#Lambda class shuttle

[techs-mechs]

Death Star landing bay reference gifs (click/tap to enlarge)

[jessequinnfirstofhername]

@chucksax you inspired me 😉

[alphamecha-mkii]

[feltpool]

SW calendar Day 13

[swtechspecs]

Sienar Fleet Systems Lambda-Class T-4a Shuttle

Source: Heir to the Empire Sourcebook (West End Games, 1992)

[toodamnninja]

Lego Star Wars Advent Calendar day 13: A microscale Imperial Shuttle

[yoitsjay]

Ner Cabur

Pairings: Tech x male Mando! Reader

Summary: you save tech from an unfortunate end, and spending time with him had become a luxury you didn't want to let go.

Warnings: season 3 spoilers ish, cannon violence, loose episode references, Tech fluffiness

Translations:

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - I love you

Ner Cabur- my guardian

Ner kar'ta- my heart

burc’ya- friend

Word count: 2,720

The stars streaked past as you piloted your sleek, battered lambda class T-4A shuttle through the endless expanse of space. The thumping bass of your favorite rock band pulsed through the cockpit, shaking loose a few forgotten crumbs from your last meal.

With a grin, you adjusted the controls, leaning back in your worn pilot’s chair. Your black and blue painted armor gleaned dully in the cockpit lights, reflecting the occasional flicker from the starry display. The rhythmic beats matched your heartbeat as you primed your ship for landing on the nearby planet’s spaceport, for some repairs and supplies

You checked your dwindling credit’s and winced. Just then however, a flicker of static interrupted the music. A message blinked into view from your transceiver. You clicked the answer button, sliding your helmet back on as you did so, leaning back in your seat as Saw Gerrerra popped up.

“Saw.” You greeted, but the man looked like pleasantries were way off the table. “We need you on Eriadu, I'm sending you the coordinates now with your mission details. Then com me and meet me at the rondevu.” He instructed before ending the call. You huffed, quickly taking the joysticks of your ship's center console, maneuvering out of the asteroids and into free space, typing in the coordinates that were sent before jumping into hyperspace.

When you had arrived at Eriadu you followed Gerrerra’s instructions, which were basically fly around and prepare for pickup. You were flying low, hiding your ship in the canyons surrounding the empire’s main base of operations. You had scrambled your ship's signature in order to sneak by the sensors, so they had no idea you were here.

You were flying slowly, hidden by the fog but still able to see where you were flying… and that was when you saw someone falling from the rail carts. Your eyes widened, and you quickly maneuvered your ship towards the falling figure, placing your ship in “float mode” as you ran out of the cockpit and down the ramp.

You had equipped your jet pack so you just flew straight out of the ship, plummeting down towards the falling man. Before he could hit the ground, you managed to catch him in your arms, the added weight making you stumble as you ran across the ground before sliding to a stop.

“Hey man, you good?” You asked once landed, the man still held in your arms as he looked at you, eyes wide in surprise. His helmet was strange, with goggles instead of a shielded visor. Eventually you put him down, and he stared at the ground, and then back at you.

“yes i-” The man paused, nodding again. “Thank you.” He added, and you nodded. “You with Saw Gerrera?” You asked, but he shook his head. “No- i’m here with my brothers… Do you perchance have a vessel?” The man asked, and you nodded. “Yeah. First you're gonna tell me your name, then we can figure out what to do next.” You teased me. The man nodded, removing his helmet.

He was quite cute, his hair forming soft curls against his forehead, a lighter brown that accentuated his amber eyes. He was around your height, if not a few inches shorter. “My name is Tech.” He introduced, and you nodded, slowly removing your helmet as well.

Tech’s eyes widened, but you didn’t notice. You also didn’t happen to notice the slight blush on his cheeks too. “My name is Y/n. Now I'm gonna have to carry you again.” You stated, winking at Tech before placing your helmet back on your head. Tech nodded and did the same, and you picked the man back up in your arms.

He wrapped his arms around your neck as one of your arms supported his back, the other his knees and you lifted off into the air, flying back through the ramp and cargo entrance before setting Tech down again as you landed on your feet. You closed the ramp and ran up to the cockpit, seeing a beeping transmission.

You answered it. taking the controls of your ship again as Tech sat in the seat beside you. “We need pickup Y/n! Where are you?” Saw shouted, and you huffed. “On my way, I had an unexpected pickup.” You answered, soaring out of the canyon and towards the rondevu point. You kept your ship hovering, lowering the ramp as Saw and the others entered.

You flew away, breaking through the atmosphere before setting coordinates to one of the rebel planets and jumping to hyperspace. You released the controls, setting your helmet down on the top of the console as you turned to Tech. “I gotta deal with them, then I can help you.” You explained, gesturing for him to stay put before you walked out of the cockpit and to the center room before your tiny sleeping areas.

“What happened?” You asked as you saw Saw, who looked stressed. “Clones happened, The Bad Batch more specifically.” He huffed, and you raised an eyebrow as he gave you a brief explanation. “Ah okay, well they are right you know.” you stated, and he glared at you.

