Many thanks to my beta reader @mittheresabosen for sticking with me through this and encouraging me to finish even after the muses (temporarily) abandoned me!
Fandoms: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game) Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Relationships: Arcann | Emperor of Zakuul (Star Wars)/Original Character(s)
Characters:
Arcann | Emperor of Zakuul (Star Wars)
Male Sith Inquisitor | Force Walker (Star Wars)
Original Chiss Characters (Star Wars)
Summary:
Saris looks forward to his first Life Day celebration with Arcann.
Arcann looks forward to learning his husband's traditions.
Clawdius is just (mostly) happy to be there.
What follows is a war zone in the kitchen and a massacre of cakes.
Look in my eyes, I will never des(s)ert you
Dark trails of sticky liquid dripped from the Sith Lord’s hands to the floor below, creating a hazardous maze to all who dared enter. Dismayed, he stared at the mess spread at his feet, too embroiled in his dissatisfaction to notice another presence.
“Saris, where are—” The sentence ended in an abrupt yell. The man in question spun around to watch helplessly as his husband slipped and barely caught himself.
“Arcann! Are you alright?” Guilt flickered in his eyes, Arcann gently dismissing it with a wave.
“I am. Unlike your current victim. What are you trying to accomplish, if you don’t mind my inquiry?” Belatedly Arcann realised not only was the floor covered, but a myriad of spray patterns ominously decorated the walls which had been turned into an involuntary canvas for Saris’ art.
“We should tear out its insides.” Saris mused.
Arcann threw him a sidelong glance. “That seems disproportionately violent.”
“On the contrary, it is proportionately violent to the grief caused by the refusal to surrender. After all, it did nearly cause your downfall.”
Sighing, Arcann stepped up beside Saris to examine his victim over his shoulder. “Again: what is all…this?” He vaguely waved his hand at the war zone Saris had created.
His husband frowned. “Whatever do you mean? Oh, this? Baking, evidently,” he replied in a clipped manner.
Arcann mirrored the Chiss’ expression, knowing well enough by now that baking to Saris was what meditation was to others. He watched Saris for resistance as he raised his arms and when none was to be found, gently wrapped them around him, placing a reassuring kiss to his temple. “Let me rephrase my inquiry: what is bothering you?”
For a moment it looked as though Saris would refuse to reveal his grievances, then reluctantly: “Life Day is my favourite holiday and it’s the first one we’re celebrating together. I wanted it to be perfect.” He huffed out an irritated breath. “I wanted to make jogan fruitcake for the occasion and practice it beforehand. Turns out the fruits I had weren’t ripe. I wanted to peel them to get the innards for puree. Well… and now… this.”
Arcann arched an eyebrow. “I… see.” Gripping Saris more firmly, he gently steered him out of the kitchen. “Why don’t you draw yourself a bath and I will clean up the kitchen.”
Saris’ shoulders slackened. “That sounds like a good idea. Thank you.”
“Of course. Let me see to it,” Arcann reassured, giving him a soft yet determined shove to leave. Not relaxing until he could hear the bath being drawn, he got to work removing all evidence of the massacre.
Wiping away the last of the mess on the floor, Arcann froze. Raising his head, his eyes narrowed at the Nexu rhythmically swiping its tale, warily tracking the movement. “Clawdius. I’ll say this once. Don’t you dare mess up the kitchen I’m in the process of tidying. Go to Saris. Go on. He needs it. I however do not need you adding to my work. Unless you know how to make jogan fruit cake or Saris’ favourite Life Day traditions. No? Didn’t think so.”
Clawdius tilted his head and if Arcann had to guess what the creature's gaze meant, it was somewhere along the lines of, I am doing this because I choose to, not because you ordered me to, puny mortal. Which was fine with Arcann so long as he didn’t have to clean the kitchen a second time and didn’t have to spend more time contemplating the fact he was basically talking to himself.
After another ten minutes, he looked around the tidied space, content with the result and tossing the towel to the side. From Saris’ reaction it was clear Life Day meant a lot to him. Which meant it was important to him as well if it made Saris happy.
With his first task done, he set off to accomplish his second: acquire information.
He watched quietly leaning against the hatch frame, not wishing to disturb the fragile peace albeit feeling mildly weird for staring at his husband submerged in a bubble bath.
Very…sith-y.
Clawdius lay curled on the carpet in front of the tub, lazily opening an eye and purring quietly at Arcann’s appearance.
Not quiet enough to go over Saris’ head though it seemed. Red eyes glowed brightly in the dimmed light.
“I’m sorry for not helping with cleaning. I just got…” He shrugged helplessly, splashing water as he dropped his hands back down.
“Passionate?” Arcann supplied helpfully, garnering himself that incorrigible smirk from the Chiss.
