#frequency war

[s0lsticebirdy]

[heart-0f-a-rebel16]

and if I say Garazeb Orrelios is a metaphor for being queer what then

[thatsmylog]

was only going to have a little amuse-bouche of speirs being all What at dealing with people peopling but speirs gifs are v moreish

anyway here's two more i don't make the rules

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Waiting Game

Pairing: Hunter x reader Type: One shot Word count: ~3.2k Warnings: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI, Hunter’s POV, gn!reader, no reader name mentioned, swearing, unprotected sex, dirty talk, possessiveness, jealousy, Dom/sub if you squint, insults, alcohol, not proofread we die like clankas. If I missed any please let me know! This takes place after Skako Minor but before the Empire. 

Summary: How much longer can Hunter deny his feelings for you?

Hunter hates this fucking bar. 

Granted, he hates all bars, but for some reason 79s grates on him the worst. Maybe it’s the constant looks he and the rest of the squad get from the regs. Maybe it’s the same couple dozen songs the DJ insists on playing night after night after night. Maybe it’s the throng of too many people and too much technology and never enough alcohol.

He casts his awareness wide, using his heightened senses to keep tabs on his squad like he always does. It takes a moment or two longer than usual because of how much interference there is here, but finally he catches a ping on Crosshair in the ’fresher, Echo at another booth across the dancefloor, and you, at the bar getting another round. Wrecker, uncharacteristically, had elected to hang back at the barracks tonight.

Maybe, Hunter thinks, peering over the rim of his latest glass of cheap Chandrilan raava as just then you begin to saunter back to the booth, maybe he hates this place because you draw a different kind of look from the regs. 

He watches as a handful of regs near you nudge each other and nod in your direction, three of them leaning around each other to stare openly at your ass. Hunter curls his upper lip in distaste, but he knows better than to do anything right now. “Unprofessional,” Tech would call it, this flicker of anger burning in his chest. And besides, you’ve proven to him time and again you can handle yourself. 

“Hunter?” Tech’s voice to his left jolts Hunter out of his reverie. He blinks, turning to look at his brother.

“Did I miss something?”

Tech grimaces. “We were discussing the likelihood of receiving another Jedi escort on this next mission.”

“Right.” Hunter clears his throat and sets the glass back on the scuffed table. “Tech, really, I don’t see it happening again. General Skywalker accompanied us because Rex asked him to--not because he was ordered to.” 

“That is a fair assumption,” Tech states. “However, General Skywalker’s unusual tactics--”

“Oh, come on, boys, enough work for tonight!” There is a laugh in your voice as you shimmy into the booth with four shot glasses balanced precariously in your hands, the glowing blue liquid threatening to spill over. “We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves here, not--” You gestured half-heartedly at the group “--discussing probabilities.” 

“I am inclined to agree,” Crosshair says as he slides into the booth as well. He reaches across the table and lifts one of the shots with deft fingers. “Loosen up, you two.” 

You shoot a smirk at Hunter as you push a shot towards him, then the third toward Tech, grabbing the last for yourself. Hunter wills his expression to remain neutral, unamused, yet he can’t help a quick glance down at your curved lips. 

“To a night off!” you toast, raising your shot. 

The three Batchers echo your statement, clinking all the glasses together before upending the glowing drink. Fruity and tangy, the liquid burns down Hunter’s throat and chases the lingering frustration away. 

Slamming his glass down, he shakes his head a little. “What in the Sith-blazing hells was that?” 

You laugh and shrug. “I asked for something fun.”

Hunter grunts in answer. He taps into his heightened senses again out of habit, making sure Echo is still in the bar. With a nod, Hunter relaxes as he picks out Echo’s personal electromagnetic frequency. 

You nudge Hunter’s elbow with yours. “Wanna dance, Sarge?” A smile plays with your lips, your eyes glinting in the multicolored lights flashing from the ceiling. 

He wants to say yes. He wants so kriffin’ badly to say yes. But your use of his title, however playful, reminds him of his duty. He is a soldier first. Maybe that’s all he is. 