You raised your hands in surrender, but continued. “They’re only going to re-establish their ranks, if you want to end this empire, you gotta take out bigger ideas. Like infantry units, training centers. Communications centers and command stations.” You listed, crossing your arms over your armored chest. “Anyway, all I'm saying is that killing officers will only halt progress for a little while. Then you’ll have to do it again, and again and you’ll never stop fighting.” You finished, waving at them to rest up as you walked back into the cockpit.

Tech stared up at you as you entered, having removed his helmet again. “I heard what you said… Those were my brothers he was talking about.” Tech stated, and you hummed. “So you're a clone? you don’t look like a clone.” You stated, seeing him smile a little bit before explaining that he and his brothers were an experimental enhanced unit made during the clone wars. Their DNA was twisted, and they came out much different.

Tech had superior smarts, amongst other things, but his brain was information central according to his brothers.

“I see, well that's quite cool.” You started with a grin. “I guess that almost makes you Mandalorian.” You joked, and Tech chuckled for a moment. “Not really, however, I appreciate the sentiment.” he stated.

Soon you dropped from hyperspace, and dropped Saw and his mercenaries off at their destination. You topped up on rations and fuel, and did a bit of repairs with Tech’s help before taking off again.

“So, you have a home Tech?” You asked him, almost feeling… disappointed that he was going to be leaving so soon.

“Yes, Pabu is where i… reside with my brothers.” He answered, and you nodded, putting in the coordinates, only to feel Tech’s hand on yours, stopping you for a moment.

“I know we have only been acquainted for a few hours, but I have enjoyed conversing with you. And I would love to learn more about your culture, discover more than what is in the datapad.” He paused, pursing his lips before he looked at you again. “What I am trying to say is, you saved my life. And I would like to spend more time with you.” He breathed out, almost expecting the hard reality of no, or a disgusted look.

But instead you smiled warmly, nodding. “I would love that Tech, thank you.” You beamed, and finished setting the coordinates before entering hyperspace. “Here, you can use my transceiver to contact your brothers and let them know you're alive. Keep an eye on the controls while I go make us some food.” You stated, pointing to your transceiver before you walked away.

When you had come back you noticed Tech was still talking with his brothers, who were all talking over each other as they argued. When they saw you however, they went quiet. The one who looked and held himself as a leader spoke up.

“You saved our brother, and we are so grateful. If you weren't there we- well, he would have died. So thank you, burc’ya” The man spoke up, using a word in your native tongue which made you smile. “It was no problem, truly. Tech has been an amazing company, and a good friend in this short time.” You expressed, and the man nodded.

“That's good to hear. See you soon. And Tech? never do that again.” The man stated before the transmission ended. You chuckled, handing Tech a bowl of Tiingilar, a hearty Mandalorian dish which Tech devoured.

It was about a standard rotation’s worth of hyperspace travel before you reached the island of Pabu. Since you were across the galaxy after dropping off Gerrera. Tech told you where to land, where you already saw quite a large welcoming party.

You landed, opening the ramp as you and Tech stood up, both your helmets under your arms as you walked up together. However as Tech scanned the area, he realized that one was missing.

“Where is Omega?” He asked, and the leader, whom Tech had told you was Hunter, frowned. “We went back to Ord mantell- and Cid she- she betrayed us to the empire. They took Omega.” Hunter explained.

Tech balled his hands into fists as he stared at the ground, shoulders sagging when he felt the warmth of your hand through his armor.

“Then we find her.” You spoke up, determination lacing your voice. “I have some contacts spying within the empire, I can ask around, acting like a bounty hunter in case it gets traced. Not like it will- but still-” you rambled for a moment, before pausing.

“This Omega, she's obviously a very important foundling, yes?” You asked, and Hunter raised his eyebrow foundling?” He asked, and you huffed, readying to explain.

“Yes, a young being abandoned by its parents, raised by others.” You explained simply. Hunter nodded. “yeah… she’s our sister.” Hunter stated, and you nodded. “There! even more of a reason we should find her yea?” You asked, nodding to yourself. “I'll get on it then, is there somewhere more secure to have my ship in the meantime?” You asked, and Tech rubbed his chin.

“Yes, there is a cave entrance where you can park.” He stated, and Hunter gawked. “What? when did that exist?” Wrecker spoke up with a shout. Tech sighed. “I thought it was obvious.” He started, looking over at you with a smile. “Thank you, for helping us.” He stated, grasping your hand in his own.

You nodded. “Of course Tech, it’s the right thing to do.” You stated, nodding to him once more before you released his hand and entered the ship, taking off to park your ship in a more secluded location.

There you scrambled your signature again before reaching out to your imperial contacts. There really wasn’t much in the way of where Omega could have been taken, or why. But there was talk of something called M-count, and a name. Tantiss.

So for weeks you worked alongside Tech and his brothers, hunting, searching and gaining intel, almost getting killed quite a few times, especially by living vines. Now that was exhilarating.

But almost all intel you and The Bad Batch had gathered had been of no use, there was nothing about Tantiss, barely anything about Hemlock either, the man who took omega in the first place. You could tell the brothers were starting to give up hope, traveling back through hyperspace when the comm’s suddenly went off.

It was Omega, and she had sent coordinates to meet her on one of the moons of Ryloth. It could’ve been a trap, but with you and Tech there, the chances of living were a lot better.

