#csaplar

[mayhaps-a-blog]

Backstory for my Chiss skywalker OC, Ran'i!

Summary:

The Chiss Ascendancy is more than the Syndicure, more than the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet. Politicians and warriors alike rely on the endless, unsung labor of the commoner families, who live in hope that someday one of their children may be chosen to join the upper echelons of Chiss society… and leave them behind forever. Deep in the bowels of Csilla, among the maintenance workers and support staff who, unlike the Greater and Ruling Families, never have the chance to leave the frozen planet, a skywalker is born.

Enjoy :)

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #my fic #my ocs #ran'i #chiss ascendancy #chiss headcanons #chiss worldbuilding #csilla #csaplar #bsivi #original chiss characters #original chiss skywalkers #ozyly-esehembo #chiss navigators #thrawn: ascendancy

[vicimo]

Csilla - the homeworld of the chiss

Also

Csilla is a Hungarian female first name, derived from the word "csillag" meaning "star".

Csaplar - the capital city of the planet Csilla

Csaplár is a Hungarian surname.

ALSO

Lieutenant Lyste

In Hungarian pronunciation, the name means "Flour".

There was a scene where Thrawn shouted out "Lyste!". I heard it as "Flour!", I laughed.

Fascinating.

#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #chiss #star wars #star wars rebels #timothy zahn #chiss ascendancy

[milfthrawnuorodo]

Safe in my Arms (Ascendancy!Thrawn x Reader)

Pairing: Ascendancy!Thrawn x Female Chiss Reader 

Summary: Csaplar, the capital city of Csilla, has been attacked by alien warships. You are a Syndic of the Mith family, forced to seek shelter from the attack along with the rest of the Syndicure. Thrawn, senior captain of the Chiss Expansionary Defence Fleet, is able to easily defeat the enemy targets, but finds himself struggling with something new: the sudden feelings of concern and panic at the thought of you in danger. These feelings are a first for Thrawn, always so confident in battle, seldom so confident when it comes to his feelings for his lover. When you two are reunited, Thrawn is forced to confront his feelings head on. His relief at seeing you alive and well quickly turns into something almost animalistic, and passion ensues, followed by the dawn of a crucial revelation. 

Warnings: Sliiiight angst, but I promise it all works out. SMUT!!! Oral (female receiving), P in V, feral Thrawn is it’s own warning, fucking on a countertop (will I ever let him fuck in the comfort of a bed??? Only time will tell). And watch out because this ending is FLUFF CITY. Like Goddamn call this bitch cotton candy the way it makes me so wet and then absolutely MELTS me. (too much?? Yeah, probably). 

A/N: So the original idea for this came from my head canon’s with my Chiss Syndic OC, Theta, which can be found here. I did originally post this as a Thrawn x Theta, but I know how beloved a solid Thrawn x Reader fic is, so here’s the compromise. Sigh,this fic is so self indulgent it should be a crime. But I hope you enjoy it!

This fic is spicyyyyy so 18+ only, minors do not interact. 

_______________________

The aroma of fresh caccoleaf was the only thing getting you through this never ending meeting. You gingerly took a sip, cherishing the slightly sweet flavor as you forced yourself to focus on the argument at hand. The Syndicure was in full session, meaning your days had been consumed by meetings just like this, speakers for various families vying for exchanges and favors to bolster their own needs above others. 

“What we are proposing would completely revitalize this meager farm area and turn it into a beacon of prosperity, attracting people from all around the Ascendancy, which could boost the local economy and present other long-lasting positive impacts. If you’ll look at the document that has been shared with each of your questises–”

The Ufsa speaker hadn’t even finished his obviously well-rehearsed speech before a representative from the Chaf family made her own grievances known. “That land rightfully belongs to the Chaf family,” she butted in emphatically. “You’ll have to pry that land straight from our hands.”

It took all your years of experience to contain your eye roll. You were proud of your position, honored by your duty to both your family and the Ascendancy, and, yes, you lived to serve your people in any way possible. But you also had a tendency to get frustrated at how selfish and self-serving members of the Aristocra could be. Your whole mission as one of the few female members of the Syndicure was to inspire unity amongst the families and encourage compromise and support over supporting self-serving needs. Though, with so many of the Aristocra being dead set in their old-fashioned ways, you more often than not felt like you were fighting an uphill battle. 

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, preparing to interrupt the argument which was clearly not making any headway, when a resounding alarm began to blare throughout the meeting room. The room was silent for a single heartbeat, before the Syndicure erupted into noise and chaos, each person trying to speak over the other to figure out what was going on. A voice projected over the loudspeaker.

“This is an emergency. Please remain calm and make your way to the shelters beneath the Cupola. I repeat, this is an emergency. Please remain calm and make your way to the shelters beneath the Cupola ”

The announcement hadn’t even finished before people were scrambling towards the doors and filing down the hallway towards the emergency exits that would take them to the shelters. You stood from your seat, making sure to grab the questis from the table before turning to navigate the throngs of people. A quick scan of the room told you that a majority of the Aristocra were well and able to take care of themselves. However, your eyes landed on a lone straggler, an elder from the Irizi family, struggling to make haste towards the exit, having long been forgotten by members of his own family in their own rush towards safety. Without hesitation, you crossed the short distance between you and loop your arm in his, wordlessly offering him your support. A look of surprise flitted across the man’s face, but was quickly replaced by a nod of respect and gratitude before leaning on your for support as you both made your way to the exit. This image, two rival families coming together to support each other in a time of crisis, this was what being a member of the Chiss Ascendancy was about: above family ranks, above political rivalries, above all else, you were all Chiss.

