#dj sw

[mayawakening]

Ghost Posters

So, while trying to get screenshots from Spark of Rebellion, I saw that the posters in the common room of the Ghost actually have translatable aurebesh on them!!

(Bonus weird Ezra)

The red one on the right is an ad for the glorious Max Rebo himself!

The orange one on the left I THINK just says Star Wars 😅

The pink one is a poster for DJ Rangthang, who was present when Quinlan Vos and Obi-Wan were talking to Jabba!

And the blue poster is actually for a character named Dasha Sigweed, which is a joke about real life Global Underground musicians Sasha and Digweed.

Thought it was interesting, especially since these are probably Sabine's posters and this is the type of music she would listen to!

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Turn It Up When You're Gone (2/2)

The conclusion... Or is it? Posting these has got my thots going again, so I may need to write another installment. UPDATE: I did it. Also, this chapter has one of my favorite lines I've ever written. Guess which one?

Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI

Pairing: Sev x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.4k

Summary: Delta Squad is back on board your Star Destroyer, and Sev is determined to make up for lost time. Reader is about to learn that commandos do it better.

Warnings: SMUT; voice kink, praise kink, body worship, facef*cking (but not like you expect)

Previous chapter | Next chapter | Masterlist

Delta squad is back on the Guarlara two days later. You know this because they stroll casually into the mess while you’re eating breakfast. You almost stab yourself in the face with your fork when the one with the blood-red paint turns and looks right at you. Your eyes widen, and you can feel the heat rush to your cheeks.

“Girl, you good?” Jeelee asks, noticing your agitation.

“Yeah, I just—uh, I realized I need to—I forgot, um—” you stammer.

You can practically see Sev’s smirk behind his helmet. 

Cocky bastard.

“I need to stop by the, uh, med bay before my shift starts,” you finish lamely.

“Are you all right?” Drinna asks, concern evident in their wide eyes.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just, uh, lady problems.”

“What kind of lady problems?” Draa asks, confused.

Jeelee and Drinna send pitying glances at the clone trooper. 

“Sorry, was that too nosy?” the clone asks with a sheepish expression. “I just don’t have much experience, is all.”

“That’s okay, Draa,” you reassure him. “You should ask the medic to explain it.”

You excuse yourself and make a beeline out of the mess. You’ve listened to Sev’s recording more times than you care to admit, and you aren’t quite prepared to face him in front of an audience of dozens of clones—not to mention the coworkers who already know about your crush.

When you reach your workstation, your message indicator light is blinking.

“Tactical, this RC-1207. Any trouble with those feeds?”

You record a response. “No trouble, 1207. Everything came through loud and clear. If you want to run another diagnostic, be sure to do it after 2100 hours when the feeds update.”

There. That ought to do it. Subtle enough not to raise any eyebrows if anyone overhears, and obvious enough for him to figure it out.

---

When you return to your quarters promptly at 2100 hours, Sev is already waiting for you, helmet and gloves removed and resting on the floor. He stands up from his seat on the edge of your bunk as the door slides open to admit you. You step inside quickly and close the door.

“Hi,” you say. You sound nervous, even to yourself.

“Hi,” he replies.

You’ve had all day to think about this. For hours, your mind has tormented you with erotic fantasies, heating your skin and leaving you drenched and slippery. You have imagined Sev’s large hands touching you everywhere, his talented mouth drifting over your body as he tells you all the filthy, delicious things he wants to do to you, the fullness of his cock as he stretches you out.

But now that he’s here, in the flesh, in your space, you feel awkward. He’s a big man, even bigger in his armor, and the small room feels crowded with both of you inside. You aren’t sure what to say, or what to do with your hands. They’ve taken on a mind of their own, fluttering in front of you, fidgeting with your cuffs, and finally wrapping around your waist in a self-soothing embrace. Sev also seems unsure what to do, and it occurs to you that you’ve invited a total stranger into your bunk. 

“I’m Sev,” he says.

“I know,” you nod. “I heard on the feeds.”

“Should I just call you ‘tactical’?” he asks. “I want to make sure I’m yelling the right name all night.”

You laugh and tell him your name.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you whisper.

You expect him to go straight for the goods, so it’s a surprise when he takes your hand and draws it away from your body. He strokes his thumb across your skin, across your fingers, across your wrist.

“I knew you’d be soft. Even softer than I imagined,” he says with satisfaction. He presses his fingers to the pulse point on your wrist. “Your heart is racing, little one. Are you sure you want this?”