So you went, and watched as Omega embraced Tech and Wrecker, so relieved that Tech was alright. Hunter walked up to you, and you nodded to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as a form of comfort, watching as he walked down before running to meet omega, hugging her tightly.

The reunion was heartfelt, but you could feel tensions rising when a second person stepped out from the imperial ship, a taller man, bald with piercing eyes. Omega argued that he had changed, that he had been betrayed by the empire, But Tech, Hunter and Wrecker were still very much on edge.

You walked down the ramp, ready to aid them if need be.

You stood behind Tech, looming behind him as you turned to look at Crosshair. Your helmet was on, but despite that it looked as if his eyes met yours. You saw the hurt, the guilt and regret in his eyes, and you removed your hand from where it was resting on your blaster.

“We need to leave, before the Empire shows up.” You stated, and walked back to the Marauder with Tech on your heels as his hand once again found yours. Hand holding has become a form of comfort between you and Tech these past weeks. And you found yourself feeling more for him than just friendship.

But now wasn’t the right time, and you both knew that.

But soon, Omega and Crosshair were back on Pabu, and the whole bad batch was reunited it seemed, as Echo was waiting on Pabu for them, for Crosshair’s information more specifically.

While they talked, you felt a tug on your poncho, which you had started wearing more recently after finding it in a Pabu stall.

You looked down, noticing the young girl, Omega, smiling at you. “So are you Tech’s boyfriend?” She asked, and you let out a choked sound, glancing over at Tech who seemed to have the same reaction.

You knelt down, removing your helmet as you stared at her. “No young one… but would I have your blessing if I wanted him to be?” You asked quietly, and she squealed in excitement. “Yes! of course!” Sh exclaimed, and you chuckled, looking over at Tech with a smile before standing up again.

So much more had happened after this, Omega was taken again, and everyone was devastated, including you, since you had grown to care for the young girl during the calm before the storm.

After Omega was taken, you had been relieved to have hidden your ship elsewhere, since the Marauder had been destroyed. You had to move some stuff around, but you had made the addition of four other people work, especially since you and Tech started sharing a room.

Getting Omega back was the only thing on all of your minds, but that didn’t stop the light touches, the hand holding. You didn’t complain when Tech would slip into your quarters after enjoying a meal with his brothers, and he would relax into your embrace before falling asleep.

Echo had joined up in your efforts when you had actually located Tantiss. You had left your ship at one of the clone rebels' bases, and piloted an imperial ship instead, in order to sneak into Tantiss. Omega was smart enough to break herself out, but during that time you and the other batchers, including Tech, had gotten separated.

You were with Echo and a new addition, Emerie, when you hid against a wall as clones and troopers walked by, and your eyes widened when you saw Crosshair, Wrecker and Tech’s unconscious bodies being carried away.

After that you fought like hell until everyone was safe. Even Hunter couldn’t deny that you were a ruthless warrior, even before you snapped you were incredible.

But Tantiss was destroyed at the end, The Bad Batch reunited, and you had decided to settle down on Pabu, your’s and Tech’s growing relationship finally able to blossom. You had taught the younger clones on the island all about Mandalorian traditions, and it felt like you had started your own clan on Pabu. Clan 99 you had joked.

But in reality these men had become your family. And Tech would stand beside you through it all.

“Ner cabur.” Tech whispered into your chest as you laid with him, you smiled, kissing the top of his head.

“Ner kar’ta, Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum”

➺

Tag list:

Tech tag:

Tbb:

@moomoog017 @only-my-unexistent-fiances

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: The overworked project manager on the redesign of the Imperial Lambda-class shuttle gets surprisingly competent feedback from an unknown official on Coruscant. She promptly decides that anyone bored enough to do a technical review of their own free will should be found proper employment for their own good. Her correspondent has been missing the opportunity to tinker with machinery. It gives him something to do between hunting down rebels.

Author: @yukinojou

[comicsandconstellations]

The Eel | Some Echo and Emerie/ Domino and Chance art

“Rex hates…ah, hated the new ship, hated having an Imperial vessel around, hated how he had to watch me leave for missions by myself in it. He described it as “swallowing me up” the first time I flew it; taking me with it and the risk of never seeing me again. I guess I must have made some off-handed joke about knowing what it was like watching someone you love be swallowed, and the name sort of stuck from there.” (Snippet from my draft about why the ship in named ‘the Eel’)

It’s a stolen Lambda-class T-4a shuttle that Echo modified (later with Emerie’s help) which they use for sneaking in and out of Imperial facilities. The one in the AU isn’t painted, but I liked the idea that it would be if it wasn’t needing to be blended in. (If you zoom in, you can see red and blue paint buckets.)

Pretty different to my usual quick style (do I have one?) but I had a really specific vision. I’ve been working on this for a few days so it’s much more like my detailed art style rather than the casual one I do most of my doodles in. It’s not often I don’t draw just characters. Of course I traced the ship’s outline, I’m absolutely not going to try draw a Star Wars vessel from scratch. I like to think this is them hanging out post mission since there is a pile of their armour and their helmets beside them, they are in their matching under suits. I want to know what they are talking about.

[squidspawn]

bureaucracy fic rec list

Because I think its very fun when fictional characters have to do paperwork, taxes, & other assorted nonsense.