“Sure, let’s go with that,” Saris conceded, his mood already lifted.
Arcann watched him fondly, pausing in thought before choosing to break the serene quiet. “I was wondering. Life Day clearly means a lot to you but…I don’t know which traditions you have and I admittedly find myself curious.”
“You want me to tell you?” The expression of pure joy melted Arcann’s heart—not that he’d admit that to anyone, except perhaps Saris.
He nodded, following Saris’ invitation to sit on the edge of the bathtub, receiving a warning growl and subsequently carefully toeing around Clawdius to not stand on his paws.
He pulled out his hand he’d been hiding behind his back, revealing a piece of deformed cake and two forks. “Despite its sorry appearance, it is quite delectable.” Saris, whose expression had darkened at the sight, snorted, giving into a fit of chuckles.
“Sith Hells, Arcann. Only you could make tasting a piece of cake sound so needlessly posh.”
The human’s cheeks blushed faintly, mumbling something inaudibly beneath his breath.
“Alright. Alright. Fine.” Arcann gave his husband his best fake glare. “It’s yummy. Better?”
Saris hummed happily. “Quite.” Reaching a dripping, wet arm over the ledge for a fork, he playfully glowered at the piece of cake. The implement forcefully sank into the surrendering sponge, nearly knocking the plate off Arcann’s thigh.
“Love, I’m aware the cake has gravely wronged you but perhaps some mercy?”
“The cake had it coming.”
“On me, not the cake. Please.”
Saris sighed dramatically as though Arcann had stripped him of his most intrinsic joy, taking a piece of cake with more consideration towards his husband.
All irritation, pretend or otherwise, melted from his face when the cake dissolved on his tongue, eyes closed in bliss, a content groan involuntarily making it past his sealed lips.
He reluctantly cracked open an eyelid. “Alright. Perhaps I stand corrected.”
Arcann raised an expectant eyebrow. “You do?”
“It is, despite its misleading appearance, quite delectable,” Saris admitted.
His husband threw back his head and laughed.
“Are you mocking me? Because you’re making it awfully tempting to drag you into the water.”
Arcann wisely slid back out of reach from Saris, smiling softly. “I would never.”
In the split second it took Saris to raise his arm, Arcann managed to lower the plate to the floor to save the cake before his husband used the Force instead of his arm to shove him into the bath fully dressed.
Clawdius let out a surprised hiss at being soaked in the process, an unfortunate victim by proximity. Arcann resurfaced with a gasp, staring at Saris.
“You fight dirty…and nearly sacrificed the cake,” Arcann stated dryly.
Saris pursed his lips, trying to fight a grin. “Correction on the ‘nearly’ part.”
Following his gaze, Arcann was treated to the sight of Clawdius treating himself to the cake.
A slow smile crept up his face. “I suppose we have a winner.”
Cleaned and bundled up warmly, both husbands had retired to bed, Saris halfway draped across Arcann, head resting above his heart.
Arcann decided to break the silence: “So is jogan fruit cake a traditional Life Day thing or a traditional you thing?”
Saris shifted to look up at him. “Afraid that’s wholly on me. Not a traditional thing on Kashyyyk. Their delicacies usually include sacred orga roots, shi-shok fruits and wroshyr lice syrup. Decidedly no jogan fruit cake.”
He mindlessly let his fingers run though Saris’ hair, humming contemplatively. “Then how did it turn out to be your thing?” Arcann felt the tension his question evoked, not pressuring Saris into an answer—it came quietly and voluntarily.
“It was a Life Day many years ago and Lilas had been arguing. I couldn’t even tell you what it was about. All I do recall is I locked myself in and started baking, a coping mechanism I’d learned with Lisian, and started making jogan fruit cake. Kriff if I know why I had picked that recipe. Admittedly, half of it landed in Lilas’ face but it’s been a tradition since. Baking jogan fruit cake—not throwing it at people.”
“Of course.” Arcann’s eyes glittered with amusement, pressing a kiss to his husband’s crown. “Is it… just the cake, or any other traditions that should be observed in this household?”
Saris’ eyes lit up. “Oh, I’m so glad you asked!”
Arcann held Saris close as he raved on about Life Day traditions of his own until tiring himself out, falling asleep curled up against Arcann.
The time leading up to Life Day was spent with a lot of work on Saris’ side which luckily kept him distracted—and a lot of sneaking about on Arcann’s side to achieve the goal of all goals: prepare the best Life Day celebration in history for Saris’ happiness.
Precariously balancing the box in his hands, Arcann made his way up the stairs without incident—
To be violently knocked over in a whirlwind of fur.
Arcann yelped as he hit the ground, barely having the wherewithal to throw out his arm.