Joining the rest of the speakers, syndics, and various members of the aristocra in the shelters, you found an empty seat, getting a moment to collect your bearings for the first time. You spare a look down at your questis as a barrage of notifications lit up the screen. You could hardly process the words, having to reread the same sentence multiple times. 

Csaplar, capital of Csilla, is under attack by alien ships. Seek shelter immediately. 

You couldn’t remember the last time someone had dared attack the Ascendancy. It certainly hadn’t been in your lifetime, and from the looks of the faces around the shelter, you decided it most certainly hadn’t taken place in the lifetimes of even the eldest members of the Syndicure. You furiously refreshed your notifications, hoping for another update, but there was none to be found. With a worried sigh, you crossed one leg over the other in an attempt to get comfortable. “Stars only know how long we’ll be stuck down here,” you thought to yourself.

“Alien warships,” a nearby Syndic scoffed. “And they have the audacity to attack us?” His voice increased in pitch to emphasize his incredulity. 

“I’m sure the expansionary defense fleet has already lasered them to stardust by now,” another Syndic reassured. 

The words settled like a lead weight in your stomach. Thrawn. The adrenaline, which had just begun to wear off, peaked again and you worked to control your breathing. He was supposed to be coming back from his mission today. You had just spoken over holovid the night before once Thrawn had retired to his quarters, and you had been looking forward to having him planetside with you. Now, with this latest attack, if he was in the middle of it…your thoughts trailed off into the unknown. You knew it wouldn’t do any good to panic now, but the thought of Thrawn being up there, facing off against three enemy warships was enough to get your heart racing all the same. 

_______________________

Thrawn stood on the bridge, staring out the viewport at the sight before him. The alien warships were gone, blasted into rubble too small to even make a dent through the atmosphere. Always the calculated and stoic Senior Captain, Thrawn had kept a level head throughout the unexpected ordeal. The Springhawk was returning home from its mission, coming out of hyperspace just outside Csilla’s gravity well, when the foreign ships began firing on the planet’s capital city. It took less than a minute for the Chiss ships to return fire, and within fifteen minutes the battle was over. Thrawn stood motionless, staring into the empty space where the ships once stood, a sudden anxiety settling into his bones. His chest felt tight and your name fell off his lips in a silent plea. He knew you were there, in the capital. He knew the aliens had to be targeting the capital city–it was the most logical conclusion. Unfortunately, it was also the conclusion that sent an unfamiliar wave of panic through Thrawn. He forced himself to take exactly one deep breath, steeling himself, and forcing his feet to take him back to the Captain’s chair. “Continue course to Csaplar,” Thrawn announced, thankful to hear that his voice didn’t betray an ounce of the worry that plagued him. “The likeliest conclusion is that you are fine,” he thought to himself in an attempt to regain his internal control. You have to be fine. 

_______________________

The defense force had you waiting two hours in the shelters, to be sure that no further threats arose. Two hours you spent sick with worry about what was going on in the skies above. You fully believed that Thrawn was the most intelligent man you’d ever met, and the Ascendancy as a whole was far safer for his role in the expansionary defense fleet. But that didn’t mean you never worried about him every time you knew he was going into a dangerous situation. More than anything, it was the not knowing that was tearing you up the most. You tried to distract yourself with your colleagues, who, in typical syndicure fashion, all seemed to be trying to one-up each other in outrage, as if they were personally defending the ascendancy’s honor. If there was one thing that could bring together the Aristocra, it was a common enemy. 

Shortly past the second hour mark, you got the all-clear to evacuate the shelter. There would be a briefing with General Ba’kif in one of the meeting halls, and it was clear the Syndicure would be out for blood, demanding answers that may not even be available yet. As the sea of individuals rushed to assault the general with their questions, you strode right past the door of the meeting room, instead heading straight for your office. You had just shut the door behind you when you realized you weren't alone.

Thrawn stood in the middle of your office, and the familiar sight of him in the black uniform was nearly enough to bring tears of relief to your eyes. 

At the first sight of you, relief flooded Thrawn’s body and for the first time in over two hours, he felt as though he could breathe again. It took all of two strides for Thrawn to close the distance between you, his strong arms taking you into his grip, pulling you to his chest. You gripped him just as hard, breathing in the familiar scent.

You stood like that, embracing each other for several heartbeats. “I’m relieved to see you unharmed,” Thrawn’s soft voice broke the silence. You tilted your head back, looking into the eyes of your beloved. “Thrawn,” you started, but your voice broke, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. You forced a deep breath before continuing. “What happened?” With a final press of his lips against the top of your head, Thrawn stepped back and motioned for you to take a seat as he began to recount everything they had found out over the last few hours. 

