognize any poor soul suffering from a mile away,” he says, ignoring you. “And you’re sick with it, Snatch.” Casually as if he isn’t lazily tracing the shell of your ear with his hand now, he chuckles. You close your eyes as if you’re not critically aware of every desire to pull him into another hard kiss, every little movement of his body from the way he leans to the way his fingers flutter around the curve of your jaw.

You’re a fucking fighter, though. You’re not about to hook up with some random motherfucker in a closet.

Even if the random motherfucker is the hottest thing you’ve seen in who knows how long.

Holy shit, you think your gut might explode with how hard you’re trying to keep it together so you say the first thing you can think of related.

“I didn’t get sick the first time I flew into hyperspace. I didn’t get sick the first time I did an aileron. I, uh, I really don’t get sick when I fly at all,” you say, eyebrows rising skeptically. “Do you?” Confused: “No. I’m a pilot.”

“Oh. And you get the Shakes often, then? Wedged in the seat for hours on end,” you ask conversationally, managing to keep your tone in check. Dameron chuckles at your question, but he pulls back. Your thighs press together and something lurches at his withdrawal, wanting him near again but you silently push those urges down. “If you’re so wise to depart your knowledge with me, that is.”

“You’re a funny girl. Nah, you just get used to it when you’re busy doing other things.”

“Other things?”

“Hm, well, let’s say I have a busy job, and that’s pretty much my whole twenty-four-seven schedule.” He comes close again, close enough that his lips brush against the delicate skin before your ear and shivers shoot down your spine like waves of electricity and you stiffen. You know he hears you suck in your breath, the tiny hitch of your chest and he chuckles again, almost amused.  

“I think… it’s…” Maker, please forgive me for my utterly hedonistic will that has the strength of melted bantha cheese. “Fuck, I think it’s physically impossible to ignore that you’re horny.”

“I didn’t say that,” he corrects, lips whispering over your skin. He tilts his head. “I said you get used to it.”

“Well… n-normally, I’m pretty fucking good at that.” You bite your lip and lift your head to the ceiling, thighs pressing together and straightening up but the sound of your dress dragging against the wall gives you away. “When... people aren’t around.”

“People?” he echoes. “You alright, Snatch?” Fuck him. He is definitely enjoying this.

Well, fuck. Might as well, right?

“The Shakes,” you say in a very steady tone that is betrayed by the absolute ocean swimming between your thighs, “may have found residence here.”

“Hm.”

“That funny to you?” you ask, feeling his smug fucking smirk against your cheek and turning to look at him. His dark eyes glint somehow in the non-existent light. You just know it’s there. A cocky spark.

“Explains why you kiss like I’d melt away between your fingers. It was a good kiss, by the way. You’re a good kisser,” he adds, “but more passionate than I thought you’d go for, considering all we were trying to do was evade the guards and that fact that up until that point, you were trying to pickpocket me.”

“I was trying to get the chip. And I think the pushing into the closet was a good touch,” you defend as he rotates around and cages you against the wall. You stare defiantly back. “He went away, didn’t he?”

“But that just implies something.” His elbows are on either side of your head and he leans in, low enough that you can feel the sound of his voice, his sweet breath against your aching mouth. It’s one thing to admit it but another thing to act on it. Maker, are you really about to—

You know what?

Fuck it. Your panties are ruined, you need this fucking annoying heat out of your system and he’s fucking right about one thing: you’re hornier than a Lucrusian fengrill in heat.

What do you have to lose?

“Why just imply something?” you ask innocently as his lips brush against the corner of your mouth. You sigh in relief when the heat seems to sink, spreads through your body instead, and his shadow brushes against your skin as he moves lower, lips finding your chin, the curve of your jawbone. “Oh, fuck…” you choke out, your hands finding his hair automatically, threading through the dry locks and his name slips out in a breathless moan. “Fuck, Dameron.”

His body jerks at the sound of his name coming from you and your eyes widen when his hips press flush against your thigh. His bulge is hot and hard, the fabric of his pants silky against your bare skin and you let out a soft sound when he nudges your head up. His hands run over the walls, find your shoulders, your waist, tugging at fabric that sticks to your skin before continuing elsewhere, and you’re not even breathing as he licks at the pulse point, the sweat, the alcohol glazing your skin.

“Shit,” he breathes against your neck, teeth running along the vein as his hand sneaks underneath the hem of your dress, skirts around the edge of your panties and it’s the brush across the absolutely soaked spot that does him in, does you in because you know he felt you clench around nothing. “Fuck, I can feel it—”

“Shut up,” you groan, wrenching his head up and smashing your lips against his. He sighs into your mouth, hips grinding against yours as you take a handful of his curls. You yank him back, your lungs seizing for air. Everything tastes like sugar and starfruit as you push him down to his knees, your calves burning. “My feet. Ow. Fuck these heels, honestly.”

“I got ‘em.” His hands immediately find your ankles, running smooth circles into your skin but before you can tell him the strap is on the outer side of your leg, he lifts your foot up. A protest stammers in your throat as he reaches up and presses you against the wall with a large hand flat against your tummy, but he merely smirks against your thigh, letting your knee hang off his broad shoulder. “It’s the Shakes, darling. Makes everything excruciating.”