Space Taxes by @unpretty, Star Wars

Summary:

Lando and Han can't get divorced. For tax reasons.

Comment: Absolutely beautiful meta for the purpose of Space Tax Fraud, such a treat XD

PRojects IN Controlled Environments, version Sith by @yukinojou, Star Wars

Summary:

The overworked project manager on the redesign of the Imperial Lambda-class shuttle gets surprisingly competent feedback from an unknown official on Coruscant. She promptly decides that anyone bored enough to do a technical review of their own free will should be found proper employment for their own good. Her correspondent has been missing the opportunity to tinker with machinery. It gives him something to do between hunting down rebels.

Comment: Have you ever had to work with engineers? then this is the fic for you. Utterly delightful, cannot recommend enough.

Selected Citations from Motions in Limine Filed in U.S. v. McCormick (C.D. Cal. 2019) (unpublishable) by cosmogyral, Ace Attorney

Summary:

“Federal court?” Phoenix said, blankly, for the third time, and this time, Edgeworth, sounding distinctly less sympathetic, said, “Surely you’ve heard of it.”

Comment: Ngl my favorite Ace Attorney fic, the trial shenanigans both capture and balance the hijinks of an actual trial AND an ace attorney game which I think is a masterstroke of brilliance

Heroics: Not Just Punching People Into Buildings, Apparently by @stifledlaughterao3, Boku no Hero Academia

Summary:

"In today's practical test, you all will grapple with one of the worst aspects of being a hero," announced Present Mic to class 1-A. "Paperwork!" --- Sometimes, hero work isn't about capturing villains. It's about trying not to cry on the phone to the insurance agent after being on hold for an hour when they tell you that their company only accepts faxed forms.

Comment: Absolutely perfect. Fits perfectly with that early bnha vibe while also channeling the frustration of anyone who's ever had to deal with bureaucracy ever. Nice to read with a cup of tea after dealing with an insurance company for that sweet schadenfreude.

Feel free to add your own favorite fics!

[copalcetic]

One of the problems with learning Aurebesh is being hit with the sudden realization that Star Wars ship names make. no. sense. For example: This is not a Y-wing. This is clearly a Vev-wing.

Why are we calling this an A-wing when its blunted nose makes it look much more like an Osk-wing?

Okay, sure, in flight configuration I guess it's a lambda, but in landing configuration it's a Trill-class shuttle.

X-wing? More of a weirdly symmetrical Aurek-wing.

U-wing heck, this is obviously a sideways Krill-wing.

And as for the B-wing . . . look, this has never looked the slightest bit like a B, so I feel no particular compunction to find a good match in Aurebesh. Maybe it's a Forn-wing? Sure, why not.

[al-astakbar]

☆ The Gift -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ The Gift ☆ part 2/?

> summary ☆ As congratulations for his recent promotion to Grand Admiral, Emperor Palpatine gives Thrawn a gift -- a young woman who has been trained as a pleasure companion.

> pairing ☆  Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [3.8k] ☆ warnings for this part ☆ brief sexual language ☆ series warnings ☆ dubious consent; sexual slavery; concubine/ sex slave AU; will add more warnings as more parts are posted

>series navigation ☆ part 1 ☆ part 2 ☆ part 3 ☆ part 4 ☆ part 5 ☆ part 6 ☆ part 7

> posted on ao3

author note!! To be very clear, in this story reader is a concubine against her will and is gifted to Thrawn, but there is at no point any noncon between Thrawn and reader. Reader is never noncon with anyone, either referenced or explicitly, and there is never any explicit noncon. However, this is a darker take on Thrawn and he doesn't really have many hangups about putting his gift to use...

Neither Mirri nor Solis know where his shuttle is, and one did not stop a Grand Admiral as he was walking away to ask for clarification about something so trivial, despite you elbowing them to do just that.

They walk you to the turbolift, and just before you get on, an aide comes up and gives directions. Landing platform E-52. The lambda class shuttle. The aide leers at you openly, and wonders to his superior officer, “what do I have to do to get one of those?” 

The Commander snorts. “A Prasad?” the formal term for the type of trained, indoctrinated pleasure companion popular among the Empire’s elite; you are surprised he knows it, though any good Imperial citizen would recognize what you are just from the distinctive robes. “Gain more favor than you’ll ever hope for in a lifetime. Or make friends with someone who’s got one. I hear they share the best ones around. Get invited to the right party and all you’ve got to do is wait in line for a turn.” 

You stiffen and stumble, nearly managing to turn towards the two men, with no real plan of what you might say. Mirri catches you. 

“Do you think he’ll be-- he’ll be nice?” You ask in a small voice once the lift doors have closed. Or at least gentle. Mirri and Solis do not answer. The walk to the platform is quick, just a short ways outside through more elegant, richly appointed halls. These ones have hanging gardens, trailing vines and foliage beneath a huge glass ceiling and bursts of flowers, the entire floor a mosaic of millions of black and white stones. You try to dawdle, slowing your pace to spend just a little more time. Given to a Grand Admiral, you will likely spend at least the next six months in space, on a warship, and you don’t know when you might be planetside again, let alone on one with greenery.

But Mirri and Solis lead you through it too quickly, and after a short walk, you are there on LP E-52.