He sighed in relief as he lowered the box and its preserved contents slowly through the Force. Exhaling sharply, he sat up and glared at the cause of mayhem.
“Sometimes,” Arcann mused as he picked himself up off the floor, “I find myself wondering whether you’re actively trying to sabotage this marriage and then I recall you're a Nexu.”
A low growl from Clawdius, Arcann ignored it and reached into the box, materialising a glowing Life Day orb in his hand. “Here you go. That’s the only one I can give you. The others are for decorating the place for Saris. We can at least agree on both wanting to make Saris happy, yes?”
The Nexu let out a content purr, pawing the orb back and forth. Arcann chose to interpret it as agreement as he set the box down on the table. He had all of six hours left until his husband would return. During which he needed to decorate their entire home and get his hands on ripe joan fruits—which he’d wisely preordered and needed to collect later on.
Arcann’s lips twitched. He could hang each orb up individually, or—
Each glowing piece floated and spread out across the room as he lazily—or rather brilliantly in his mind—placed the decorations around their home.
Occasionally, Clawdius would slow him down, forcing him to play ball with his orb to which Arcann pretended to only reluctantly agree to. Exhausted, he sat down and admired his finished creation. A pleased smile lit up his face, his hand running through the Nexu’s fur distractedly.
“I hope he’ll like it. Do you think he will?”
Clawdius purred.
“Yes,” Arcann nodded, “I think you’re right.” Stretching, he reached for the datapad he’d left on the table, quickly confirming the time and the message letting him know his fruit was ready for collection.
Arcann smiled at Clawdius. “So, what do you say? Join me outside or stay here and wait for Saris in front of the fire? Yes, that’s what I thought.” Patting the Nexu’s fur with his mechanical arm—he wasn’t quite ready to risk his remaining biological one—Arcann rose, eyes fixating on the world outside and the snow whirling around chaotically. “Coat it is,” he mused.
It was fortuitous the walk was a mere twenty minutes, for Arcann already felt frozen after five. He hurried inside the shop—but not too quickly lest that be perceived as weakness towards the cold—and shook off what snow he could.
“Oh, hello deary. Come in, come in. You must be freezing. I’ll be honest—I was expecting your husband. Nevermind that. Cup of tea? You look like a wandering icicle, poor thing.”
A bewildered “I—” was all Arcann was able to get in sideways, the old lady having shoved a steaming cup into his hand and himself further into the shop, prattling on about everyone and everything.
“—and how is darling Saris? I do hope he’s doing well.”
Arcann cleared his throat, reigning in his bafflement. “I—he’s doing well. The jogan fruit are for him. For the jogan fruit cake that is. That he always makes for Life Day.”
The old lady made a delighted cooing sound, immediately restoring Arcann’s state of bewilderment. “How sweet of you to make it for him. Oh, I’m delighted he has someone who cares for and knows him so well after all this time. I’m especially glad now that I managed to get my hands on perfectly ripe ones. They will taste downright delicious.”
Clamouring behind her counter, the shopkeeper placed down a bag with a strained grunt, the weight seemingly taxing to her. “There we go, the best jogan fruits in this sector. Oh, but you haven’t even touched your tea yet. You finish that first, deary. No rush.”
Arcann dropped his gaze down to his hand, shrugged, and did as he was told. The warmth of the liquid down his throat was quite pleasant. Setting the empty cup back down, he rummaged in his pocket. “Excellent tea, thank you. How much do I owe you?”
His brows furrowed in confusion at her chuckling. “Oh, not for the tea. That’s on the house. Matter of fact, so are the fruits. My treat,” she announced merely, the skin around her eyes crinkled from her infectious smile.
“I can’t possibly—” Arcann commenced to protest—to immediately shut up when she lightly smacked his arm.
“Nonsense. Course you can, deary. Happy Life Day to you, and greet Saris from me!”
Several seconds passed during which Arcann’s hand hovered undecidedly in his pocket until the old lady gave him an encouraging nod and he decided on accepting the gracious gift.
Arcann smiled widely. “Thank you, I will. Happy Life Day to you, too.”
Their home was decorated to its fullest extent and Arcann was nearly done arranging all the necessary ingredients for the cake on the kitchen counter. He could sense his husband before he could even remotely hear him.
He seemed…irritated?
That was wrong. Saris loved Life Day. Surely…
Arcann wiped his hands on his trousers and hurried towards where he could sense Saris.
He found him, frozen, mouth agape and staring at all the glowing orbs casting their light through their home. Delayed, Saris lowered his head to look at Arcann.
“I… I’m sorry. The store had no jogan fruits left and I wanted to have fresh ones for the cake today so it would be perfect and it ruined my mood.” He paused. “Did you do all of this on your own?”