“In a bit,” he says, as noncommittally as he can. 

The way your smile drops makes his heart squeeze. He downs the rest of the Chandrilan liquor to distract himself. 

“I’ll take that dance,” comes a familiar, yet unfamiliar voice. All the clones shared the same vocal range, but each of them carried a distinct way of talking that Hunter sometimes relied on to eavesdrop on regs’ conversations. Apparently, the tables have turned, as this one seems to have been listening in on yours. 

Hunter can only watch as you shoot him one last look before taking the reg’s outstretched hand, letting him pull you up out of the booth and towards the floor. Doing his best to conceal a heavy sigh, Hunter clenches his jaw. 

“You really need to step up, Sarge,” Crosshair drawls, a new toothpick dangling from his lips. “They’re not going to wait forever for you to move past your sense of ‘duty’.” Crosshair puts air quotes around the word, a sneer only too evident in his voice.

The music switches, a new bassline thrumming through the air. Hunter glares at his brother. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cross levels a steady gaze at Hunter, clearly unimpressed. “You can lie to me, Hunt, but how long are you going to lie to yourself? How long are you going to lie to them?” For emphasis, he jabs toward the crowd with his toothpick, then rises and heads for the bar, leaving Hunter alone with Tech once more. 

Tech, for his part, has his nose dutifully buried in his datapad.

Hunter rolls his eyes. “I know you’re paying attention. Spit it out.”

With a frown, Tech pushes his goggles up his nose and sets the datapad in his lap. “I do not think you will appreciate my answer.”

Hunter snorts. “That’s enough of an answer, Tech. Want another drink?” 

“Hm. I suppose.”

Hunter learned almost from infancy to interpret Tech’s non-answers as answers, and scoots himself out of the booth accordingly, following Cross to the bar. 

What was keeping him from bending the rules for you? Plenty of the regs did it, even the other commanding officers. Gossip travels quickly among the ranks, even to a squad mostly outcast, so Hunter knows for sure that regs even as decorated as Cody and Rex have their share of tales.

The issue has plagued him since he first met you last year. You’d been one of the few, non-Jedi, non-clone personnel approved by the Senate to fight in the Clone Wars, and had spent much of the war to that point rotating between units, offering support where you could. Mostly reconnaissance and liaising with local populations, blending in where clones or even Jedi whose reputations preceded them could not. Then last year, you’d finally been assigned a mission with Clone Force 99. A simple liaison gig, a mission you’d carried out dozens of times before, and when it almost immediately went south-- Well. Hunter still remembers the vivid scene. You, blaster in hand, a dead clanker at your feet, a defiant look in your eye as you’d glanced up to meet Hunter’s gaze. 

He shakes himself out of the memory and orders another round of Chandrilan raavas for himself and Tech, waiting impatiently. He sternly gives himself the by-now robotic answer that this is different because you’re coworkers, not strangers. The answer feels hollow. He sighs.

The sooner you all could get out of this karking place, the better. 

Finally the bartender pushes two glasses across the bar and Hunter accepts them, depositing a handful of chump change as a tip, and wends his way through several groups of people back to the booth. Thankfully Tech hasn’t disappeared, and gratefully takes the fresh drink from Hunter. 

“Crosshair informed me that he will see us in the morning,” Tech says after a sip. “A Twi’lek woman in tow.”

A scowl tugs at Hunter’s face and then he’s rearranging his face into neutrality once more. “Thanks for the head’s up.” 

“Anytime.” 

Hunter shakes his head, disappointed, not for the first time, at his comparative inability to get drunk. Heightened senses meant a faster-working metabolism, which meant alcohol processed for him differently than any of the other clones. He’s on his fifth drink before he even begins to feel buzzed, and his dwindling credit supply does nothing to help his mood. 

Echo appears out of the crowd at some point and joins the two of them at their booth. He carries a glass of amber liquid--Hunter is surprised to note that it is the same glass Echo ordered when they first arrived. 

“Haven’t you had anything to drink?” 

Echo shrugs with one shoulder. “Don’t like how it makes me feel since... Well. You know.” 