“Dameron—”

“Relax,” he drawls as your back meets the wall flush and cold. You grab onto the handle of one of the mechanical drawers, wincing when his hand digs into the sore muscle on its way up to stabilize your thigh just as the other on your stomach travels down. “Got a nice view, don’t you?”

“Would be better,” you grit out, “if I could see.”

“Need me to pull out my glow-in-the-dark condoms for you?”

“Dameron.”

“Kidding. Well, only half. I do have some back on the ship.”

“Dameron.”

“Alright, alright. Next time.”

You can’t even see the silhouette of his face anymore, gone underneath the hem of your dress, but you shake your head anyway, lip caught between your teeth as you feel his hand slide up and down the one calf still planted firmly on the ground.

You take a breath and let your head fall back, your ravaged neck pulsing, your entire world spinning.

It happens all at once. When his grip on the thigh resting on his shoulder tightens, when he lifts your other leg over his shoulder, when he surges forward, his lips finding your soaked panties immediately, teeth nipping lightly at the fabric.

Your entire system shuts down.

He noses up higher and your thighs wrap around his head, ankles hooking. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clutches at your ass really, and your fingers in his hair tighten when the dress begins to ride up higher, revealing more of the gorgeous man between your legs.

Oh, how you wish there was some sort of light in here so you can just—

There’s one shaky breath, then another, and there’s no movement which you’re only painfully aware of and your eyes open—when did you even close them?—as you look down. “What’s wrong?”

“I just wish I could see you, darling,” he breathes, kissing the top of your slit and sending a warm shiver through your gut. “Fuck. The way you’d look when I finally chase the Shakes out of you—I’d ruin you. Ruin you and then some. Eat for days.” And then his teeth return, barely skimming the soft flesh of your navel as they hook on the waistband of your panties and tug, his breath following down your thigh as he works on pulling it down, slowly, luxuriously, his lips soft as they press teasing kisses in the crease of your thighs, land tiny nips to the juncture of your hips. You spasm at every turn, wiggle and squeeze until you’re sure you’re cutting off the circulation in his neck, but he doesn’t give any indication that he cares.

No, he just holds you against the wall, your legs tossed over his shoulders, and grins.

You don’t know how you know.

You just do so you don’t know why you stutter out, “You g-good?” anyway.

“Fucking perfect.”

Maybe it’s so you can hear that voice, low and deep in his chest, between your legs.

He leans forward and his nose bumps into your clit, and, as if on reflex, a warm, strong tongue darts out and licks a solid stripe through your heat. “Fuck, darlin’.”

Definitely so you can hear that voice between your legs.

“You’re heaven, y’know that?” he mumbles but you can’t quite focus, your hands gripping at anything you can—one in his hair, the other on that handle and your back arches when he just goes for it, mouth to clit contact, tongue probing and licking and stroking all at once. “Think ‘m gonna die if you don’t drown me first.”

“W-way to i-inflate a girl’s—fuck…” Your voice goes hoarse midway, as if he sucks it out of you, and you can feel the air in your lungs going with it as your back arches off the steel wall. You can feel his jaw, sharp and strong and warm, flexing against your thighs as he works, tongue velvet, lips teasing and he inhales deeply as your legs tighten around his head.

His fingers dig deeper into your ass and you choke back a pathetic moan when his teeth raze your swollen bud lightly, just enough to tease you and keep you on edge. Everything is cotton. The shadows, his hair, his rough hands that are full of calluses you don’t know the meanings of.

Your nails scratch his scalp, tug him impossibly closer and you’re biting through your lip right now, your moans bundling in your chest as he pushes deeper, pushes you closer against the wall as if he wants more of you but can’t quite reach and you want to just let him continue, let him have his fun because you’re sure he can go down on you for hours but—

You’re only human, and the tide comes so quickly you fucking know for sure two things: Dameron knows what he’s doing and Dameron knows what the fuck the Shakes are.

A slight brush of his tongue at your clit and you’re gone. You’re on that downhill slope that sends a spiral of chain events through your body. Your thighs lock around his head and your fingers tighten as lightning shivers and lances through your limbs, sending your heart up into your throat and pulsing between your legs. Your gut clenches, so desperate to hold on that you can’t even breathe, that the only thing you can stutter out is some bare semblance to his name followed by ramblings of “fuck” slewn with more “close… close… so, so close…”

Your eyes are screwed shut, your mind scrambling to concoct an image—an image that would be reality if the lights were on and you can almost see it. Poe Dameron, with his dark eyes, raven hair, plush lips and a beard that scratches against your skin, on his knees with your legs thrown over his shoulders, his hands, huge and veined and strong, grabbing at what flesh he can, head gone underneath the hem of your dress and you can only feel what he’s doing—

You don’t even recognize him chuckling until you can feel the vibration of it through your knees, against your leg.

“Darlin’,” he pants, drawing back just enough to breathe and he tilts his chin just enough to press a sloppy, slick kiss against the soft flesh of your inner thigh and he laughs again, entertained at the desperate little whine that comes outta your throat because the image would’ve been just enough if he kept going for a second more, “gotta let me fuckin’ breathe if you want me to stay down here.”

“That’s…” You struggle for words because you’re heaving so hard, so out of breath because you didn’t even know you weren’t breathing for several seconds. “That’s—it’s, oh, shit.” Your thought process is disturbed by another teasing lick at your swollen folds. “Dameron, if you don’t let me just fucking—”

He nips at the juncture between your thigh and your soaking, swollen cunt.