_______________________

That night, You rinsed off the last of the dinnerware, passing the dripping plate to Thrawn, who methodically dried it off and set it amongst its freshly clean counterparts. The dinner had been a simple affair, but you cherished these nights the most. They were too few and far between. Though, you supposed you were somewhat in luck–the estimated repairs for the Springhawk were to take between four and six weeks, and you’d soak up every ounce of time together you could get. 

Thrawn had been unusually quiet tonight though, and you watched as he gripped the edge of the countertop, clearly lost in thought. Thrawn’s focus shifted as a pair of soft arms wound their way around his midsection. “Tell me what’s bothering you, love,” your voice was barely above a whisper. Up on your toes, you pressed a kiss to Thrawn’s neck, “And don’t bother denying it. You know I can read you as easily as a data cylinder,” you quipped, trying to ease the tension. 

With a small sigh, Thrawn turned to face you. His lean body propped up against the countertop, arms crossed at his chest, and though he was looking at you, you could feel that his gaze was far away. 

“There was a moment today, after the attack,” Thrawn started, then paused, thinking over his words. “I had a feeling I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before.” You waited patiently through another extended pause, giving Thrawn what you hoped was an encouraging nod.

“As soon as the battle was over, I was hit by this strange sense of terror. There was this sudden, overwhelming dread, and I was convinced something had happened to you.” Thrawn paused, his throat working. “I don’t know what I would have done. What I’d do if–” Your features instantly softened, and you interrupted the thought, stepping up on your tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to Thrawn’s lips. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered, pulling away momentarily. “I’m fine.” You pressed another kiss to his lips. “I’m okay,” you reassured, murmuring against his lips, and it was as if upon hearing those words, feeling your soft lips against his, something within Thrawn broke. His hands were off the counter, gripping your waist, pulling you closer to him as his lips crashed against yours, gripping you in a fierce kiss. You hardly had a second to react before Thrawn picked you up, twisting your positions so he could place you on the countertop, not even breaking the kiss. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, though you certainly weren’t about to stop him. Thrawn’s grip on your hips tightened as he deepened the kiss, pulling you to the edge of the counter. Suddenly, you understood where Thrawn was coming from. The relief at having him here, the knowledge that you were both safe, both together, it was enough to have you mirroring his intensity.

Your hands were desperate, clumsily trying to undo Thrawn’s uniform. Stars damn all the regulation zips that made these things so damn hard to remove. Eventually, Thrawn took pity on you, stepping back to remove the rest of the jacket, discarding his undershirt as well, letting both fall to the floor. You had only a moment to appreciate the toned, muscular skin, biting your bottom lip as you took in the view, and then Thrawn’s lips were back on yours and your fingers went straight to tangle themselves in his hair. 

“I need to—“ Thrawn gasps out between kisses. “I need to taste you.” 

You nodded your head fervently and spread your legs, leaning back on your hands as Thrawn pressed sweet kisses along your neck and down your still-clothed chest. Pushing up your skirt, you lifted yourself just enough for him to slide your damp panties down your leg. Thrawn let out an audible groan. “I do believe you’ll be the end of me,” he growled in a low voice, before falling to his knees. 

The sight of Thrawn on his knees before you was almost enough to push you over the edge. Thrawn slid your legs open, resting them on his shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your core. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, but before you could even beg for more, he dove right in. 

He ate like a man who had been starved for days, unable to get enough. A single finger joined his tongue, and left you squirming on his counter. Your hips thrust up into his face, a second digit joining in, stretching you. He curled his fingers, hitting that spongy spot deep inside you, and stars danced behind your eyelids. “Thrawn!” you exclaimed, panting. His fingers moved faster, harder, expertly dragging your orgasm from you. “Thrawn, I’m going to—“ before you could even finish that sentence, your orgasm ripped through your body. Your back arched, cunt tightening around his fingers. His tongue lapped up your juices, which only prolonged the orgasm. Gasping for air, you slowly came down from her high, coming to just in time to spot Thrawn trailing soft kisses along the inside of your thighs, working his way back up to kiss your face. Thrawn pressed himself up against your soaking core, and you could feel how much he enjoyed that experience as his rock-hard member pressed against your sensitive mound, eliciting another moan from you, his name dancing on your lips. “Thrawn.”

“I need to feel you,” he moaned against his kiss. “I need to be inside you.” His kiss was frenzied, his need was unmistakable. You had never seen the man so undone, and you could hardly believe it was on your behalf. It felt like a dream. All you could manage was a breathy “yes,” in response, but it was all the approval Thrawn needed. 

Without missing a beat, Thrawn’s hands were on his belt, quickly undoing it, his pants falling to the floor soon after. You let out a sigh as he freed his cock and gave his member a rough couple pumps. Your mouth watered at the sight of it–thick and long, and deliciously veined, as if it was designed purely for your pleasure. You couldn’t help but rub your thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction as you took in the sight before you: 

Thrawn, his typically meticulous hair now a disheveled mess, his impressive member in hand, and a look of absolute feral need in his eyes. 

Thrawn held the tip of his cock, teasing your opening. Even when he was overcome with need, he still took the time to savor this moment. In a moment of impatient desperation, you thrust your hips up off the counter, which Thrawn rewarded with a swift thrust of his hips, his cock finally filling you to the brim. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust. A breathless moan of approval from you is all it took for him to lose himself. 