Having let Saris vent his frustration, Arcann felt it safe to approach and enveloped Saris in a tight hug. His lips brushed the faintest ghost of a kiss against his temple, still cold from having just come inside. “I did, for you. And it is perfect because you’re here.”
He could feel Saris relax and melt against him, gently nuzzling his hair. “There’s something else I’d like to show you, if that’s alright with you?”
Saris sniffled quietly, Arcann doing him the courtesy of pretending he hadn’t heard. “Lead the way,” Saris agreed, voice muffled by Arcann’s robes as he let himself be guided towards the kitchen and froze in the doorway.
“Arcann?” His voice wavered with an incredulous note.
“Yes, Saris?”
“Are those—?” Arcann was treated to the rare occasion of Saris seemingly having run out of words and he was enjoying every second of having been the cause of it.
“They are. You were so excited talking about Life Day that I wanted to surprise you and perhaps—” Arcann paused, slightly blushing, “Well, I was thinking perhaps a new tradition could be us making jogan fruit cake together?”
Arcann reluctantly eased his grasp on Saris as he felt him step back, afraid he had managed to somehow upset him. The wide grin spreading across his husband’s face told another story, easing his momentary anxiety, his own mouth pulling into a smile when Saris started cackling madly.
“Only you would manage to be the cause for and solution to a problem simultaneously,” Saris laughed, throwing his arms around him and pecking his cheek, “but I do have one stipulation.”
Leaning back, Arcann wordlessly arched a questioning eyebrow at Saris.
“I get to lick the spoons when done.” He said it with such a serious conviction that Arcann couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
Saris gaped up at his husband, face a mask of pure betrayal. “Arcann! This is a matter of utmost importance!”
“Of course. Apologies,” Arcann soothed him, pulling him close to kiss his forehead. “The spoons are yours.”
A pleased smile graced Saris’ face, then he twisted out of Arcann’s grasp and ran off, his expression that of a man ready to conquer spoons—and the entire kitchen.
Sighing, Arcann shook his head with a fond smile, and made to follow.
Arcann warily watched Saris balance precariously to place the last jogan fruit atop the cake after having spent the past hours happily baking in the kitchen. Well, baking and the occasional taste testing but really, Saris had declared energetically, that was just part of baking.
“Done!” Saris clapped delightedly, turning to Arcann with a large grin he felt the urge to replicate. “And even better than the last!”
“Indeed it is. Here, let me carry it over to the table.”
Arcann carefully took hold of the cake plate and hesitated a second, seemingly reconsidering. Letting go, he stretched out a hand and focused, deciding that levitating the cake to the table was better than trying to balance the entire cake’s weight physically.
He should have known the attempt was futile and mentally berated himself to not have locked the Nexu outside until safely having deposited the cake on the table.
Clawdius for some Force forsaken reason had picked the exact moment Arcann exited the kitchen to race past, tripping up Arcann with a startled yelp and thus breaking his concentration.
Arcann squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable impact of cake.
It never came. Hesitantly, he cracked one eye open to see a flustered Saris concentrating to upright the floating cake, some of it dropping to the floor in the process. The rest Saris managed to preserve gently came to rest atop the table, somewhat askew.
“Arcann! Are you alright?” He inquired, immediately dropping to his knees beside him when done with the cake.
“I am,” Arcann groaned, deciding to simply accept the fact he was lying on his back and remain there.
A small purr broke the stupified silence, nearly sounding apologetic. Sighing, Saris turned to face Clawdius, struggling to hold in his disappointment as he surveyed the mess around them, getting a sense of déjà-vu.
“We should tear out its insides.” Arcann mused.
Saris threw him a sidelong glance. “That seems disproportionately violent.”
“On the contrary, it is proportionately violent to the grief caused by the refusal to surrender. After all, it did nearly cause my downfall.”
“I hate to admit I’m not entirely sure whether you’re referring to the cake or Clawdius,” Saris voiced his concern.
Arcann closed his eyes, exhaling warily. “Good, keeps everyone on their toes. I haven’t quite decided yet.”
“Right, well…don’t decide until I’m right back.”
He received a wordless grunt in confirmation.
Jumping back up, Saris quickly cleaned up what little mess had spread across the floor and returned from the kitchen with a plate and two forks, getting to work.
Satisfied, he sat back down on the floor beside Arcann. “You may open your eyes now,” he declared mischievously.
Arcann did as told, throwing Saris a questioning glance. He proudly presented a piece of deformed cake and two forks. Sighing, Arcann pushed himself into a seated position and let Saris hold a fork to his mouth. Given the rate of accidents, he decided to take the fork and feed himself. He wasn’t exactly eager for headlines along the lines of ‘Powerful Force user and former Emperor Arcann dies by choking on cake his equally powerful Force user husband Saris fed him’.