“Watch it.” You retaliate with a sharp tug of his hair and he only laughs again, soothing the bite mark with a few gentle kisses.

“Just keeping you on edge, darling,” he whispers, peeking up from underneath your dress for the first time in what feels like hours. You run your hand blindly down his face and feel the slickness on his chin, swiping it off but his teeth catch your thumb, and then it’s his tongue wrapping around your fingers, too, sending fluttering shivers through your stomach. He licks them dry before he lets go and your hand finds his hair again as he sighs, disappearing between your legs again, and you barely hear it, a nearly indecipherable mumble that sounds more like it’s coming from inside your head that his own mouth, “Anyone ever told you… you taste like heaven?”

“And how would you know?” you gasp, feeling a little giggly yourself as the crest begins to rise, your chin tilted up as his tongue flattens against your slit. He hums to himself, the curve of his jaw brushing against your tender thigh as he pulls back just enough to speak.

“‘Cause I just tasted it, darling. And I know I could just feast on you for days.” Your entire body tenses as he laughs into your cunt, the ripples of it against your sensitive skin shooting through your spine and you’re on that downward spiral again as his smiling mouth attaches to your bud and his tongue dips into you again.

You’re dripping. The sounds are obscene, filthy to the nth degree, and you’re so close that it aches. You want to thrust but you can’t risk toppling the man you’re resting on the shoulders of, but at the same time, you know he’s teasing the ever loving shit out of you with his shallow passes, his fluttering kisses.

Taking his sweet time, indulging in it. You’re pretty sure if he could make do on his promise to eat you out for however long you’d let him, he would, but you’re half-aware of where you are, that the droid is supposedly coming, and having half-a-brain is half-a-brain too much to lose all common sense.

“Dameron,” you whisper, and he pauses, looking up and you wish you could see his face, the face of a man who stopped at the mere utterance of his name that it sends a thrill through your overstimulated system. “Please.”

There are no further words needed.

He works you up to it slowly, until your fingers are clamped so hard and you’re seeing stars despite there being nothing but shadows around you. The only sound is the wet slop of his mouth working against your drenched pussy, your moans and his heavy breathing that fans out across your navel.

It’s when his tongue pushes so much deeper, and curls, that your thighs clamp down around his head and your fingers are gripping so hard you’re not sure you’re going to make it without a few nail cuts in your palms that you know the Shakes are gone.

Your entire world flips as your vision goes black. Your fingers curl tighter, your thighs begin to quiver, and everything snaps inside you. Your back arches off the wall and you feel like you scream but it’s because your voice is so utterly broken that it seems so as he continues to drink through the floods, drawing out the aftershocks for as long as possible and the euphoria that shoots through you like a blaster is both molten and cool as spring water.

Your vocabulary is nothing but his name, soft breathes of “fuck” and “shit”, and the unrelenting “thank you”.

Your heart rattles against your ribs, beating so quickly you think it might burst from your chest and you feel another quivering sigh escape your lips as Dameron gives you a few more gentle sucks to your messy centre before he’s slowly running his hands up your thighs, to your knees, and gently sliding your legs off back to the floor.

Your body is trembling so hard that your knees nearly give in immediately, but, luckily, Dameron’s hands find your waist and ease you to the ground just as you let go of the handle of the drawer.

“Fuck,” you croak ungracefully once your ass is on solid ground and you gulp down nothing but air as you try to open your eyes. It’s not that different from your closed vision and there are a few white stars blinding you in the dark, but you can still make out the shape of your partner, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand before he’s leaning over your leg to check the control panel. It’s then that you can feel it, pressed against your shin. He’s hard as a fucking rock. “Y-you need—” But your voice is a garbled mess, exhausted from the alcohol and the Shakes, and he turns to you, fingers dancing up your calves before slowly pulling your ruined panties back up your thighs.

“Up,” he orders quietly, and you lift your hips up enough for him to slip them firmly back onto your hips. “And it’s fine. I told you. I’m good with the Shakes.”

“Yeah, but, y’know…” you mumble, “could be good.” You can feel him smiling as he leans over to kiss your neck blindly, still finding that tender juncture of your shoulder. You grin, your hands finding his shoulders and roaming his back, feeling the curved muscle of a military man. You know his type.

Continuing downward, down his sides…

“You do owe me,” he murmurs and you nod as he pulls back just as the sound of beeping on the other end of the door.

“Mhm, don’t wanna stay in debt,” you say just as the sound of whirring fills the heated silence and your grin grows as you expectedly raise one of your hands to shield the light about to fill their little closet. You pull your other hand away and you begin pulling the loops out on your heels, sliding your aching feet out of those torture shoes. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again in the future, huh? Pay you back then.”

The door slides open and you stand as he scrambles to his feet as well. At least, you can see his features clearly, and you grin because he’s just as handsome as the first time you saw him.

Absolute score.

With your fingers hooked on your shoes, you wipe the bit of slick he missed on the corner of his mouth. He grabs your hand before it drops, pressing a cheeky kiss to the center of your palm and you roll your eyes.