Private platforms such as this one have small, luxurious waiting rooms, so that the senator or whoever is being flown that day does not have to wait out in the elements. Mirri and Solis choose not to use it, and you know they would have happily made you stand there in the wind, until you are bone-chilled and shivering despite the bright Coruscant sun.

Luckily-- one small mercy on this day-- the Grand Admiral arrives within minutes, walking ahead of a small contingent. 

Nausea has been a constant, rising bloat in your stomach since walking into the throne room but now it threatens to overwhelm you. A wild, horrible thought comes to you, that maybe if you’re quick enough you could run for the edge of the platform, and just be… done. But you know it wouldn’t work. There are safety measures. Systems of repulsor barriers and simple old fashioned nets to catch people in case of falls or accidents. 

“Be sure to mind him,” Mirri whispers to you harshly. 

“The last nine to be presented before you all went to lower ranking officers or minor dignitaries—“ Solis says. 

“And all were better behaved than you.” Mirri’s tone is venomous. 

Then they both step back, bowing deeply to him, and you stand alone. Strong winds buffet the platform, whipping your robe against you like a sail. 

Instead of his aide approaching you, the Grand Admiral himself advances. Up close, he is even more imposing of a figure, his bearing imperious and assured, his skin unmistakably blue and his hair sleek blue-black, like indigo. In this light, he looks magnificent, a paragon of an Imperial officer. His uniform is blindingly white, gold shoulder bars, silver collar insignia, and code cylinders glinting brightly, the broad expanse of his chest interrupted by the large rank plaque. The jodhpurs and black jackboots only make his legs look longer-- most Imperial officers you have seen do not carry off the look so well. 

You have heard of Gifts kneeling when presented, and always thought it was stupid, but the urge to sink down in front of him pulls at you now. Somehow it would feel so natural. Just the idea of it feels traitorous to everything you believe.

“Come,” he says, bringing one white leather-gloved hand from behind his back to gesture for you to walk beside him. He is stern, but not hurried. He is a Grand Admiral, meaning everyone else bends to his schedule and never the other way around. A cadre of four black armored death troopers fall in step behind— they must be his personal guard. You gawk at them a moment too long, turning your head to look over your shoulder, then the Grand Admiral’s hand is at the small of your back. 

“Watch your step,” he murmurs, a second before you trip— the hem of your robe, the uneven surface of the boarding ramp, or both— and he catches you, sets you right. 

“I’m fine, I don’t need help,” you say sharply, even as your cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

He lets you shrug off his assistance with another quiet word. His accent is like nothing you’ve heard before-- not that you are particularly well traveled-- but it certainly isn’t from any Core world.

“Where are we going?” you ask, feeling strange and a bit guilty for wanting to hear him talk more. 

Once you, the Grand Admiral, the complement of troopers and a handful of aides are inside the small loading bay, the ramp closes with a prolonged hydraulic hiss. 

“This way,” he says. You follow him through a narrow passageway to the main cabin. Unlike the rest of the shuttle, which is drab, Imperial-issue grey, this cabin is furnished with plush leather seats, what looks like a small bar, and a shiny stone surface desk in one corner, all in sleek black and white.

The Grand Admiral motions courteously for you to sit, while his aide, a pale, light haired young man in an olive-drab lieutenant’s uniform takes a post standing by the hatch you just came through. 

“I meant-- are we leaving the planet? What system are we going to?”

At that moment, the shuttle’s engines kick on, and light streams into the cabin as the wings unfold while the craft slowly lifts off and rotates. Strange. From the outside it looks like the only transparisteel on the shuttle is around the cockpit. 

“Yes,” the Grand Admiral says. “To my ship, the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera. Lieutenant Tyvo, send word ahead for the stormtroopers to begin preparing their cold weather uniforms and kit. And during the next week, have the section chiefs ensure forward chasing tractor beam targeteers run through another training cycle.”

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant says, and immediately begins typing on his datapad.

The Grand Admiral continues speaking to the lieutenant, giving instructions about maneuvers and training schedules and meetings and briefings, and you realize he will not be sharing any more information with you. So you settle deeper into your seat-- much more comfortable than any in the austere cloister where you had spent the past year-- and gaze out the starboard viewport. The city flashes by, spire after spire, growing quickly smaller as the shuttle rises. No waiting in traffic, but of course a Grand Admiral must have his own priority lane. 

“Anything else, sir?”

“No, that is all. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

You look over to find the Grand Admiral standing, as he seems to like to do, with his hands clasped behind his back. He regards you for a moment, cold and appraising, before sitting opposite, and his authoritative bearing makes you sit up straighter. Somehow his starched white uniform doesn’t wrinkle. “What is your name?”

The question gives you pause. It is customary to only speak a companion’s given name in private. “They didn’t tell you?”

“I would like to hear it from you.”

He does not seem cruel or pushy, and that unbalances you. With less reluctance than you feel you ought to have, you quietly give him your name so the Lieutenant can’t hear, and then ask his. 

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” he says. “But you may find it easier to call me Thrawn.”

You repeat his name with a small nod. “Thrawn.”

His glowing red eyes do not have pupils, and though you can’t tell quite where he might be looking, you feel the weight of his attention pinning you down nonetheless.