Chewing slowly and savouring the explosion of flavour on his tongue, Arcann decided to leave Saris hanging for a little while, noting his attempts to hide his impatience for a verdict.
“Well?” Saris demanded curiously.
After a long pause, Arcann declared with a straight face: “Despite its sorry appearance, it is quite delectable.”
Saris burst out laughing, Arcann joining in and leaning into his husband.
Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Characters:
Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Che'ri the Ozyly-esehembo (Star Wars)
Thalias | Mitth'ali'astov
Samakro | Ufsa'mak'ro
Dalvu | Elod'al'vumic
Azmordi | Tumaz'mor'diamir
Springhawk Crew (Star Wars)
A Charming Home
“Che’ri? Did you hear me?” Thalias inquired.
“Hm?”
“I asked, what do you want for dinner?” she repeated.
“I don’t care,” Che’ri mumbled, not even bothering to look up from her questis.
Frowning, Thalias crossed the sky-walker suite and sat down on the bed beside Che’ri.
“Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?”
Che’ri’s face scrunched up, clearly embarrassed. “No, it’s silly.”
Thalias gently placed her hand on the girl’s knee, getting her to look up. “I’m sure it isn’t silly, and you have a good reason for feeling the way you do.”
For a few seconds, the girl just stared into space, before the words bubbled out of her, lips trembling. “Earlier in the mess hall, all the officers were talking about families and where they'll visit on leave and…” She began to sniffle. “They all belong somewhere. I don’t even know where I come from, I’m not part of any family…they’ve all got homes.” Che’ri broke out into sobs when she revealed what was truly bothering her: “I don’t have a home.”
Thalias realized that she had no adequate words. After all, she’d gone through the same situations and feelings as a young girl and had resented her caretakers’ useless replies when she’d needed comfort. She understood the sky-walker’s reaction all too well. Not wanting to resort to the same meaningless platitudes, she tightly wrapped her arms around the girl in silence. Che'ri threw herself at her, crying abysmally into her shoulder.
The girl remained there until she'd cried herself to sleep. Carefully extracting herself, Thalias tucked her into bed and stood up. Having the girl’s weight on her legs for over an hour had left them feeling numb. She waited for sensation to return to her legs and her fatigue to fade a little, then left the suite, heading for the bridge.
Instead of Thrawn, she found Samakro sitting stiffly in the command chair.
“Caregiver,” he greeted her curtly.
“Sir,” Thalias replied with barely concealed agitation. “I need to talk to the senior captain.”
Samakro scrutinized her suspiciously. “He's due for his shift in ten minutes. Why?”
Thalias wrung her hands, contemplating whether to confide in him. “It's Che’ri. She got upset about not having a home.”
Samakro frowned. “How did that come up?”
She sighed in resignation, shrugging helplessly. “Well, officers in the mess were talking about what they'd be doing while on leave and…”
He had the decency to wince. “...And she realized that she didn't have a place or family to come back to.” His expression softened. “How is she?”
She sighed again. “She cried herself to sleep, but I don't think she was throwing a tantrum due to exhaustion. She was genuinely distraught.”
Samakro's frown returned. “Is that a common occurrence?”
Thalias shook her head. “No, but I don’t believe it should be ignored. Especially if you want her to perform her duties well,” she added pointedly.
He scowled at her. “I know you think I’m callous and uncaring, and while I do have an obligation to ensure that this ship runs smoothly, I can assure you I care about Che'ri's wellbeing. Aside from professional concern.”
Thalias blushed, staring at her feet. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”
He waved her apology off, seemingly about to reassure her it wasn’t necessary when he was interrupted, tensing as Thrawn materialized behind them, while she jumped.
“Is there a problem?”
“No, sir. That is to say, not, per se, with the ship...” Samakro started, trailing off with an expectant look towards Thalias.
Thrawn glanced curiously between them.
“...But Che'ri cried herself to sleep because she's distraught about not having a home to return to like everyone else,” Thalias finished explaining.
“I see.”
Silence followed, Thrawn’s expression unreadable as he contemplated their words, gaze slightly unfocused as he took in the distant starscape outside the viewport as though he expected it to hold the answer to their dilemma.
“Home and family are concepts deeply ingrained into many species' cultures, including our own,” he finally spoke, words solemn. “Even if our adoption system modifies that concept. Especially for a child of Che'ri's age.”
Thalias pressed her lips together. “But Che’ri has neither.”
Thrawn raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t she?”
Samakro shot Thalias a look of mild exasperation, which she’d come to recognize as a common reaction to Thrawn’s guessing games.
Thalias shook her head. How did he not understand? “She has no one and no place to go back to at the end of her service. I know that's true for some of the officers as well, but she's a child, and what's worse is that she doesn't even have a chance of finding out which family she came from,” she listed off, shoulders slumping in resignation.