“That’s fine with me,” he replies, squinting against the light and you tap his cheek. “See you around, Flyboy.” You flash him one last smile before leaving the closet first and walking down the hall. Your knees are still trembling and you feel like you’re a complete mess as you stagger through the metal hallway. Exhaustion is telling you to just go the fuck to sleep right then and there, but you can’t. Not until you get back to your ship and get into hyperspace.

As soon as you’ve rounded a corner, you run with everything you have.

It’s only a matter of time before Poe Dameron realizes that the chip that was in his pocket is making its way to another buyer.

Yvonna totally owes you.

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

↬ i drank up all the memories.

date: spring 2019.

location: seoul, south korea.

word count: 1,813 words.

summary: n/a.

notes: creative claims verification. alcohol tw + substance abuse tw. also trigger warning for ash mentally romanticizing his own (and others’, i guess?) substance abuse tendencies. please don’t read this. it might be my worst verification yet.

ash’s drink of choice was a good strong whiskey, but the first drink he’d ever had had been wine. it’d been at a dinner party his parents held and they’d let him sneak a sip. it’d been entirely un-scandalous and about the furthest thing from rebellion possible, but at the time it had felt like the thrill of his life. thirteen years old and unaccustomed to the effects of alcohol besides the way it stung when disinfecting a cut, he had been taken aback by the fizzing sting it brought over his tongue and throat. it wasn’t as bad as it looked when he saw people on television throwing back shot glasses of tequila, but he hadn’t understood at the time why anyone would like it that much. it didn’t taste any better than any other beverage and being drunk couldn’t be that wonderful, he’d naively thought.

now, wine was a drink ash found to be dull. even the most expensive wines weren’t all that amazing in pure taste, and once he’d become a regular drinker, he’d learned it wasn’t about the taste unless you were a wine connoisseur, and that wasn’t a career path ash was going to be going down any time soon. if he wanted to let go of his inhibitions and worries, which was generally the only reason he drank, there were options that were much more effective by the fluid ounce. outside of formal occasions and dinners with mixed company, wine was the drink he only broke out when he wanted to torture himself with the slow burn to a hazy mind instead of the fast and easy path.

ash was a masochist certainly. that wasn’t news to him. he knew all about the difference between the slow pain-easing journey of getting drunk off of wine in place of the fast and burning pain of downing the highest alcohol content shot he could get his hands on. perhaps he should enjoy wine more because of that, but, as a masochist, most nights, he wanted it fast. he didn’t drink for the journey anymore.

yet, there was something to be said for the imagery of someone drowning their melancholy in the gradual fever of a red wine. it was a scene that had been brought to life in many a movie, and it was while watching a movie reclining in his mostly unused living room couch that inspiration struck him for the song. as happened so often in movies that capitalized on dramatic love stories, a man sat in a chair in the dark of his apartment, glass of wine in his hand as he looked over the scenic view of whatever city the film was supposed to be set in. it wasn’t the first time ash had seen the movie, but he’d forgotten the details of the setting as he let the predictable story wash over him unanalyzed.

that had been ash years ago. the drinking age in korea being years lower than in the states had been a helpful accompaniment to the way he’d started young with heartbreak, too.

ash didn’t jump on the song the minute it began to sprout in his mind, but as the first movie turned into another in the mindless marathon of romantic dramas, another similar scene appeared like a sign. this time, the man had chosen a bar as a setting for his melancholy and ash couldn’t stop his brain from gnawing away at the truth behind the cliche. it was easy to drown one’s pain in a drink. ash had done it more times than he could count.

it was after the second scene that ash paused the television and followed the familiar path to his studio. the movie could wait for later, or never if he didn’t feel like coming back to it later, but in the midst of writing an album, any inspiration for a song that came to him so easily needed to be taken advantage of. there were so many nights spent in his own studio on his own or a studio at bc with other producers, brainstorming uselessly for an idea that could spark motivation that forgoing such a convenient offering of lyrical theme would be neglectful of him.

ash slid into the cool seat of his studio chair and pressed the computer on, ideas pulling at the strings of his brain so strongly that he began testing out pressing down chords on the keyboard that wasn’t capable of transferring any of it into sound yet. he heard the keys in his head as he acted out the chord structure and rhythm. he was aiming for the sound of a piano player in a jazz bar, fading into the distance while echoing in the listeners head. ash hadn’t been to many jazz bars in his time. cinema seemed to overestimate their popularity, or there was simply a major discrepancy between their abundance in american cities and seoul. film had taught him the cinematic atmosphere of one, though, and he had enough experience plucking out jazz piano music that it wasn’t too daunting of a feat for him to create a r&b chord progression to play around over top of a more freeform and clashing, tinny piano that would ring out underneath the base melody. throw in some low bass strings and a hollow drum pattern and he had a soundscape to work with before he’d even had time to create a musical outline in his mind. instead, it had all come together naturally based on the setting in his head.

there was a slow burn groove to the composition that teetered on the line between a song that could play under the witty, flirtatious exchange of dialogue during the first meeting between two fated partners in a film just as well as it could play under the scene of one half of the pair seated alone in the same bar months or years later when the passionate affair had completely fallen apart with only treacherous memories and glasses of wine left to poison the mind.