“I’m sure,” you say. You raise your free hand to trace the lines of his face, and he leans into the contact, closing his eyes. You wonder if he’s ever felt a gentle touch before. You brush your fingers over his skin. Intellectually, you have always known what he would look like, but now you take in all the small details that make him unique from his fellow clones. The scars, the faint lines around his eyes, the slightly longer-than-regulation hair, the prickly scruff of a beard that hasn’t been shaved in three cycles. Deep circles under his eyes betray his exhaustion, and you feel a momentary twinge of guilt at keeping him awake after a mission.

“Do—do you?” you ask. 

His mouth twists in a half smile. “It’s all I’ve thought about for the last three rotations. I want this.”

He presses his lips to your palm, and then he reaches for you, pulling you into his strong arms, capturing your mouth in a kiss. His duraplast armor is hard and cool against you, and you scramble for purchase against it. 

“You taste amazing,” he says against your lips. His tongue brushes against you, and you part your lips to let him in.

Oh, damn, he’s good. He kisses you with an intense, single-minded focus, as though you—your mouth, your lips, your tongue, your pleasure—are the only thing in the galaxy. There’s no awkward, over-enthusiastic tongue thrusting; just slow, skillful movement that pulls you in and steals your breath. His kiss leaves you lightheaded and unsteady, and you’re grateful for the way he cradles your body in his arms, keeping you from melting into a quivering heap at his feet.

“Kriff me, did they teach you to kiss like that in commando school?” you breathe.

“Yeah, we learned it after hostage extraction and before demolitions,” he says, deadpan.

You laugh again, and he looks very pleased with himself.

“They also taught us how to take off our armor in under a minute,” he says. “Want to see a demonstration?”

“Will you do a sexy dance while you show me?” you ask.

“That might slow me down,” he replies.

“In that case, skip the dance,” you say. “What’s your personal best time?”

“Thirty-nine seconds. I was motivated,” he says.

“And are you motivated now?” you ask.

“Time me and find out,” he suggests.

“I’d rather enjoy the show,” you say.

“Don’t blink,” he says with a smirk.

He strips off his armor. He works efficiently, and you watch with interest. You’ve never seen a clone go through the process before. He starts with his vambraces, works his way up his arms, then removes the cuirass and proceeds down his torso and legs. Each piece is stacked neatly as he removes it, and you suspect the habit is so ingrained in him that he couldn’t leave the duraplast in a messy pile if he tried.

“I think I shaved a couple seconds off my best time,” he says once he’s stripped down to his body glove.

You remember the way he tallies his kills on each mission.

“You’re very competitive, aren’t you?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “How many times did you make yourself come to that recording?”

Your skin heats, and you aren't sure if you're embarrassed, aroused, or both. “Why do you want to know?”

“Professional curiosity. Also, I want to know how many to aim for tonight.”

“Uh, six,” you confess.

“That’s only two per day,” he says. “I’ll have to do better with my next recording.”

“It was actually three the first night and only one on the second. I was tired,” you explain, a little defensively.

“I hope you’re rested up,” he says, tugging you into another searing kiss.

You slide your hands up his back, feeling the hard muscles shift beneath the black fabric of his body glove. The man is massive, built like a tank, and if the bulge you feel pressing against your belly is what you think it is, he is proportionate all the way down. You grind your pelvis against him experimentally, and in response, he crowds you against the wall, growling into your mouth. 

Actually growling. Maker save you.

His hands settle on your hips as he pulls you against him. Yep, definitely proportionate, you think.

His kisses are hot and frantic now, and his hands roam possessively over your body. He moves his mouth along your jaw, down your neck, next to your ear. His warm breath whispers across your skin, leaving a thrill of arousal in its wake.

“Do you know how hard it is to stay focused on the mission when all I can think about is you, fucking yourself to my voice?”

“Tell me,” you gasp, needing to hear those obscene words from him.

“Almost got nailed by a vulture droid ‘cause I was thinking about these tits.” He slides his hand up the rough wool of your uniform to palm your breast. “Oh, kark, that’s good. So fuckin’ good. Let me see you.”

You start to unzip your uniform jacket, but Sev is impatient. He yanks the zipper down and shoves the jacket off your arms.

“How many kriffing layers are you wearing?” he demands.

“Only three more,” you laugh. “Let me help.”