“Not in the traditional sense, no.” Thrawn inclined his head slightly, clasping his hands behind his back. “Yet she has a place among us. We are the only ones that she has known as caretakers, teachers and protectors. If she is to feel a sense of belonging, it must come from those she trusts.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Samakro pointed out gruffly, “She won’t feel like she belongs just because we tell her so. Every warrior knows actions speak louder than words.”
“Indeed,” Thrawn agreed. “If we wish to ease her worries, we must make it clear to her that she is valued by all of us, not merely as an asset, but as an individual.”
Samakro shrugged. “It's not unlike boosting new cadets’ morale. How hard can it be?”
Thalias exhaled, some of the tension visibly leaving her shoulders. “A gesture from each of the bridge crew would mean a great deal to her.”
Thrawn studied her, his gaze assessing, yet not unkind. “And to you as well, I suspect.”
She hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yes, Senior Captain. I think it would.”
Thrawn nodded. “I will personally check in on Che'ri after my shift, Caregiver.”
The next day, Mid Commander Elod’al’vumic found Che’ri in the Forward Visual, gaze distant as she stared out the viewport, hands wrapped around her knees. Her expression was vacant as the sensor officer sat down; Dalvu’s first clue something was amiss.
“Where’s your caregiver?” she inquired, noting that the girl was alone.
“She had to discuss something with the Mid Captain,” Che’ri mumbled apathetically, gaze never shifting from the viewport..
“Ah.” Dalvu trailed off into an awkward silence. She wasn’t a gifted conversationalist, but thankfully, after a few moments Cher’ri did the job for her.
“Do you come here often?”
The woman nodded. “I do. Sometimes to relax, sometimes to train.”
The girl frowned. “Train?”
Dalvu smiled. “The Forward Visual’s original purpose is a functional one. Sometimes, our electronic sensors can fail, which would be fatal, especially during a battle. It’s why we place spotters here—officers who track threats and coordinate our weapons which rely on line of sight. Occasionally we run exercises to keep our minds sharp.”
“Isn’t that exhausting if there’s a lot of enemy ships swarming us?”
“It is,” Dalvu conceded. “But that’s what we train for. To be honest, I mostly just come here for the silence, though.”
That made the girl turn, finally looking at the sensor office for the first time, prompting Dalvu to continue. “I grew up in a remote place. Quiet, peaceful, calm. The crew is my family, but sometimes being on top of each other the whole time becomes too much, so I come here to escape.”
“The crew is your family? Don’t you have anyone planetside?”
“Not anymore, no, but I've gotten used to it,” Dalvu replied with a genuine smile, trying to convey the truth in those words. “Regardless, even with the crew, it's like with all families. You fight, you argue, you annoy each other, and yet at the end of the day, there's no one else you'd rather have standing beside you and watching your back.”
“They're crew members…”
Dalvu arched an eyebrow. “That doesn't make them any less of a family. You know, family and home are two very subjective terms. They are what you make them, what you choose them to be.”
“So if I wanted, I could pick the crew as my family too?”
The senior officer smirked. “Every single one of us, and we'd be honoured.”
A tiny, reluctant smile found its way on Che'ri's lips. Dalvu took it as a win.
Lieutenant Commander Azmordi was on his way to log a few hours on the flight simulator—not that he needed it, but sometimes he just enjoyed it recreationally—when he found that he wasn’t the only one to come here for some peace and quiet.
Che’ri was strapped into a training seat in front of a dark screen, controls untouched and eyes unfocused. Azmordi purposefully made his entrance noisy, alerting her to his presence. She startled, shooting him a sheepish look as the pilot leaned against the side of the console, crossing his arms with a smirk.
“You do know that it needs to be turned on to work? You won’t be getting very far otherwise,” he teased.
“Wasn’t practicing,” the sky-walker mumbled, not meeting his eyes as she shrunk just a little more into the seat.
“I can see that,” he replied gently, studying her for a moment. “Want to let me in on why you’re brooding here instead of, say, your own bunk?”
Che’ri shifted uncomfortably, her gaze not meeting the pilot’s. “Didn’t want to be in there.”
Azmordi tilted his head. “Because you didn’t want to be alone or feel alone?”
“Does it matter?” Che’ri grumbled.
He narrowed his eyes, watching her closely, noting the defensive body language and tone.
“It does. A lot,” he stated simply.
Silence followed as Che’ri stared at the controls in front of her before finally forcing an answer. “I’m never alone. I mean…sky-walkers are hardly allowed to go anywhere by themselves, and the Springhawk is always bustling with officers…”
“But it doesn’t stop you from feeling lonely?” Azmordi concluded.
“No,” Che’ri admitted quietly.