it all played out in his head faster than he could transfer it into his music program, but by the time the sun began to rise outside of his building in the morning—not that he could see it within his studio with its meticulously blacked-out windows—ash was left with an instrumental that had full potential to be turned into something. before he left the studio to shower and get dressed for his schedules for the day, sleep be damned, ash sent the instrumental out to one of his producer contacts for feedback on what it needed to be complete. surely, he hadn’t been able to craft a fully fleshed out track in one night, but he didn’t want to wait and stress over the details for another several nights in a row when what he had now had come to him as such a simple strike of inspiration.

he returned to his studio two nights later and opened up the producer’s response. they’d praised his start, but provided their constructive criticism as ash had welcomed within his initial message. he’d also invited them to include their own edits to the track if they had time, but they hadn’t sent a new file back, either because they hadn’t had time or because they hadn’t found anything they didn’t trust ash wouldn’t fix himself. ash hoped the latter possibility was the truth, but to avoid getting too proud of his own work, he assumed the former. upon listening back to the file, ash played around with production elements that had sounded better in the moment than they did now before settling on contentedness with the track.

that’s where the lyrics came in. he already had a concept in mind and thought it’d been a few days since he’d watched the scenes that had inspired the song, the distance was good. he didn’t want to write words that were too built upon some director’s creative vision for fake characters in a dramatized love story. like most of his songs, ash wanted this one to be more personal than impersonal. placing himself too separate from his own music was a sure way to run into a creative roadblock in his brain, and he’d been told he needed to work on getting better at separating himself so that he could write more diverse music, but for now, he wasn’t looking to challenge himself with someone else’s story.

it had been a while since ash had gone through a break-up or a crack in a relationship big enough to leave him drowning his romantic sorrows in a glass, but if he searched far back enough into the nooks and crannies of his memories, he could gather a recollection of what that feeling had been like. drowning his sorrows in general was a feeling that required much less searching, so he focused in on the imagery of that as he began to sketch out lyrics ideas.

settling on the concept of the bitter memories floating in the wine itself, ash found the first verse of the song. it told a four line story of downing glass after glass of the history-laced liquid to make the past disappear into the abyss because the pain of holding on was too much.

the song then turned into a lament directed at a lover who couldn’t hear him. the false sense of security in shouting into the void while intoxicated had fooled ash once or twice, but the silence never talked back in the way he wanted. it never had the voice of the person he both ached to and feared hearing speak back, and there was both relief and hurt in that fact. instead, the silence only brought back the memories that he’d been so inelegantly trying to banish from his mind.

from misery to resoluteness, that was how the song’s tale ended. the pieces of a broken relationship couldn’t be patched together any easier than the shattered shards of a fragile wine glass, and that was a truth more bitter to swallow than the drink itself. no matter how hard it could be (and how bad ash was at it), it was something that had to be realized to move on.

no one could keep submerging the parts of their mind they wanted to ignore in wine forever. they either had to find a way to float or give in and drown. that was a thought that skirted over the surface of ash’s brain, only staying long enough to be incorporated into the lyrics before swiftly disappearing so as not to be dwelled on too long.

he had to put part of himself into every song, but he didn’t have to face the way those parts tried to look back on him in the mirror of his music.

[pnnzzlr]

Unity Days 2018 (masterpost)

A collection of UD related stuff I found interesting. Sources are linked.

Day 1: 20th January 2018

*******Disclaimer: [[[asdfghjkl]]] : my comments, not part of the tweet********

Panels:

*** Panel with Bob, Eliza, Lindsey, Nadia ***

via (Afictionados @ Unity Days @theafictionados)

One adjective tease on what the reunions are like: Bob: Emotional / Eliza: Awesome / Lindsey: Hmmm. Okay. (She is a troll omg) #UNITYDAYS2018 (x)

Q: One thing you’ve learned from your character and one thing you’d teach them? Eliza: I’ve learned some pretty badass moves! I would teach my character to like, take a break. Bob: Learning how to use guns [Eliza hi-YEAHS while he talks] and I’d probably teach him how to drink. (x)

Q: If you were to do the musical episode, what song would you do? Nadia: Eliza and Lindsey can sing like professional singers and aren’t, which drives her NUTS (x) there’s footage of Bob participating in an old singing show and Lindsey is LOSING IT trying to get him to reveal what it was. DO YOUR THING, INTERNET. (x)

Q: Hardest or worst thing to film? Eliza: “They threw a gigantic studded panther at me and I had to tackle it. I felt so stupid!” / Bob: “There’s one from last week that I couldn’t stand. [...] Also when I was wearing the adult diaper and hanging upside down?”  (x) / Lindsey: “All the torture. It gets exhausting, and your body hurts.” / Nadia: Being wet all day. I was wet for 14 hours. Eliza: We did become best friends on that day! Nadia: Did we?! Wait it wasn’t that day. It was not that day, babe. (x)

If they were in the hunger games, who would be their ally and who would die first? Nadia: Eliza, Bob, Lindsey, Me. And I’d bring a hug bear. Lindsey: “I want someone really, really intense. Pikachu? No. I WOULD BRING ONE OF THE AMAZONS.” (x)

Your 1st impression of the person on your left: Bob on Eliza: It was at a Kid’s Choice Award in Australia. Eliza: When we first met, I was 16! // Eliza on Lindsey: I was like “you’re SEXY.” //  Lindsey on Nadia: “I thought you were badass! But also HOT.”  (x)

Bob on Bellamy: “This season is the most honest version of my character. This is the best version of him.” (x)