You unbutton and remove your uniform blouse, then slip your undershirt off over your head and unclasp your bra as Sev unzips your trousers and tugs them down.

“Finally,” he says when you are fully bare. “Stars, look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He trails his hands reverently across your skin. His fingertips are rough and calloused, but they touch you with an aching tenderness that leaves you breathless. He drops to his knees, bringing his head level with your chest, and draws you to his mouth. The sensation is overwhelming. His busy hands touch you everywhere: fondling your breasts, sliding up the inside of your thigh to squeeze your ass, brushing across your clitoris to feel the dampness gathering there.

“Sev,” you breathe as he sucks your nipple into his mouth. His lips tug insistently as his tongue swirls over you again and again, and your body thrums in response.

“Fucking perfect tits,” he mumbles against you. “Even better than I thought. So soft. You look so good in my hands.”

You look down to see his large, brown hand on your breast, your flesh spilling out between his fingers as he squeezes you gently.

“You can be rougher with me,” you whisper, “if you want.”

His dark eyes snap to yours, and he pinches your nipple experimentally. Pleasure shoots through you, and you gasp, your head dropping backward to lean against the cold durasteel walls.

“Like this?” he asks, sucking your nipple into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth.

“Yes!” you hiss. “Harder!”

He groans and does as you order, finally giving you the intense stimulation you crave.

“Oh fuck, yes, just like that, don’t stop, keep going,” you chant.

His clever mouth is doing unspeakable things to you. Kissing, sucking, biting, teasing, worshiping. You are stunned to feel your orgasm building, and you wonder if it is possible for you to come like this. The tension draws tighter and tighter, but you need more. 

Sev releases your breast and kisses down your belly. He pauses when he reaches your hip, working over you with excruciating thoroughness. 

“Kark, I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks,” he says, his voice even deeper than usual. “I wanted you the first time I saw you.” He presses a hard, open-mouth kiss onto your hip bone, and his tongue flicks across your skin. “Jerked my cock to you every time I took a shower. I made myself come so many times imagining this beautiful little cunt.” 

He is still playing with your breast with one hand, squeezing and pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. His other hand grasps your ass roughly, digging his fingers into your flesh. His kisses are brutal, hovering on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain, leaving a stinging trail as he makes his way slowly—so agonizingly slowly—across your pelvis.

And gods, it’s so much. It’s too much, and you can’t stand it any more. You grab his head and shove him against your pussy, and his tongue flicks out to slide between your labia and swirl over your clitoris, and fuck that’s it right there just like that—fuck! Your orgasm takes you by surprise, slamming into you, wrenching his name from your throat in a ragged cry. Your hips buck against Sev’s face, and you would feel bad for using him like this, but he’s grunting with pleasure, and his mouth is on you and his tongue is inside you, and he’s grabbing your ass to pull you even harder against him as you fuck his face, and then your legs give out, and he catches you, supporting your weight with his strong arms as he sucks your clit into his mouth until he wrings out the last tremors of your orgasm, and then he eases you down the durasteel wall to rest on his thighs.

Your lungs heave for oxygen, and your forehead drops to rest on his shoulder. He’s still wearing his body glove, and the fabric is soft against your face. He wraps his arms around you, stroking the back of your head as he whispers the sweetest words in your ear: so good for me, so beautiful, taste so sweet, so pretty when you come, love to watch you lose control, so fucking sexy.

You roll your head to face him, burying yourself against his neck. He smells like salt and skin and battlefield smoke and bacta, and your tongue darts out to taste him, drawing a rumble of pleasure from his chest.

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

He lets out a single, short laugh. “No, babygirl. You could fuck me into the ground, and I’d thank you for giving me a warrior’s death.”

You can feel his erection pressing against you, and you slide your hand down his body to stroke his length through the thin fabric of his body glove.

“In that case, I should probably take care of this,” you murmur. “Can’t fuck all night if we don’t start early.”

---

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul

[slutty-yoda]

Star Wars Sexy Human Bracket Round 1

[fantastic-nonsense]

once again thinking about how absolutely unconscionable Rian Johnson's "both sides are bad!" subplot in TLJ is for a movie that features Neo-Nazi fascists who kidnap/brainwash children and blow up multiple planets and a movie that came out a) a year after Trump was elected and b) three months after the Charlottesville Unite the Right rally

[chipistrate]

I really wanna talk about how some of Help Wanted 2s environmental design is such a downgrade and surprisingly disappointing from Steel Wool but I don't know if I could make my thoughts comprehendible so I'm just hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[darth-memes]

STAR WARS EPISODE VIII: THE LAST JEDI CAME OUT 6 YEARS AGO!