“I’ll trade you.”

“Thanks, Hunter.” A tight-lipped smile graces Echo’s face. “Anyways. Where’s Cross? And our favorite spy?” 

“Crosshair left a bit ago,” Tech answers without looking up from his datapad. “I am unsure where our other crew member is.”

A burst of panic seizes Hunter. How long has it been since he last checked for them? Sitting up straighter, Hunter yet again reaches out with his senses, searching. Something like dread settles in his stomach as he continues to scan all the electromagnetic frequencies in this damn bar--but none of them match the frequency he associates with you. 

“Dank farrik!” 

Echo looks alarmed at Hunter’s outburst. “Everything good, Sarge?”

“No,” Hunter says, already shooing Echo out of the booth. “Can’t sense them. I’ll find them, and then we’re leaving. We have a mission in the morning.”

Neither Echo nor Tech protest as Hunter leaves. His mind has instantly jumped to the worst--kidnapped, mugged, drugged--and he struggles to keep his composure as his eyes scan the crowd as he moves through it. Not there. You’re not in the building anymore from what he can tell. 

Anxiety mounting, Hunter pushes through the throng and makes it to the front door. The pneumatic hiss is nearly lost in the noise of the bar, yet the kiss of fresh air that greets Hunter as he steps out has him sighing, eyes sliding shut for just a moment. Freedom. 

Stepping away from the entrance, Hunter ignores the ever-present hum of hovercraft, taxis, and other folks on this platform as he tries again to locate you through vibration alone. He’s never been able to explain it properly, but he’s been so attuned to you and the rest of the squad that this ability comes as second nature. 

There. To his left, he can feel the familiar frequency that is you. And...a second frequency, unfamiliar. 

Hunter frowns. He remains focused on your vibrations as he heads in your direction--and if he hadn’t been paying such close attention, he might have missed the way your frequency shifted, becoming more...frantic, excited, vibrant. He’s confused for a moment before realization strikes him like a blaster bolt to the chest. He’s felt this frequency shift from you before--late at night on the Marauder when he knows you think they’re all asleep when you get yourself off. 

He’s sprinting for the alleyway behind 79s. Brows furrowed and hands already clenched into fists, Hunter hopes beyond hope he’s wrong about his assumption--but as he rounds the corner, he catches sight of your familiar form against the grimy wall, and in front of you, the reg who’d claimed you for a dance earlier, clearly latched onto your neck. 

His ears ring. He swallows thickly against the sudden lump of pain and anger that’s formed in his throat. 

He must have made some small sound because he watches as your eyes fly open and meet his. Shock flits across your face, and then you’re pushing the reg away despite his protests. 

“C’mon, baby, don’t be like that, I wasn’t done--” 

“Well I am. Now beat it,” you say, not even looking at the reg. 

The man follows your gaze and sneers at Hunter. “That’s right; I forgot. You’re the freak whore.”

A few things happen simultaneously. Hunter registers you calling his name and urging him to ignore the comment, to forget it. He also catches the purposeful smirk on the reg’s face as he spits at your feet and tries to walk away, but that means walking past Hunter. And lastly, Hunter recognizes the burning emotion in his chest for what it is: jealousy. Possessiveness. 

“I’ll give you one chance, reg, to take that back,” Hunter says, his voice clipped, fists balled at his sides. 

The reg continues to walk forward. “I said what I said.” 

Hunter swings. The blow lands, sending the reg stumbling. Dull pain blossoms in Hunter’s knuckles, but it feels good. 

“Fucking freak,” the reg snarls, and darts in the opposite direction, further down the alleyway, without even a second glance at you. 

Hunter watches him go, memorizing his electromagnetic signature, just in case. 

“Hunter.” Your voice draws his eyes away from the vanishing figure. He meets your gaze and immediately deflates, shoulders slumping, rocking back onto one heel. 

“I’m- I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “That was...unprofessional of me.” 

He wonders at the annoyance that flashes over your face. 