His thrusts were hard and his pace was quick. He needed this. He needed to feel you beneath his fingers, to know that you were safe in his arms. You threw your head back, the pleasure radiating through your body. In and out, in and out. Thrawn’s breathing was labored, letting out breathy moans. His pace quickened, and he could tell you were nearing another orgasm. Your cunt tightened around his cock as you neared her edge, and Thrawn let out a gasp and another moan, your name on his lips. It was enough to send you over the edge once again, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer into you. Feeling your pussy pulse around his cock was just enough to cause Thrawn to lose any remaining composure. “Fuck,” Thrawn grunted, grabbing your hips tight enough to bruise, thrusting his hips even harder. With a final groan, Thrawn’s hips faltered and his cock twitched as he emptied himself inside you.

Thrawn pressed his forehead to yours as you both struggled to catch your breath. He loosened his fingers from their iron grip on your hips, and he was surprised at the slight shake that unsteadied his hand. “That’s new,” Thrawn remarked to himself, still perplexed at how thoroughly you had undone him. He was enamored with you. His hands absentmindedly trailed along your side as he pressed tender kisses along your neck and jaw, still soaking in your scent. He paused when he reached the apex of your neck and he relished the feel of your pulse beneath his lips, further proof that you were alive and well. 

“I love you.” The words tumbled from Thrawn’s mouth, his deep voice barely above a whisper. You froze beneath his touch. Even Thrawn seemed momentarily taken aback by the words which he hadn’t even meant to say out loud. But with every moment that passed, Thrawn realized how true they were. He was in love with you. And, if he was being honest with himself, he had been for quite some time. “I love you,” you whispered back, the softest smile on your face. Thrawn couldn’t help his smile as your lips met again, but this kiss was different: full of passion, yes, but something softer. Love. 

“Damn,” you breathed out, breaking the kiss after several moments. “Maybe warships should attack the ascendancy more often,” you said with a playful smile on your lips. 

Thrawn bit back a growl and, with a scowl, took you into his arms, lifting you off the countertop. “Don’t even joke about that,” he said in a low voice, immediately followed by a soft press of his lips to your temple. Thrawn started towards your bedroom, wondering what exactly he was getting himself into, but knowing that he was in too deep to turn back now. 

#thrawn x reader #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn ascendancy #mith’thraw’nurodo #thrawn hc #thawn x you

[thrawns-backrest]

Thank you all for the feedback so far!! Chapter 3 is hallway done so enjoy this one in the meantime.

Title: Buried in Ice

Characters: Ronan, Ba'kif and others

Chapters: 2/?

Summary: Ronan adjusts to life with the Chiss when a sudden revelation leads him to realize that his fate is not as firmly in his hands as he'd thought it was.

___

Ronan used to think that having to endure Vanto’s insipid company was a punishment in and of itself.

Only he wasn’t so sure of it now.

Staring at the intricate golden pattern on his sheets, he contemplated whether to trace it with his finger again or just pull the sheet over his head and try and get a few more hours of sleep.

Even in a simple suite like this the Chiss still liked their luxury. They had an affinity for gold patterns and dark colors and this whole room looked like an illustration from some exotic picture book despite being nothing more than a low end unit in the low-ranking bureaucracy’s housing district.

He vaguely remembered Vanto telling him that things weren’t the same in the secondary worlds. Apparently this kind of all-encompassing splendor was reserved for Csilla and doled out more sparingly in other places. But for all its gold embroidered glory, the planet itself was utterly depressing.

For if he were to step out of his suite now, Ronan knew, the textured fabrics and crystal furnishings would quickly give way to metal and roughly hewn rock. The whole place was essentially a hole in the ground, the underbelly of a pompous façade the Chiss went to great lengths to keep under wraps.

More secrets and more things fettering him to this place, Ronan thought bitterly and closed his eyes in despair. The despondency of his circumstances warred with his boredom and he wondered how long it would be before he started throwing crystal ornaments at the walls for fun.

Four days.

It had been four days since Vanto had been whisked away on some mission with Ar’alani, one requiring a smaller ship and a correspondingly small crew, while Ronan was left to rot in Csaplar.

Four days since he’d last seen another human face.

And two weeks since he’d realized the direness of his situation.

The sheets under his fingers suddenly felt cold and he turned to lay on his back with a shuddering, almost panicked sigh. He was handling this whole thing poorly.

Despite the apparent hopelessness of it all, his mind had been hard at work, turning over all kinds of escape scenarios in his head, from commandeering a Chiss ship to collusion with the enemy and all of them had wound up at a logical dead end because he had nowhere near the necessary resources to pull them off.  And that wasn’t even considering the fact that the Chiss had him under constant surveillance.

He had pleaded, bargained with whatever entity out there was listening for some miraculous opportunity to present itself but all of it had been in vain.

In the end, following hours of frustration and scheming, his sleep had begun to suffer.

The insomnia had in turn made way for exhaustion and exhaustion meant less mental fortitude to keep the mounting claustrophobia and paranoia at bay.

Even if he did return to the Empire, he’d concluded grimly, where would he go? In the unlikely case that the military took him back, Thrawn could easily hunt him down and deliver the punishment his people couldn’t when no one was looking. He wouldn’t even have to do it himself, Ronan thought cynically as he remembered the murderous look on Faro’s face.