You feel your face grow hot. Is he going to have you here, now? It would be well within his rights. He is entitled to anything— everything. The thought makes you squirm with anger and… something else hot and deep in your chest you can’t give a name to. 

Quickly, you pull your gaze down to your lap. Demure, as you had been taught. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“For what?”

“Staring. You probably get stared at a lot.” Hold your tongue. Mirri and Solis would have seen that you were punished for this impertinence. There had been one girl who had been with you, retraining after her first master had been terribly displeased with her. At least, that is as much as you could glean. He had removed her tongue before sending her back, and the threat of having all her teeth pulled out too kept her obedient. 

Thrawn raises a blue-black eyebrow. “Indeed.” 

For a time, he says nothing more, but studies you closely. His eyes seem to roam over your form, and you feel somehow naked, exposed for his discernment. You watch him back, thankful for your veil once more, studying his face. His features are even, well proportioned, though severe, and his dark hair slicked back from a widow’s peak makes him distinguished. Perhaps he is considered handsome among his people. The third time he catches your gaze, you get the distinct sense that he knows exactly where you are looking. 

There is a definite hunger in the way he watches you, intent and completely still. As if waiting for you to act first. The tiniest movement. You exhale slightly, and it makes the fabric covering your face flutter. 

Caught again. 

“Remove your veil.”

You jerk at the order, and in a split second of gut instinct, almost obey, such is the authority in his voice and bearing. Thrawn’s aide gives a start too, fumbling the data pad he’s holding. 

“Give us the room, Lieutenant,” Thrawn says without looking away from you, and his aide hurries out. 

Thrawn rises, unfolding his long limbs gracefully, and crosses to you in two steps. “My apologies.” He stands at his full height, broad shoulders square and hands behind his back. It gives him an infuriating air of calm superiority. And still, you can’t shake a foreboding sense that he is very, very dangerous, and not to be crossed. “It is customary for those of your position to remain covered at all times, except during… intimate situations. Is it not?” 

“Y-yes. Yes sir,” you say, relieved that he understands. 

A beat passes, and then he prompts: “we are alone now.”

You feel your face heat at the implication. “I don’t want to.” 

His mouth presses into a thin line. “That is of no concern to me.”

“I don’t want to kiss you.”

His red eyes gleam. “It was not a request.” 

You stand up, meaning to move away, but it only puts you closer to him, and his height dwarfs yours. “I don’t want to lay with you!” 

“Is that what you imagine necessitates showing your face?” His voice drops to nearly a whisper, full of dark promise. “When I fuck you, it need not be so personal.”

At that, your heart thuds in your chest. 

Before you can think it through, you try to slap him. He catches your wrists, dispassionate and unflinching as you struggle against him. “Enough. There will be no need for…theatrics. I was given to understand that those of your Order are all volunteers. Is that not true in your case?”

You can’t help your wide-eyed expression. It is an open secret that many young men and women were pressed into this sort of service, and your Order is no exception-- but nobody spoke that secret aloud. And it certainly wasn’t brazenly stated by an Imperial Grand Admiral to his new companion. You nod in confirmation, hoping that this isn’t some sort of trap or game to get you to admit something he could punish you for.

“I see,” he says, considering for a moment. “Then, you have a choice to make. An unwilling partner is of little use to me.”

You wrench against his grip, but it’s futile. “Oh so I guess that makes it all right then. You don’t want to— to fuck me but you’re going to anyway,” you say hotly. He doesn’t rise to the accusation, merely waits for a beat, allowing you to continue. When you say nothing more, he speaks. 

“As I said, I would prefer your cooperation, but it is not required.  However, there are… complexities… to our situation. Our Emperor—“

“Your Emperor.”

“--Will expect me to fully enjoy the gift he has given me. This is not in question. He will know, if I do not take you to bed. I have no intention of slighting him by refusing his generosity.”

“But how would he know! Couldn’t you just tell him that you have?”

“No,” he says, his voice cold and soft. 

You stare at him for a moment, breath catching suddenly at how close you are, and then you start struggling again. “Let go of me!” 

His hands tighten around your wrists like shackles, squeezing so hard it feels like your bones grind together. 

“Please!” A note of panic, breath tight in your chest. It had been your last, foolish hope that whoever you were given to would be understanding, would find the whole practice barbaric. “Just let me go, pretend I ran away, just leave me somewhere!”

Thrawn, evidently, is not that person.

“Think,” he presses, red eyes flashing with impatience, though he reins back in to calm just as quickly. “Under what circumstances might you leave my service?” 

It takes a moment for you to realize that this is not a rhetorical question. Most of the time Mirri and Solis had considered answers to such questions as just another form of backtalk, worthy of punishment.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer,” he says, rather sharply.

Another trap? You try to gather your thoughts, calm your breathing, but your pulse is wild with high emotion, and your voice shakes. “I could… run away.”

“Yes. What else?”

You draw in a deep breath, and smell the starch and wool of his uniform. “You could let me go.”

He nods but stays silent, expectant. A third option? You frown, then venture: “someone else takes me. Without your permission. Steals me away.”

“Indeed.”

Your mind flashes to the ones who were returned broken and maimed. “I could misbehave,” you say, with a touch of defiance. 