“Did you ever think that maybe I want you to be unprofessional with me?” you ask. You take a tentative step closer, and when Hunter doesn’t flinch away, you stride to him, peering up into his eyes. “Has it never occurred to you that I might feel the same way, Sarge?”

Hunter bites back a laugh, not daring to let that tight possessiveness in his chest take over. “We work together. We can’t--”

“I don’t give a kark what we can’t do,” you say, eyes flashing with that same defiance that made him fall for you in the first place. “Say the word, and I’ll ask for a reassignment, because I can’t keep doing this, Hunter.”

His earlier panic returns. “Reassignment? Are you- why would you- you can’t!”

“I can,” you say calmly, but your heartbeat betrays you. This close, he can feel nearly every electrical impulse your brain creates. Right now, your heart is beating hard and fast against your ribs, a state of upset matching his thrumming through your body. 

He hesitates, still fighting his sense of duty, but the thought of losing you is a stronger impulse. “Please don’t. I can’t be without you, cyare.” 

He sees you squint for a moment at the unfamiliar word, then sees the spark of hope that his words have kindled in your eyes. 

“Then karking kiss me, Hunter. Please.”

He groans, and then he’s pulling you in with a hand behind your head, leaning down, and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. 

The sensation explodes in him. His brain has shut down, yet he can still feel everything: the softness of your lips, the warmth of your skin, the smell of your soap lingering on your skin, the nearly silent moan deep in your chest. He pulls away, but one of your hands tangles in his hair, scratching at his scalp--his knees tremble--and you’re yanking him flush against you. Your soft edges to his hard planes, your quiet moans mingling, his head swimming with sensations. 

When you part, both of you are panting and flushed. With half-lidded eyes, he watches as you trail a hand down to lace your fingers with his. 

“I want you to fuck me.”

The words are quiet, but he can hear them just fine. His dick twitches in his pants.

“Kriff, cyare. Here?”

You nod and, tugging him by the hand, lead him deeper into the alleyway. “Need you right now.”

A possessive flare spreads through him and he hears himself speaking before his brain catches up: “I’ll ruin you so good you’ll never want to fuck a reg again.”

The choked moan that escapes you is music to his ears. 

“Yes, Sarge.”

He hums, finally taking charge and spinning you around to press your chest against the brick wall, just past a halo of light from a streetlamp. You gasp as he yanks your pants down, baring your ass to him, and he groans. Your skin is smooth beneath his hand, impossibly soft.

“Gonna fuck you until you can’t stand, understood?”

You nod, lips parted as you pant. 

He slips one hand to your front to work you up, and growls appreciatively to find you already ready for him. 

“Use your words, pretty little thing.”

“Fuck. Yes, Sarge, please, Sarge, ruin me.”

“That’s better.”

He withdraws from you just long enough to work his pants open and slip his cock out, giving it a few experimental pumps. He considers spitting in his hand to help lube him up, but a better thought occurs to him. Holding one hand to your mouth, he orders, “Suck.”

You greedily accept all his fingers into your wet mouth, moaning sinfully around the digits as he curses under his breath. If he’d known you’d be this willing and pliant for him, maybe he would have given in months ago. Then again, maybe not. Maybe the waiting is what has made this worth it. 

When he feels you’ve wet his fingers enough, he removes them from your mouth with a pop! and uses your spit to lube his dick. Then he’s pushing into you almost immediately, too impatient now to wait any longer. You hiss, face contorting, and he stills when he bottoms out, letting you both adjust. Leaning his head back, he closes his eyes and breathes slowly through his nose, trying not to finish already. But you’re so tight around him, so warm, and when you keen a needy, “Please fuck me,” it’s all he can do to not bust right then and there. 

“I’m not gonna last long,” he warns, and you just moan. 

Slowly dragging himself out of your tight heat, you both groan at the feeling before he snaps his hips against your ass. He drops his head against your shoulder blade and bites as he sets a languid pace, relishing in the noises you’re making for him, in the way you tighten around his dick when he licks your skin, in the warmth that settles in his chest now. He reaches around you again and between his hand and his cock, he can feel you coming undone under him not long after. 

“That’s it, cyar’ika, just like that.”