He’d seen the ease with which Thrawn had brought Savit to the brink of madness. How hard could it be to instigate his own subordinates? Those same subordinates who were already jumping through hoops for him without a second thought.

(What kind of crew faced off against four Star Destroyers when their commander wasn’t even on board? Madness, it was complete madness…)

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he forced himself into a half sitting position.

“Yes?”

“Supreme General Ba’kif requests your presence in his office.”

He frowned to himself. Then wondered for a moment if there hadn’t been some mistake. He had already spoken at length to Ba’kif, his de facto handler on Csilla.

He’d questioned Ronan on his past, his qualifications, his service under Thrawn and his time with the Ascendancy so far, all standard procedure so far as Ronan could tell. Ba’kif would have of course already had that information, be it from Ar’alani or Thrawn or even Vanto, but he was testing Ronan for discrepancies and trying to get a sense for his attitude and loyalties.

Ronan hadn’t bothered to try hiding where those lied. If Thrawn could flaunt his true allegiance like that, then so could he. The Chiss was siphoning off imperial resources, plain and simple, and while his pretended innocence could fool Vanto, it wouldn’t cut it for Ronan.

Shaking his head with a grumble, he made to get off the bed. He briefly considered asking whatever secretary had been saddled with delivering the message if he had the right address but then changed his mind. The least they could do was keep proper track of their guests. Especially if those guests were one of a kind.

“Very well, I will be there shortly,” he said, garbling the last few consonants and finding great satisfaction in the fact that he no longer gave a damn. Retreating footsteps were the only sign that the messenger had heard him and he sneered at the lack of etiquette as he shucked the lounge robe off his shoulders, relishing the swish of long luxurious fabric as he did.

It was with a curious sense of loss that he set it down on the bed and headed out in his uniform. The same drab set of pants and tunic the Empire punished its own rank and file with.

The trip to Ba’kif’s office was one of the few he’d memorized (seeing as most of the damned city was off limits to him) and could be made on foot. Far enough to keep him away from the capital’s more important dealings but close enough to keep an eye on him.

By the time he was stood in front of Ba’kif’s door, his mood hadn’t improved much. He swallowed the apathy down with a sigh and raised a hand to knock.

“Come in,” Ba’kif’s voice called and Ronan reached for the controls. Predictably, the hatch opened after entry had been granted from inside.

The sight of the Chiss’ snow white hair and uniform made him want to raise his chin and straighten his back on reflex. But that was just reflex and his true feelings were more on the petulant side as he dragged himself to the large burgundy desk at the far side of the room.

“General,” he greeted vapidly, not waiting for permission to lower himself into a seat. This was his third visit to this place and he’d stopped being impressed by it long ago.

Ba’kif himself was a different story.

Loathe as he was to admit it, Ronan couldn’t help a sense of respect for the Chiss sitting opposite him and watching him with intelligent eyes. He couldn’t tell if the man was on the older side or if his coloring was some biological quirk – Chiss biology was still a mystery to him – but he certainly had an air of authority about him.

“Well.” Ronan crossed his arms in front of him. “Why am I here today?”

Disrespectful. Blunt. He really didn’t care at this point.

Ba’kif raised a single silver eyebrow.

“A good day to you as well, Lieutenant,” he said with a surprising lack of bite. Ronan had expected some kind of reaction but the General seemed as relaxed as always, almost unbothered.

“I hope you’re settling in well?”

Ronan felt his lips thin. As if he had a choice.

“Well enough,” he grumbled and watched as the Chiss reached for the questis on his desk.

“Good, that’s good. You don’t lack for anything here?”

A ride home, Ronan’s mind supplied sarcastically but it must not have shown on his face or else Ba’kif didn’t care enough to notice.

“I called you here today, hoping you would indulge me.” The questis was pushed over to his side. “Please. Take a look.”

Ronan reached for the device almost tentatively, his eyes running over the blue Cheunh script as he pulled it to himself.

It was a report of sorts. Some long winded document on a recent feud between two families with different accounts and a summary of the events that had sparked the conflict along with other relevant information.

Ronan found his rhythm quickly enough, his eyes skimming over the familiar bureaucratic jargon with ease, filtering out buzzwords and turgid filler to get to the meat of the text. Some of the Cheunh words put up a fight but the general gist of it was simple enough.

Still, the text was lengthy and took a while to get through. During that time, he and Ba’kif sat in silence and Ronan almost regretted it when he got to the end and had to set the questis aside, bringing his eyes up to meet Ba’kif’s.

“Well?” He crossed and uncrossed his legs under the desk “What do you want from me?”

Ba’kif, who Ronan had the uncomfortable feeling had been observing him all this time, shrugged and waved a hand. “Let’s start with the basics. What can you tell me about it?”

Ronan threw a quick glance at the screen as he formulated his answer.

“The Thuf are trying to gain favor with the Irizi.”

“Oh?”

Ba’kif leaned forward.

“And what makes you think that.”

It was Ronan’s turn to shrug. “They’re allied with the Chadok who are in good standing with the Mitth and they like to play it that way. At least they’re obnoxiously vocal about it. But a small mine on a minor world can’t keep them happy for long and that vein is drying quickly from the looks of it.”