This season was a real chance to reinvent their characters. Eliza: “Who is the new Bellamy, the new Raven, the new Clarke? [...] This season is amazing, I really hope you guys fuckin’ enjoy it.” She immediately felt bad about swearing (x)

x

via (UNITY DAYS *:･ﾟ✧‏ @jasperskaikru)

Question: “One thing you’ve learned from your character and one thing you would teach them.” Bob: “I’ve liked learning how to use guns… And I’d probably teach him how to drink alcohol, because I know how to do that.” (x)

bob’s been kinda quiet during the panel so far bc he’s been distracted by playing with bowie. SO CUTE (x)

as far as bellamy’s hobbies in space, bob jokingly said bellamy’s gonna go back to being a janitor. “cleanliness is godliness.” LMAO (x)

eliza says it’s “official” that clarke gets her hair color from berries! (x) [[[fya - the writers also confirmed this during season 3]]]

bob and eliza are on one couch. lindsey and nadia are on the other couch— and nadia sat on her lap RIGHT AWAY (x)

jo asked a question about how filming was like in the bunker and in space for s5, and eliza was like: “i wouldn’t know. they left me behind.” (x)

Question: “One thing you’ve learned from your character and one thing you would teach them.” Eliza: “I’ve learned some pretty badass moves... And I’d teach my character to take a break every now and then.” (x) / Lindsey: “I learned how to slice a wire!” (x)

eliza says she’d love to play poison ivy! / bob says he’d like to play dr. manhattan! (x) / lindsey says she’d love to play batgirl!

bob’s talking about how it’s funny that bodies just kinda disappear throughout the show like pike and the guy who created ALIE  (x)

nadia says that bob and eliza have amazing “walt disney singing voices” and she’s so bitter about it LOL (x)

Question: “What was the hardest or worst scene to film?” Eliza: “When I had to be tackled by the panther, they threw a stuffed toy at me.” // Bob: “When I was wearing the adult diaper and hanging upside down.” (x) // Lindsey: “All the torture stuff was tough... I was just exhausted.” // Nadia: just GRIMACES LOL

Question: “Who would die first in the hunger games?” Answer from everyone: “Eliza.” (x)

Question: “What character would you bring with you to the hunger games?” Nadia: “A care bear.” / Lindsey: “Black widow... or one of the Amazons from Wonder Woman.” / Eliza: “Pikachu... or Neil Patrick Harris.” / Bob: “Deadpool- to lighten the mood.” (x)

THE BELLARKE FAMILY IS HERE AND ELIZA RAN DOWN TO HUG BABY LARA!!!

bob and eliza said they met at a kid’s choice award show in australia! eliza was 16 at the time! (x)

Bob: “Season 5 is the best version of Bellamy.” Lindsey: “I feel like this is the most honest version of Bellamy.” (x)

Eliza says that season 1 will always be nostalgic, but season 5 will be cool because the writers conferred with the actors on what they thought their character would be like after the time jump! (x)

Lindsey says that Raven is always evolving. And that she really enjoyed playing the aftermath of Finn because losing him was the end of innocence for Raven. (x)

Eliza, on advice for people struggling with body image issues: “I think about me at 21 and how I feel like I was perfect then, but at the time hated my body. And in 10 years, I might feel that way about how I look right now. So why not love the body you’re in?” (x)

Jo: “How was the conclave?” Nadia: “It was bullshit. I’m a nightblood. Nobody stabs me from the back. That was just bad writing.” Bob: “So you heard Jason’s not coming today, right?” (x)

x

via other twitter users:

Eliza says it bizarre to her that the show can end the world and restart it every year. (via ConfettiClarke) (x)

Bob said it was hard to get used to what they are this season since it's been 6 yrs, but he thinks this season has the best version of bellamy (x) 

Eliza: it's bizarre to me that we can end the world and restart it. every. single. fucking. year (x)

Bob: I was first against who Bellamy was at the beginning of this season but on reflection it’s the best version of Bellamy (x)

A lot of interesting bits from the first cast panel at #UNITYDAYS! Best might be Bob and Eliza taking about how much their characters have changed & in Bob’s case being resistant to the change but realizing it was the most “honest” version of Bellamy. (x)

Bob said that there was a really tough scene to shoot last week. (via heda_skaikru) (x)

Relationships have “regressed and developed” over 6 years in space- expect some changes (SelinaW) (x)

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*** Panel with Sachin and Richard and Tati ***

Jason gets so amped about the show like a kid x

The bunker is really claustrophobic according to Sachin x

Richard said he hadn't seen Sachin in 2 months. Sachin says it was like they really were separated- earth and space x

Richard: we are getting short haired sexy Murphy this year x

Richard characterizing murphy in 5 words:  relentless. passionate.  sadistic. caring. sweet-eyes x

Richard says Murphy and Raven’s chemistry is “undeniable” x And Murphy considers Bellamy his “best friend” x

The bunker is “the most confining, frightening thing” -Sachin x

Tati wants Gaia to make Indra proud and wants “full reconciliation” for them x

Bob and Richard are neighbours now. Sachin is so spicy that Richard moved away from him. x

What’s your favourite relationship? Richard: “Honestly, my favourite relationship is Raven. [...] I think Murphy has so much respect for her. Also, Bellamy. I think Murphy would consider Bellamy his best friend.” x