[aecholapis]

I'm thinking about a potential post-war mentorship arc ft. the renowned former DJ Soundwave and an upstart DJ Damus/Tarn.

Soundwave teaches Damus how to use his creativity to make music. Shows him the best way to operate a mixing board and add transitions. They stand side by side while he explains the general setup to Tarn and when he's finished they test out the devices together.

He's had the worst rolemodels imaginable until Soundwave said 'enough is enough' and offered to be the best mentor in the history of Cybertron.

Tarn's bureaucracy skills are self-taught but his musical talent needs to be honed by an expert and who'd be better suited for this task than Soundwave, a mech that has been a disk jockey early in his life?

[bubblegumsunshine333]

Star Wars spinoffs are wack nowadays. Why the fuck would Han Solo's ex-girlfriend know the guy who killed Rey's parents?

Say I underestimate, and I imagine the population of the galaxy is in the trillions (Coruscant alone has trillions, so I can't begin to imagine the true population count). Why do all ~100 movie characters with names and lines know each other? Out of trillions of people, how have they all met, most of the time through random circumstance (i.e. not being introduced by mutual friends)? Worst world-building ever. You couldn't even convince me it was likely for two of them to run into each other if they were in a grocery store at the same time. It's nonsense that every random side character has to be connected in a ludicrous way.

The old (Lucas era) spinoffs were also wack, but at least some of it tried to stay grounded. There was so much emphasis on nobodies, it was thrilling. It was great reading a book with characters no one would hear from again, or playing a game where you're a protagonist who nobody fucking knows or respects, with 0 reputation outside of your accomplishments in that game. Nowadays, every single story has "chosen one" levels of predictability. The prequel trilogy establishing a "chosen one" prophecy was one of it's most criticized aspects, yet every new writer makes sure that their main character gets as close to being a chosen one as possible. It's bland and offensively predictable.

Don't get me wrong, some of the new stuff is very grounded too! Like Rebels, Squadrons, and Visions. So many nobodies doing cool stuff. It makes the Star Wars galaxy feel like an exciting realm to live in, where people are just people, but anybody has the opportunity to have a cool personal adventure that doesn't have to tie directly back to Darth Vader. I miss it, and clearly others do too. It's why Mando S1 was well-received (they were nobodies, doing cool shit). It's why people are obsessed with clones to this day (they were also nobodies, literally assigned a serial number, doing cool shit).

[swr-thoughts]

Headcanon: "DJ" from Star Wars: The Last Jedi, is Ezra Bridger.

- Anonymous

[bumpscosity]

YOOO DJ R3X IS STREAMING

[dollarstore-kins]

Pokemon team for DJ requested by Anon!!

-Mod ET

[artastic-friend]

(Lowkey RUIN spoiler)

Where’s DJ….

Us DJ Fans at steel wool rn:

WHERE IS HE

I miss my wife, steel wool…. I miss him a lot…

(Also I wanna add that I mean no ill-will towards SW! They did an amazing job with Ruin as a whole!! I just miss him… yanno?)

[bluntblade]

One thing I keep asking myself now in relation to Ahsoka is: does Filoni like samurai films? Does he have thoughts about any of them? And if he does, why isn't any of it in the show?

Like, regardless of anyone's views on The Last Jedi, Rian Johnson engaged with the genre. Rather than just pull from things that had already been used by Star Wars, he explored. He understood the themes of Rashomon and Three Outlaw Samurai, and understood why those films work. You can tell that he has a relationship to and appreciation for the material. He borrows Rashomon's "three versions of the story" and echoing that film, the truth lands in a murky in-between exposes a critical error by a character, but also incites them to an act of real moral courage. The energy of Three Outlaw Samurai, meanwhile, comes through in the slovenly DJ and the frantic, scrappy melee combat.

In the same way, Andor and Rogue One are applying more than just the aesthetics of espionage thrillers and modern war movies to SW (also they understood what those aesthetics are for). For that matter, TCW's Umbara arc used Vietnam War film nods pretty well.