“It seems quite obvious to me why you’d be here, then,” he mused.
She turned to look at him, confusion visible on her face as she waited for him to elaborate.
“I don’t know if you’re aware—and how could you be, I suppose—but I don’t have a home as such. I have my quarters on this ship, and in the barracks planetside…but that’s it.”
Che’ri gave him a dubious look. “But didn’t you grow up somewhere?”
Azmordi shrugged. “I was born on a station, and my parents travelled a lot, so I grew up on ships. Now I’m a pilot. I never associated any planet with ‘home’—the stars are the only constant I know,” he concluded. “I imagine it would feel the same to you as a sky-walker.”
The girl chewed her lip, mulling over his words. “But…don’t you ever wonder what it would be like? To have a place to go home to?”
Azmordi took his time to respond before he reached forward and booted up the flight simulator. “I do go home. Every time I take the helm. Every time I see this view.” He gestured to the starfield that flickered to life on the display. “This is my home.”
Che’ri stared at the display, saying nothing. But her fingers unconsciously drifted towards the controls, lightly brushing over them.
The lieutenant commander smiled knowingly. “You’re a pilot, Che’ri. Your instincts already know where you belong.”
She didn’t negate his statement, instead wrapping her hands around the controls. Exhaling, she relaxed marginally, tension in her shoulders dissipating.
Grinning, Azmordi quickly tapped a few keys, starting a training sequence. “Tell you what—how about a little practice session, and after, I’ll ask the captain whether he’d be amenable to you trying the real thing. Sound good?”
Che’ri’s eyes widened. “You think he’d let me?”
“In between missions during some downtime? I’d say so.”
For the first time, she looked and sounded eager, a spark in her eye. Azmordi considered that a success.
Samakro was headed for the bridge when he came across their sky-walker sullenly walking through the hallways.
“Thalias is looking for you.” He winced as his words came out more harshly than intended.
Che’ri's expression fell even more, if such a thing were possible. “She's always looking for me,” she muttered, eyes downcast.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, crouching down in front of her, his previous words mocking him. How hard can it be? Turns out, encouraging a child was extremely hard.
“Because she cares for you. We all do.”
“Only because you need a sky-walker,” Che'ri shot back, crossing her arms petulantly.
“That's an unfair assessment and you know it. I've seen some of the crew defend you more strongly than they'd ever bother defending a family member.”
Che'ri tentatively raised her eyes up to him. “Really?”
Samakro nodded firmly. “Really. For some of us, our fellow officers are our only family, and we call the Springhawk our home. For a lot of us, the crew is a closer and more important family than our blood-related one. That includes you.”
Che’ri sniffed, trying to mask it as a cough.
Samakro hesitated, then sighed. “Look, Che'ri. Part of this life is making do with what we have, and that includes making ourselves a home and building ourselves a family.”
“That’s different,” Che’ri muttered. “You all chose this.”
Samakro considered that, deciding not to expand on the topic of involuntary service. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.” He tapped a finger against the bulkhead. “You think I enjoy sleeping in the same dull metal bunk every night? Eating the same food, hearing the same voices day in and out?”
Che’ri frowned. “Then why do you do it?”
He allowed himself a stiff smile. “Because it’s where I’m supposed to be.” He nudged her boot lightly with his own. “Same as you.”
With a huff, Samakro stood back up. “Right now, though, I believe we're both supposed to be on the bridge.” Che'ri threw him a confused glance. “Azmordi informed the crew he intended on holding a little pilot training session with you.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Samakro replied, amused, deciding that the spark in her eye made all the awkward conversations worth it.
A few days later, Che'ri was in her suite drawing on her questis when the hatch opened to reveal the senior captain instead of her caretaker.
Being used to her momish picking her up for her shift, Che’ri strained her neck, trying to look behind Thrawn. “Where's Thalias?” she asked with a slight edge to her tone, worried about the cause of this irregularity.
Thrawn raised a hand in a soothing gesture. “She's alright. I wanted to pick you up myself this time.”
Che'ri eyed him with a frown at the unusual procedure.
“I was asked by the bridge crew to give you this,” Thrawn informed her, approaching her and holding out a box roughly the size of his palm.
Che’ri gingerly reached out for it. “What is it?”
He chuckled softly. “Open it and find out. We wanted you to have this.”
Curiosity got the better of her as she hastily opened the box, eyes going wide.
“The bridge crew was of the opinion that our sky-walker deserved her own set of honour chains, and those should be decorated with charms they have all hand picked to represent a memory they shared with you.” Thrawn gave her a soft smile. “We thought that this way, we might be able to bring your home to you and make it possible to always carry a reminder around with you.”
Che’ri chewed her lip, considering his answer and the gift in front of her. “So, the Springhawk's crew could be my home?” she asked tentatively.