You bite your lip to keep from moaning too loud as you clench around him. He works you through your high, pulling away only when your moans turn to whimpers, oversensitive. Then he’s picking up the pace, chasing his own orgasm like a man starved.

“Mine,” he growls with every thrust. “Mine, mine, mine.”

“Yours,” you whimper in answer. “Oh, kriff, Hunter! Only yours.” 

That’s what has him coming undone. He pulls out of you and squeezes your hips as he curses, groaning your name as ropes of cum paint the swell of your ass. The sight is truly something to behold, and dimly he thinks he’ll have to ask Tech how to modify his helmet so he can record things privately. Another thing for another time. Right now, as the shocks of pleasure subside from his body, he peers up through eyelashes to meet your gaze. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted that,” you say, a soft smile on your face. 

“I was about to say the same,” Hunter says, tucking himself back into his pants and using the hem of his shirt to wipe off his seed from your skin.

“Next time,” you say when he’s done, pulling your pants up, “don’t wait so long.”

He can only chuckle as he tucks you against his side, leading you back towards the platform to hail a ride back to the barracks. 

[bikananjarrus]

do u ever get emotional because ezra made such a deep connection with the purrgil that, even after meeting them only one time, he was able to call upon them to help free lothal and they came and helped save his world

[ghost-of-tk]

post-ahsoka stupor

[lokh]

I wonder where that demo disc went......

[sw5w]

Anakin Accepts His Assignment

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:25:12

[marthashlyn3]

[prussianmemes]

exposure to ukrainian anti-communist groups really is not healthy for the mind or soul

[saskiavalentineapologist]

no mods on tumblr, post freya AKA freya lovell appreciation post AKA mandatory freya-loving post AKA i love freya and gilt's relationship so goddamn much post

in order

freya meeting gilt when she was small (not sure if canon)

freya and gilt having Talks (definitely canon at least once)

something freya actually said when she heard her daughter was back from the dead and evil 😭

them talking after the above

something i drew that hurt my own damn feelings far before gilt and freya ever talked about evil!kalia in canon

I Love Them, actual height difference, these two are everything to me

[inebubble]

ok LISTEN I have SO MUCH respect for animators who work on huge movies but Come On guys with the millions involved you can’t tell me you didn’t look up ONCE how a rider holds their reins??????

[faggoted-eyeballroller]

Me and my thoughts, illustrated edition

[bluesunsdusk]

--// It is sweet Sunday now, I've decided that, so I can post only wholesome things. Protective industrial-grade murderbot can be very wholesome.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Funny thing happened while watching Ashoka series tonight

[SPOILER FREE]

We had to split watching the first episodes of the Ashoka series over two nights for [reasons] and I've accepted there are three very different levels of Star Wars knowledge in my family.

There's my dad who's been a fan of the franchise for "a million years" (to keep in line with how my family jokes about his age even though he'll never see this post hahaha). I've asked him a lot of questions about the comic issues he's read over the years. He's even bought issues of comics for some of my favorite characters just so I could read them. (Thanks Dad🥺🩷)

There's me, who's fairly/more knowledgeable about stuff now compared to nine years ago, at the very least, but I still see my dad as some kind of Knowledgeable Star Wars Authority™. Though at this point, stuff centered around the Clone Wars has become my wheelhouse.

And then there's my mom who has two nerds at her disposal for her SW questions lmao.

So when she asked us "Who's Thrawn?" and my dad started to answer with what he knows, he then looked at ME for more information.

I should have realized much sooner that I needed to do the Rebels series homework not just for answering my mom's questions, but apparently both my parents for once.

[doomed-jester]

Man, remember when Spider-Verse stories were big events? They'd get tie-ins, they'd take over the main comics run for a couple months, heck the first one even got that Edge of Spider-Verse prelude and was being teased all the way back in Superior Spider-Man.

Now these massive multiverse scale events don't even get a nod in the main book anymore. They've got a whole side story miniseries running because God forbid this week's Crisis on Infinite Spider-Men distract from Ben Reilly's ongoing identity crisis.