“Is it now?”

“They wouldn’t be so frantic about it otherwise. Meanwhile their supposed ally is seeing huge success on nearby worlds and it doesn’t sound like they want to share it with anyone. It looks like the Thuf are trying to get the Mitth to side with them but that’s ridiculous when you know that the Chadok are one of the Forty. Most likely the Thuf have some dirty laundry on the Chadok business operation and are blowing this thing out of proportion to prompt an inspection. Jumping ship and securing firm ground under their feet.”

“By humiliating the Mitth and ingratiating themselves with the Irizi.” Ba’kif nodded.

“And trying to look innocent in the process,” Ronan finished with a huff.

Same old political maneuvering, different alien packaging. Just as obnoxious as it had been in the Empire, he decided as he looked around the office, desperately wishing for a cup of caf. Not that Ba’kif would have any caf but the urge for it was there anyway.

Ba’kif himself had fallen silent, one of his hands stroking his beard as he stared at a point somewhere above Ronan’s shoulder.

“Interesting… Tell me, Lieutenant, you’re not feeling your best today, are you?”

Ronan flinched in surprise and glared at Ba’kif, feeling his defenses rise.

“I had a bad night,” he all but ground out. One of many, in fact, but Ba’kif didn’t need to know that.

“I see.” Ba’kif’s hand stopped its thoughtful stroking. “Sleep deprived and yet you still managed to untangle that whole convoluted mess from just skimming the report once. Rather impressive.”

Ronan went still at that, caught completely off guard by the compliment. His moth opened and closed a few times as he processed it before he felt the urge to lower his eyes to his lap.

“I’m good at administration.” He mumbled lamely.

“So you are.”

Silence stretched between them again, this one decidedly more awkward, and Ronan felt his nerves get the better of him as the last of his patience ran out. Ba’kif clearly wanted something from him and Ronan hated it when people were cryptic about their expectations.

Director Krennic, at least, had always been straightforward in that regard. A quality Ronan missed among so many others.

“If I may General, what is all this about?” He gave in finally, rubbing a hand over his temples. He could feel a headache forming under the skin and the desire to run and curl up under his thrice damned gold patterned sheets was growing stronger by the minute.

“I’m glad you asked,” Ba’kif answered without missing a beat and Ronan felt something shift in his demeanor. As if he’d been waiting for this from the moment Ronan stepped into his office.

“The Expansionary Defense Fleet is planning to open a new division,” Ba’kif continued. “It’s a move in response to the difficulties we’ve had with resolving political conflicts that arise in the military. As you can probably guess, those are brought up in front of the Syndicure and the resulting inquiries often take more time than we would prefer to waste on them.”

A flash of long suffering irritation crossed his face and Ronan almost caught himself sympathizing.

“As a result we want to create a department that deals specifically with mediating these issues. To ensure their speedy resolution.” 

“And you’re telling me this because?”

Ba’kif held Ronan’s stare and Ronan felt his discomfort skyrocket.

“Because I want you,” Ba’kif said slowly, “To be part of it.”

___

taglist (drop me a line if you want to be added): @vibratingbonesbis

#thrawn #thrawn ascendancy #thrawn trilogy #thrawn treason #brierly ronan #ba'kif #thrawn books

[danger-xylophones]

Ar'alani + nonbinary reader cuddling...?

warnings: none I think? I mean the reader sits on Lani's lap but that's about it

not edited, we die like dumbasses

masterlist | chiss

"Admiral," your address is crisp and professional, prompting her to turn away from her conversation with Wutroow to focus on you, "Syndic Irizi'rico'yan has safely landed on Csaplar. He sends his regards and thanks you for the safe journey.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” She smiled gently, thin lips curving upwards beautifully. “You are dismissed for the night.”

You nodded once and left the bridge swiftly, all too aware that if you had lingered your heart would have begun to pound loud enough for the whole bridge to hear. And you didn't need the Admiral to know how smitten you were. It was embarrassing.

Ar'alani and Wutroow watched you go - the latter with an amused grin on her face. "You should tell them." She chirped, turning to the admiral.

"Tell them what?" Ar'alani asked, almost passing for clueless.

But Wutroow had served under her long enough to know exactly when the admiral was trying to deflect. "Don't play dumb, admiral - it doesn't suit you." She continued before Ar'alani had the chance to look offended. "You adore them, it's obvious, and they feel the same."

"You sound awfully certain, Captain." Ar'alani raised an eyebrow at her friend.

She shrugged and folded her hands behind her back. "Like I said, it's obvious to anyone who bothers to pay attention."

"Really?" Ar'alani asked. "Tell me, Wutroow, when did you notice then?"

"Oh, months ago, admiral. They've been pining after you since that whole debacle with the Paataatus." Wutroow chuckled. "It's a bit sad, really - every time they see you they get this dopey look on their face and they can't hardly look you in the eye." She raised an eyebrow at the admiral. "You really hadn't noticed?"

Ar'alani shook her head but had a thoughtful look on her face. "No, I hadn't. I thought they were just intimidated by me."

"Well, I won't lie," Wutroow began in a chortle, "I'm sure that's a part of it. But I'm confident it runs deeper than that."