“Yes, you could,” he agrees. “The circumstances of you leaving my ship would be altogether unpleasant, but more so for you than for me. You are a gift that cannot be refused, so your removal would be necessitated by your own behavior. Now, what do you imagine the consequences would be like?”

You swallow thickly and shake your head, unable to find the words.  

“At best, placed with somebody else with less concern for your… consent. At worst…” his voice trails off, letting you reach the obvious conclusion silently. 

He is right, which is all the more infuriating to admit because of the matter-of-fact way he had stated it. Gifts who came back were, if deemed ‘salvageable’, subjected to months of remedial conditioning and then reassigned, almost always to someone less desirable than the previous recipient. Lower ranking, or particularly hideous or cruel. It was whispered that there was one Outer Rim Governor whose appetite for a fresh face had been the demise of at least four Gifts. 

“There are functions, too,” he adds quietly, with just a hint of something in his voice that you imagine to be embarrassment or reluctance, “ that I will be expected to attend, with you by my side.” 

“And by functions you mean…?”

“You might call it a party. Others who have been recipients of the Emperor’s goodwill would also be there, with their gifts. We will be… observed.”

He waits for that to sink in. 

No… You have an idea of what he means, and it makes your blood run cold. 

“It is imperative that we demonstrate our appreciation of His generosity.”

Your stomach turns. Not quite ready to confront the reality of what he’s telling you. “Can’t you just send a ‘thank you’ holo or something?”

He remains silent.

“How… how many people?”

“Hundreds.” 

“Hundreds…” you repeat hollowly. “Observed… doing what? Having dinner together? Do you fuck me right there on the table between courses or could we get away with waiting until after the meal and finding a dark corner?”

Thrawn says nothing for a moment, just gives you a rather irritated look. “Understand,” he says flatly, “that I did not ask for you. You are a distraction.”

You have to swallow down the insult of this rejection. 

“Then leave me at some spaceport. Outer Rim, I don’t care.” You say, voice cracking. One more try, even though he’s already convinced you of the futility of it all. 

“I did not say I don’t want you. But— as I said, I cannot. If I let you escape, I show incompetence, and lack of control over those in my care. If I let you go, it would be seen as rejecting the Emperor’s goodwill, disobeying his command, even.”

It clicks in your mind, then. If you do not give him a certain degree of cooperation, it could hurt his career and reputation— whatever that might be. He is concerned enough to mention it, though his attempts to cajole you into compliance so far have been baffling. This strange Grand Admiral claims to have no regard for your wishes but he is actually trying to convince you instead of ripping off your clothes and holding you down. He’s taken the time to explain it all and seems to want you to understand his reasoning.

You take a deep breath, trying to slow your heart pounding. Thrawn still holds you close, and he is so tall his rank plaque is just above eye level for you. 

“The embroidery on your robe and veil — tell me about it.”

This catches you off guard. “I—it’s part of our traditional— I don’t know what to call it. Our uniform, I guess. It’s added during our Vigil.”

“It is very fine work.” He sounds intrigued, and picks up the hem, holding it closer to look at and brushing his thumb over the stitching. “And the other two with you before, their garments had similar work to yours, also done in the same type of thread,  though not as intricate. The motifs were simpler, and the execution… adequate. This was done with great skill and care.” He grasps your wrist in such a way as to closer inspect the embroidery; it draws you clear to him so you are pressed against his body. You squirm, knowing he can feel your breasts against him, as you can feel his heavy belt, and that he’s half-hard and hot against your stomach. 

“Be still,” he murmurs, making no effort to conceal his arousal.  He takes a few more moments examining the work, then lets it fall.

“Now,” he says. “Will you remove your veil?”

With a cooler head, you realize he had done nothing to punish your outburst, nor any of your other little jibes. Stars, you had tried to hit him and he hadn’t even been angry about it. This doesn’t mean you’re safe with him. Doesn’t earn him even a little trust. But for now, it seems wise to acquiesce. This will be okay, or at least not so bad. He will not demean or abuse you. And he is right. There is no good way out of this, for either of you. 

Heart pounding-- no one outside the cloister on Coruscant has seen your bare face in over a year-- you sweep the fabric up and over, so that it trails down your back as if you were a bride. The change in light makes you blink and squint for a moment. Thrawn leans forward, as if he can’t help himself, and strokes a lock of your hair off your face. 

You try not to flinch away from him, nor to let any emotion show.

But he traces his thumb over your lips and you feel a hot prickle of tears that you can’t hold back. It would almost be easier if he were cruel. 

“When they train you,” he says, voice dangerously quiet, “do they fuck you?” 

You feel a pulse through your core at his question, and immediately shove the feeling down. “Why? You don’t want someone who’s been used before?” Mouthy again. His expression stays mild.

“Previous experiences do not concern me. I only wish to know what your training entailed.”

“No. They don’t. In most cases the recipients want to be able to be the first, you know, to be in control of…that.” You finish lamely, a vivid blush creeping up your neck. 

“It is believed the recipient will wish to shape the desires of his companion,” Thrawn offers. 

“Yes. Not because of anything like— like purity.”

He takes a moment to consider this, then asks, “are you pure?” 

You blink, meeting his eyes, and immediately regret it, as you feel tears well up anew. You quickly look aside, and can see the dark edge of space out the viewport, just where it meets the muddy orange-gold of the atmosphere. “No,” you say, then look right back at him, lifting your chin. “Are you?”