The Mandalorian, I think, has increasingly lost the sense of having anything to say with its Western elements, and in Ahsoka it's even more frustrating. Characters pose with their lightsabers in ways that mimick the likes of Toshiro Mifune, there are musical echoes, the framing vaguely evokes those films at times... yet it stops there, at the surface. They're not doing anything more than The Jedi borrowing frames from Yojimbo back in Mando S2. It begins to feel performative, doing homage to the things which influenced Lucas because they influenced Lucas (and missing the fact that Lucas adored these films because they are terrific works of art).

And that doesn't even get into how much of Kurosawa's actual style isn't imitated at all here. Kineticism, the thing which the master did better than basically anyone else, is pretty much absent, let alone his dramatic use of weather and smoke.

The reason I'm harping on about this is that Filoni and his writers room could really have made hay if they dug into these stories, because they would've found themes that informed the story they were ostensibly setting out to tell. Plenty of Kurosawa films are about ronin (sometimes left masterless by a war that destroyed their clans) and their ambiguous, often fraught relationships with the rest of the world.

Seven Samurai, Yojimbo and Sanjuro all get into this stuff. The former also asks searching questions about what place there is for a warrior in a land at peace, which Masaki Kobayashi's Harakiri explores through a much darker and more cynical lens. All of that feels extremely applicable to an Ahsoka who is meant to be scarred by her experiences and feels a gap in her life, where so much of the Jedi's traditional role as peacekeepers and protectors was meant to go. (There is a similar struggle at the heart of David Kirk's wonderful Musashi Miyamoto novels).

But instead we end up with this very shallow attempt at doing homage, which comes out as rather disrespectful in itself when you break it down.

[fantastic-nonsense]

the worst part of it all is that TLJ's discussion about moral ambiguity and war profiteering COULD have been good. Star Wars as a franchise has competently executed such plots elsewhere in the Lucas movies as well in other works like Rogue One, The Clone Wars, Rebels, and various books and comics while still operating within the universe's intended core themes and political messaging. It's not actually that hard. So to have such a subplot executed so irresponsibly and sloppily in a movie belonging to a franchise that has actually dealt with such things previously while being released in a political environment where telling that story right was important is infuriating

[p4wnz0rxp]

INTRO!!

welc0m3 2 my bl0g! ^^

Plz read this p0zt if ur new h3re <3

ABT M3:

- A min0r

- Genderfluid but specific l4bel is alexigender, aroace, and apagender ^_^

- Any/all pronounz including xenogender, neogender, and emojigender! (ex. of emojigender is 🌻/🌻self, 🦴/🦴self, etc.)

- Sc3n3m0 kiddo!!

- My f4nd0mz: Skullgirls, TAWOG, Lucky Star, MLP, Vocaloid, FNAF, MSSS, Danganronpa, FNF, MD, Minecraft, Domo, etc.

-Fav 4rtistz: SWS, Snow whites poison bite, PTV, S3RL, Ghost town, All time low, Picture me broken, Skillet, FIR, Disko warp, Brokencyde, etc.

- Spotted hyena and leopard gecko therian 🐾🦎

- I ♡ catz, owls, hyenas, bunnies, dogz, skulls, music, drawing, thrift storez, meat, instant noodlez, art, graphic tees, alterhuman, space, astronomy, physics, math (except geometry), nice ppl, internet, mangos, oranges, pizza, headphonez, and uhh i think more (th4tz a l0t l0lz :P)

- Im to0 sm4rt t0 be dumb and t0o dumb 2 be sm4rt (idk im t0o average)

- CRRRR11NG333!1!!!1!!1!!

h0w t0 int3r4ct 0_o!

- Use ur kewl/"cringe" typ1ng quirks!1!! I l0ve ppl who express the way they chat w/ me <3 also dont be scared if ur dry/a dry texter, i could try t0 m4tch ur en3rgy ^_^

- Yap to me abt ur interestz!! I LOVE LOVE LOVE listeninf t0 p3ople :DDD

- Plz dont be mean/rude INTENTIONALLY, I H8 IT!! if you LIKE being rude and you are PROUD of it, DNI and GET OFF MY PAGE. I am not sensitive or anything, but why be mean when u c4n b3 nice :((

- Plz tell m3 ur preffered pr0nounz if needed ><

- Everyone unproblematic here is acceptable and welcome to be in my page!! ^○^ ♡_♡

Thatz 4ll!! Go azk if th3rez som3th1ng u w4nna ask!! <333

also feel free to use the stampz in thiz pozt :3

I <3 DJ PON-3 / VINYL SCRATCH!! ><