The admiral was quiet for a moment as she sorted through her private thoughts. "Excuse me," she looked back at Wutroow, "I have an important matter to attend to."

"No worries, Admiral. " The captain smirked. "I understand perfectly. I'll keep the ship running while you're off romancing the second officer."

Ar'alani had half a mind to rebuke her but she knew that ultimately it would only encourage the senior captain's teasing. So, instead, she stuck to her goal and followed you off the bridge and to your quarters. When she got to the trapezoidal door separating your room from the hallway, she pressed the com to speak to you inside. "Lieutenant Commander?"

There was a quiet shuffling from inside and then, through the com, your voice broke, "Y-yes, Admiral? Is there something you need?"

"Yes, actually." Ar'alani couldn't help the small grin that tugged at her lips. "May I enter?"

"Um..." the com clicked off for a moment before crackling back to life, "one moment please I am not decent." Again, the com clicked off and Ar'alani was left standing in the hall for a few minutes before the door slid to the side, revealing you dressed in your fatigues. Your hair was damp, evidently you'd been fresh from the refresher, and Ar'alani could detect the faintest whiff of a soft smelling soap. "How can I help you?"

"I was hoping to discuss a..." she paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully, "personal matter with you."

"Oh," your mouth fell open in slight surprise, "of-of course. Would you, um, would you like to come in?"

Ar'alani nodded once and you stepped back to let her in before promptly scrambling further in yourself to pick up your uniform you'd abandoned on the floor. "I, wasn't expecting anyone to drop by," you began to explain as you hastily stuffed it into the small hamper tucked into the corner, "let alone you." You turned back to find her standing in the middle of your small quarters, looking around curiously at the small mementos you'd gathered over the years. "I'm afraid I can't offer you much but please," You gestured, a little helplessly towards the small reading chair you'd smuggled aboard, "make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you," she hummed softly and crossed over to sit. She crossed her legs, right over the left, and settled her hands primly in her lap. "I see no need to delay." She began suddenly. "Wutroow brought something interesting to my attention after you left the bridge." You tilted your head but didn't say anything, giving the woman room to speak. "She spoke of certain feelings you may hold for me." She raised her hands, perching her elbows on the arms of the chair to hide her mouth behind her fingers. "I've come to find out if this is true." Her eyes met yours. "Is it?"

You felt the blood drain from your face, your heart began to thunder, and your stomach twisted into a veritable cyclone of anxiety. Unsticking your tongue from the roof of your mouth, you managed to speak. "Am I in trouble?"

"No," she quirked an eyebrow, "but you will be if you choose to lie to me."

Silence fell, nearly suffocating you as you tried to figure out the best move. Lying provided the best chance of saving your career but Ar'alani was a walking lie detector. She'd know in an instant. But perhaps the truth would grant you mercy. "I'm sorry, admiral." You started, ripping your gaze away from hers. "I know my feelings are completely unprofessional and I've tried to rid myself of them for so long. But," you carded your hands through your hair anxiously, "it's like telling myself to stop breathing." A frustrated sigh ripped from you. "I just...can't. Every time I see you, they come right back and I-"

"What exactly do you feel for me?" Ar'alani was careful to keep her voice soft and free of the normal tone she used to command her warriors.

She watched in real time as you struggled to find the exact words, your eyes flitted around, looking anywhere but her. "It's..." you started, sighing explosively, "It's hard to put it into words."

"Would actions help you express yourself?" She lowered her hands, opening her posture.

"I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable." Your voice was quiet, timid, and it sent an odd pang through Ar'alani's chest.

"You won't." Ar'alani soothed, parting her legs this time and reaching a hand out. "Come here." Each step was slow and halting. The admiral could see the uncertainty on your face clear as daylight. "If you fear repercussions, will you trust me to express myself first?" You nodded and she lifted her hand a little higher to prompt you to take it. The moment you did, she tugged you forward between her parted knees. "Sit on my lap." A flush filled your face, on clear display for the admiral's infrared vision. Your mouth parted and Ar'alani knew what you were going to ask. "I'm serious - I would like to hold you," she squeezed your hand, "if you'll let me?"

Carefully, you turned to the side just a bit. Ar'alani released your hand in favor of grasping your waist with both of hers to guide you down onto her thigh. Next, she ducked an arm to prompt your legs up enough for her to slide her legs closed beneath you, providing a more comfortable perch. "You do not need to be so tense, dear," It took all of her willpower not to laugh chuckle at you. "Relax into me," she looped her arms around your waist, "you are welcome here." Painfully slow, you began to relax - leaning into her hold more and more until you were reclined against her chest with your arms looped around her shoulders.

"Are you sure this is alright?" You couldn't help but ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Ar'alani couldn't stop the small chuckle that slipped from her and you felt it bounce her shoulders. "So uncertain, what happened to my confident warrior?" She teased, looking up at you with a grin on her face.

Your face grew even warmer and your arms tensed on her shoulders.

But, Ar'alani laid her head against you to stop you from retreating and you felt yourself freeze. "Mmm," she hummed, a low and contented sound that spurred a fuzzy feeling to relax your shoulders, "I'll admit, I'd long suspected you'd been hiding something from me." She turned her face in, her forehead pressing into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. "But it took Wutroow's comment on the bridge after you left to actually seek you out." Her face lifted from it's spot so she could look you in the eyes again. "I did not expect you to turn shy when confronted."