What would Tati like to see for Gaia this season? (Past tense to make herself past Tati btw!) Tati: “I guess I would have wanted to make her mom proud, not with the conceptual things Indra would have wanted for her, but to show proof of faith.” Reconciliation. x

How do Gaia and Octavia get along as almost-sisters? Tati: “At some point we’ve had to kind of learn to put our differences aside.” x

Richard thinks Murphy’s dad died when he was 10, and his mom 1-2 years after that. Six months later he set the fire, around 13. So he was in jail for years. Sachin: “That’s not fanfiction, that’s Murph-fiction.” x

Richard says that he thinks murphy was 10 when his dad died, and that he was 1.5-2 years older when his mom died. and murphy set the fire at age 13. and that’s why murphy is the way he is— there wasn’t a lot of love at a young age. x

Richard (about working with Bob): they love pushing each other. He also said they are next-door neighbors now in rl (x)

Who are their favourite new characters? Richard: “I have a clear favourite for many reasons.” William Miller! “He’s a bad mother fucker. He’s an incredible actor. You’re gonna love and hate him at the same time.” x

Themes for season 5? Tati: “What truly is unity?” x

Q: Favourite scenes to film? Tati: Opening the bunker with Adina, Henry, Isaiah, and Chris. And then a deleted scene where she rides a horse! Sachin: The truck scene with Jarod. They slid their “too sweet” signal into their hug so that it couldn’t be cut. x Richard: The first Murphy and Raven scene from season 2, hanging Bob, and him in the bunker alone. From Season 4, it’s the Raven and Murphy goodbye. x

On finding out about #Mackson: Richard: “I laughed my ass off. It made so much sense. I can’t believe it took 4 seasons for it to get there.” x

Richard and Sachin are imitating Bob’s voice while stating that one of the themes of the season is “you need to make decisions with your head and your heart”. (Via heda_skaikru) x

Tati, Sachin, and Richard said that a major theme for the season is: what truly is unity? x

Theme of S5: you need to make decisions with both your head and your heart, lol also this has devolved into them imitating Bob’s Bellamy voice (x)

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*** Panel with Luisa, Chelsey, Jarod, Jessica ***

Emori finally gets a new costume this year after having the same outfit forEVER x

“Miller’s outfit is BADASS” - Chelsey x

Chelsey and Luisa had to discuss their character dynamic because they hadn’t had many scenes together previously x

Luisa wants to play bellamy and i would 100 percent want to see it x

which character would you rather play? Jess: I love Murphy and I could do a way better job / Miller: Murphy but their characters are already similar so Bellamy / Luisa: Bellamy - seems like a lot of fun / Chelsey: always Octavia because she loves stunts x

There’s a scene this year Jessica and Jarod were both part of, and half of the cast involved in the scene were on the verge of vomiting x

Emori is in this spacekru with a “full heart” x Emori thinks space is “the best thing in the whole world” x

Jess would have a hard time if Niytavia was canon because they wouldn’t be able to stop giggling - Luisa ships it irl and Jarod has seen it! x

Jarod had an emotional scene this season but didn’t feel he did as well as he would’ve liked to x

Emori was so excited to go to space SHE DIDN’T EVEN KNOW THE EARTH WAS ROUND x

favorite set to work on? Jarod: Mount Weather was warm and comfortable / Jess: Trading Post / Luisa: The Sand Dunes / Chelsey: a S5 set x

“God I love rubbing that thing.” - Sachin has an affection for @hicusick’s beard. x

Sachin called Paige: Paige’s favourite Kabby moment is their first kiss “because he stopped Abby from talking!” x

Tasya gets overwhelmed by how many weapons she uses at one time and has broken a few weapons.  (x) 

Tasya had a really hard time holding her position with her bow drawn during the Bellamy and Riley scene! “JUST MAKE A DECISION!!!!” (x)

do the Harmons want scenes together? Richard: “I don’t want to relive the first 18 years of my life.” x

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*** Reviewer’s panel ***

The reviewer’s panel is speaking thoughtfully about how they’ve grown as writers through covering

*** Crew panel ***

During a crew panel at Unity Days, the lovely members of the props department talked about some of their favorite details that weren’t shown in the final cut of the show. One member, Anthony Vani, discussed the sword Octavia received when she became commander at the end of season 4. The sword is a relic of old commanders. In order to make it her own Octavia hand-made a special engraving. The enscription reads “Ge Smak Daun Gyon Op Nodotaim” (via linctavias) x

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Other: 

Clarke’s list or here [[[CLARKE GRIFFIN.]]]