Thrawn seemed to contemplate her statement, getting down on one knee so that he was looking up at her. “I once had a debate with one of our fleet’s researchers about the definition of home, and she made an interesting point. Home is not so much a place as it is the people you surround yourself with that make you feel safe and welcomed. That give you a feeling of belonging.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “So it could certainly be considered as such, yes.”
She returned it faintly. “I would like that a lot.”
Thrawn nodded. “You're important to the team, and not just on a professional level. Although, I should inform you, Azmordi was quite impressed with your last jump. As was I.”
For a long moment there was nothing to be heard but resounding silence. Then a quiet sniffle was audible, although Che'ri was very much trying to stifle the noise, wanting to appear like a grown up girl.
Her finger reverently traced the metal of the chain before picking it up and inspecting all the little charms neatly dangling from it.
Tears glistened in her eyes as she looked back up at the captain.
“Thank you,” she whispered, too much at a loss for words to add anything more.
Thrawn smiled. “You're welcome.”
“Could you…? I want to wear them on the bridge.”
“Of course,” Thrawn agreed, crouching down in front of her and getting to work, paying meticulous attention as he fastened the chain around her neck as though performing a vital task.
Che'ri giggled when he was done. “I have more charms than you have medals on your honour chain.”
He didn't seem insulted by her insinuation. Standing, he held out a hand to walk her to the bridge. “I would have to serve several decades more to catch up with you.”
Taking his hand, the girl smiled proudly as they walked down the hallway. She couldn't wait to wear it to her shift. When the hatch slid open, she didn't expect to be welcomed by a cheering crew.
“Happy starday, Che'ri!”
Che'ri beamed.
Perhaps she'd been wrong. She did have a home and a family.
Miss your chance to purchase the Ascendancy Zine? Our shop is re-opening next week! There is limited product available and, due to manufacturer errors, slight damage on the spines and covers of the zines. As such, the prices will be reduced!
Remember, all proceeds go to Midnight Mission, a charity that provides assistance for unhoused individuals!
Individuals who have purchased physical copies and reside outside of the United States will receive an automated email with tracking information!
Remember, every physical package comes with a complimentary digital zine copy. Those will arrive in a separate email from the mod team. If you just ordered a digital package, we'll send those out as well.
For our US shoppers, don't worry! Those orders will be shipped in the next couple days, but we will send out the digital copies in tandem with the international orders.
Everyone, the time has finally come! We can't thank you enough for your endless patience with this project. It has been a long time coming, but it is well worth the wait! We are so proud of not only the hard work from our contributors and our mod team, but also the money we raised thanks to you!
Please keep an eye out for future announcements as we will be re-opening the shop for anyone who may have missed the pre-ordering window! And, after all sales are finalized, we will share how much is donated!
listen i may take 4 weeks to write a 3k word chapter, and i may take 45 minutes to decide whether i should use “laugh” or “chuckle”, but at least i don’t use ai and whatever you’re getting is pure chaos from a human brain
i think so, so much about thrawn giving up everything he knew and loved, everything familiar and comfortable, to venture into the core territories in an attempt to sway the empire’s power in favor of the ascendancy, in the hope he could save his people from a powerful threat. the worst part is not knowing if his gamble will pay off - or if his story will be cut short without a positive and satisfying resolution to the ascendancy protection arc. the best thing we can hope for is that his original creator is consulted for any story decisions made regarding this wonderful and multifaceted character ♥
The zine and all the merch has arrived! Our shipping mod is working diligently to get everything packed and shipped out and is hoping to have all order shipped by early-mid September.
An email has been sent out to everyone who ordered a physical zine or merch item to verify your address. Don't panic! No action is needed if you haven't moved since you placed the order. We just want to make sure everything gets safely home. (See what I did there?)
We can't thank you enough for your continued support! <3
Hello everyone! It's time for a production update on Finding Home: A Chiss Ascendancy Zine!
The Zine: The zine itself is ALMOST ready to order our sample for quality control. It's laid out (we're using InDesign), all text has been checked and edited for consistency in formatting across the project, and all final art pieces are in and assigned their places. The last thing we are currently waiting on are page templates for the text pages, but those should be done soon!
Once we order the sample and are happy with how the zine looks in said sample, full production will be ordered.
The Merch: Digital merch is all complete and some of the physical merch has been ordered (and even delivered!). Bookmarks are in as are the "Visit Csilla" postcards as well as some of the 4x6 prints.
The 'Making of' PDF: Is in it's final stages. All participating artists have had their designs submitted and laid out. Participating authors have submitted their pieces and will be added to the PDF this week.
Once we have the zine sample in-hand (and approved by the mods), we'll come back with a solid update on dates, but that shouldn't be too much longer. STAY TUNED!!