One blue-black eyebrow goes up. “No.” 

Then he lets you go, saying nothing more during the ride except to direct your attention to the Chimaera on approach. It is a magnificent ship, and you press against the transparisteel trying to see more of it, though its bulk quickly fills the entire view. On the underbelly of the ship is painted a huge, stylized chimaera, twin heads crossing over the wedge line. You have to restrain yourself from asking him a million questions about everything you see as you pass beneath the bow and into its massive shadow. 

An escort of four TIE fighters sweeps in to escort the shuttle to the hangar bay. The distinctive high roar of their engines is somehow audible inside the shuttle. You had never understood that, though admittedly your knowledge of physics and space travel is limited. You almost ask Thrawn. He would know, and he is still standing quite close to you. You can feel him at your back, watching the same panorama, and the one time you brave a glance over your shoulder at him, his gaze is distant and his expression inscrutable.

☆ link to part 3 ☆

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[vaehbae]

The silence was deafening.

Okay, it wasn't *technically* silent. There was a soft humming coming from outside the purrgil that Sabine and Ezra were currently hitching a ride in with their stolen Lambda-class Imperial shuttle. Ahsoka and Huyang had decided to stay on Peridea to investigate the world's connection to the ancient Force-sensitive species known as the Zeffo, leaving the two former rebels with a vague promise that they would see her again "at the turn of the tide."

"Cryptic Jedi messages never sit well with me", the Mandalorian thought to herself as she sat quietly in the copilot seat beside Ezra.

Gods, were things ever awkward with Ezra right now. After Ahsoka had found them on Peridea, they had all gone to the Great Mothers' hideout in a last-ditch attempt to stop Thrawn. After subduing and capturing them, he had blown the lid off of Sabine's lie by omission, telling Ezra that the reason she was even there was because she had given his allies the means to find him. The Mandalorian had broken down into tears because of her guilt, and all Ezra coould do at that moment was send her comforting energy through the Force and assure her that it was okay. After they escaped and said goodbye to Ahsoka, they managed to get this old decommissioned Lambda working again and hopped the Purrgil Express back to their galaxy.

Now, two hours later, they still hadn't talked about anything.

"Ezra", she began, "Listen, I'm sorry."

"You could have just told me, Sabine", he said bluntly while continuing to stare straight ahead, "I wouldn't have been mad at you." Her eyes widened at this revelation. "But... you *are* mad at me? Because I lied?"

"I'm *upset* that you didn't tell me the truth. But no, I'm not mad at you."

"But... but I... I betrayed your trust. I doomed the galaxy to another war..."

"You fulfilled my trust", he corrected, "I trusted you to come find me and bring me home, and you succeeded. Sure, Thrawn's on his way back, too, but we beat him once, we can beat him again..." He reached over and clasped her hand. "... together."

Sabine interlocked her fingers and smiled. "Together."

In her mind all she could think was "I want to marry him."

See!! People miss this point; Ezra would be upset but he wouldn't be mad! And GRASGAH!!! For Sabine did what she had to do, Ezra was counting on her and she did it! Even if they have to do the whole show over again, then so be it.

Anyways! Whoever made this! Well done! U think it really accomplishes the soft and slow approach of Sabine's tell Ezra was happened.

[blakescrazyblog]

{Palpatines Lambda-class T-4a shuttle}

-Squadrons Micro Galaxy

[wendingways]

Fic recs: From the Sidelines

Fics revolving around the normal people who get sucked into the cyclone of drama and nonsense that surrounds the main characters of Star Wars. These all are on my main fic rec list, but I wanted to sort them out into a separate, genre-specific list as well!

Bioethically Speaking, Mr. Sheev; T, 10.5k, ONESHOT. The bureaucratic fallout and potential PR nightmare that result when a grad student follows up on some interesting records from the Grand Imperial Medical Facility.

The Agony of Tarkin; G, 4.8k, ONESHOT. "An extra in the Imperial Opera Company discovers he has been assigned the role of Darth Vader in its upcoming production of The Agony of Tarkin." Another hilarious fic in the vein of The Sith Who Brought Life Day and Accountant Non-Heroes of the Republic.

Accountant Non-Heroes of the Republic; G, 7.0k, ONESHOT. "Palpatine makes a choice to hide his fiscal manoeuvres in the Financial Department. The Financial Department takes advantage of this lack of transparency to do whatever they want. This saved the Republic." It's always fun to watch Palpatine shoot himself in the foot, and all the

PRojects IN Controlled Environments, version Sith; G, 5.2k, ONESHOT. "The overworked project manager on the redesign of the Imperial Lambda-class shuttle gets surprisingly competent feedback from an unknown official on Coruscant. She promptly decides that anyone bored enough to do a technical review of their own free will should be found proper employment for their own good."

The Sith Who Brought Life Day; G, 13.3k, COMPLETE. A rather entertaining take on how Vader found out who blew up the Death Star.

If you've got any more recs fitting this category, do comment below!

[swtechspecs]

Sienar Fleet Systems Lambda-Class T-4a Shuttle

Source: The Essential Guide to Vehicles and Vessels (Del Rey, 1996)