I have lots of pics of iconic props! [The Prop people] were so nice and explained so many fascinating details. ALSO, the super nice prop guy said they’re already planning on being back for season 6 and was totally and completely confident nodding that there will be one. x

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Infos at signing/photo ops/M&G:

BOB IS SO SWEET. He thanked me for getting this shirt and I told him I care a lot about it.  I asked him to sign my photo "best unity day ever" and told him i liked it because Bellamy smiles. He then hinted to me that Bellamy would be smiling a lot this season x

Bob is having convos with everyone he's literally so personable. I was like, "Please tell me bell smiles at least once this season, can you hint that??" the way he talked about it was so cute jordan [[[twitter user’s friend is jordan]]] said "probably becuz murphy's his best friend now" he laughed x

bob did mention today that bellamy smiles more this season than ever before [[[hopefully because he finally got to kiss Clarke]]] and that that felt very weird for him! x

bob was at a promotional photoshoot the other day and the photographer asked him to smile and bob said, “my character doesn’t really do that.” so the photographer asked if bob could literally give him any other expression and bob was like “not really (x)

I asked Bob whether Bellamy had any hope Clarke had survived, since in their conversation before he insisted that he still had hope in the nightblood solution (Bob: “He was right!”). Bellamy thinks that Clarke was destroyed in the radiation wave. as far as he knew, Clarke was still fiddling around with the satellite dish when the others made it to space (since the lights weren’t already on). In Bob’s words, ‘He still has hope but he’s not hopeful, if you know what I mean. x

Bob said that he made Bellamy giggle in one episode of S5 but he thinks they kept it mostly because they were running out of time to refilm it x

I had Bob and Eliza sign the Day Trip script. They both read the whole thing before they signed. Bob said, “Oooohh this is the scene that got cut. They just cut another good one this season.” And I asked if he meant a #Bellarke scene and he said yes. x [[[the signed Day Trip script here]]]

Bob said that he’s gotten a few movie roles that he ultimately had to turn down due to conflicts with the 100 x

Bob has mixed feelings about driving the rover because he’s one of the only ones who can do it, but it’s also kind of dangerous because there aren’t seat belts and it’s in the forest with no road. x

Bob said that he liked the filming location where the beach scene in 3x13 with Eliza took place x

Bob dropped out of the movie with Zach because he had a significant disagreement with the producer x

At his meet and greet, Bob said that if Bellamy doesn’t use his [head] and his heart he’ll feel like he let Clarke down x

They were supposed to be back down on the ground for like a year and they haven't come down. So there's other stuff that happens up in space and there's a reason why they haven't been able to come down. So there's that kind of dilemma first off x

Bob on Bellamy being happy during his meet and greet on Saturday: "No, [...] Happiness. It's secondary on this show it seems like." x

I WAS EXPLAINING THAT I WANTED THIS SCENE FOR BOB AND ELIZA AND THEY TOOK IT SO SERIOUSLY. BOB WAS LIKE, “I NEED TO HOLD YOU AND YOU NEED TO FALL BACK AND I NEED TO STARE AT THE RAIN” AND ELIZA WAS LIKE “I NEED TO STARE AT YOU” x

bob was like “listen, i need to hold you and you need to sit on my knee” and i straight up was like “the internet will hate me though” x

LINDSEY IS WEARING A RAVENCLAW SCARF FOR HER AUTOGRAPHS x

Photos/ fanarts:

PHOTO: Bob, Eliza, Lindsey, Nadia via UnityEventsCa’s Instagram Story on January 20th, 2018

PHOTO: Eliza with an organizer

PHOTO: The 100 props, rifle + knives/swords, 

PHOTO: smiling Bob with fan x

PHOTO: Richard Harmon during his autograph session at Unity Days on January 20th, 2018 [UnityEventsCa] x

PHOTO: Bob with fan (nice one) or here

PHOTO: Sachin and Jessica via Chelsey Reist’s Instagram Story on January 20th, 2018

PHOTO: Group photo (Bob, Eliza, Lindsey, Nadia) - The breakfast club.

PHOTO: Bob with pikachu hat

PHOTO: BrightCuPenny Successful photo op with Bob and Eliza! We were waiting for our turn and from around the corner we heard Eliza say, “Laraaaaa…” Baby was super sleepy but such a trouper! So here are season 5 Clarke, Bellamy, and Madi! #UnityDays2018 ( = beliza photo with bellarke baby)

PHOTO: elizajaneface All of my favorites. @richardsharmon @mr_sacho @linzzmorgan @officialbowietaylor #bob ❤️ (insta)

PHOTO: blake family photo re-created in real life @WildpipM, @MisElizaJane #UnityDays2018 

PHOTO: cute beliza photos with fans here (head and heart pose) and here.

PHOTO: Eliza posing for a fan today (holding the face caress photo)

PHOTO: Bob has Vegemite in his teeth

PHOTO: Bob and Eliza holding a Bellarke edit that they had just signed for a fan

PHOTO: Bob and Eliza holding hands

PHOTO: Bob and Eliza signed an edit thanking Bellarke fans for voting the face caress scene from 4x13 as @eonlineTV’s sexiest moment of 2017 x

PHOTO: Bob with Bowie at #UnityDays2018 (x)

FANART: HEAD AND HEART FANART signed by Bob and Eliza

FANART: another bellarke fanart signed by Eliza [[[one of my faves]]]

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Videos:

Bob Morley, Eliza Taylor, Lindsey Morgan, Nadia Hilker and Jarod Joseph during their panel at Unity Days via Chelsey Reist’s Instagram Story on January 20th, 2018

video of @Mr_Sacho and @harmon_jess dancing dramatically around the autograph room at @UnityEventsCA? (x)

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Twitter:

@JRothenbergTV: Once upon a time, they lived happily ever after. A fairy tale foursome @RichardSHarmon @ivanamilicevic @WilliamMiller #KatieMcgrath #the100 #Supergirl (x)

Props props props! #UNITYDAYS2018 (x)

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