You were aware you were puffing your cheeks out like a child but you couldn't seem to stop. "Put yourself in my shoes. Your beautiful commanding officer shows up in your room asking about how you've been pining after her...for...months..." Your eyes grew wide at your own admittance, mortification flooding your system. "Um..."

Ar'alani chuckled. "You are too precious." Squeezing your waist, she returned her head to your neck and brushed her lips over your pulse point - igniting the blood in your veins. "I think I will have to keep you."

#ar'alani x reader #ar'alani #admiral ar'alani #thrawn ascendancy #chiss ascendancy #wutroow #chiss #thrawn novels #star wars #star wars x reader #x reader

[lboogie1906]

Edward William Brooke III (October 26, 1919 – January 3, 2015) was a politician of the Republican Party, who represented Massachusetts in the Senate from 1967 until 1979. Before serving in the Senate, he served as the Attorney General of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts from 1963 until 1967. Following his election in 1966, he became the first African American popularly elected to the Senate. Born to a middle-class African American family, he was raised in DC. He graduated from the Boston University School of Law in 1948, after serving in the Army during WWII. Beginning in 1950, he became involved in politics, when he ran for a seat in the Massachusetts House of Representatives. After serving as chairman of the Finance Commission of Boston, he was elected attorney general in 1962, becoming the first African-American to be elected attorney general of any state. In the Senate, he aligned with the liberal faction of Republicans. He co-wrote the Civil Rights Act of 1968, which prohibits housing discrimination. He became a prominent critic of President Richard Nixon and was the first Senate Republican to call for Nixon's resignation in light of the Watergate scandal. He won re-election in 1972, but he was defeated by Democrat Paul Tsongas in 1978. He practiced law in DC and was affiliated with various businesses and non-profits, he practiced law in DC, first as a partner at the DC firm of O'Connor & Hannan; later as counsel to Csaplar & Bok in Boston. He served as chairman of the board of the National Low Income Housing Coalition. In 1984 he was selected as chairman of the Boston Bank of Commerce, and one year later he was named to the board of directors of Grumman. In 1996, he became the first chairman of the World Policy Council for Alpha Phi Alpha. The Council's purpose is to expand the fraternity's involvement in politics, and social and current policy to encompass international concerns. He married Remigia Ferrari-Scacco (1947-1979)​, Anne Fleming (1979)​, he had three children. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #alphaphialpha https://www.instagram.com/p/CkLmV-3LRf0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #alphaphialpha

[alexsrandomramblings]

*uses the fact that the spaceport, government, and trade areas of Csaplar are aboveground as an excuse to draw characters in winter clothes*

#alex rambles #csilla #csaplar #chiss #chiss ascendancy #thrawn ascendancy

[systemic-dreams]

young thrawn and thrass drabble :P

I was planning to make a comic out of this but my art skills leave something to be desired. And I honestly don’t have the time so I guess I’ll just leave this here...

The bitter wind whipped against the pfalesfir statue, its shiny silver surface weathered into black with time and neglect. Snow clung to the steely man's shoulder and head, weighing him down as he stared wistfully into the beyond - the icy tundras of Csilla where not a single Chiss dared go.

And at his feet stood a boy, wrapped up in his scarf. Blue-black hair stuck out of his cap and his crimson eyes glittered though narrowed against the cold. He gazed up at the statue intently, his gloved hands clutching at the straps of his backpack.

It was well below freezing.

But he was not deterred. His eyes scanned the statue mercilessly, attacking it from every angle, trying to unravel its secrets. There had to be a sign. A tell. Something.

Something besides the simple soldier in an unmarked uniform staring into the distance like he was ready to die.

"Vrawl!" the word came drifting through the cold wind and the boy turned his head abruptly.

A short distance away, a trapdoor had slid open and a handsome Chiss soldier stepped through it. The wind swept his hair back and his crimson eyes narrowed. He lifted a hand from his rifle to block out the elements.

"Vrawl?" he called out again through the snow.

"Vrasl?"

The soldier's eyes focused and he spotted his little brother in front of the statue.

"There you are," he said sharply, marching through the snow. "I've been looking everywhere. What are you doing?"

"I wanted to see the statue," Vrawl explained.

"It is forbidden, ra'su," his brother scolded.

The boy looked down guiltily. "I know..."

"And it's colder than space out here. You'll catch your death."

The soldier glared at him for a moment and then offered him a hand.

"Come," he said.

Vrawl took it without looking up and let him lead the way to the trapdoor. His head swivelled back toward the statue impulsively, drinking in every line and contour and shape before it disappeared over the steps they walked down.

Vrasl tapped the keypad and the trapdoor slid shut above them, insulating the passage from the cold and they both stopped shivering.

"Why did you want to see it so badly?" he asked, clipping the rifle onto his back.

Vrawl didn't answer right away. His crimson eyes watched the snow melt off his boots as they walked down the pearly white corridor, wet footsteps disappearing behind them.

"He's out there all by himself," he said. "In the middle of nowhere. And he looks so sad..."

Vrasl didn't take his eyes off the road ahead, contemplating his brother's words. He squeezed his hand tight, afraid the boy would slip away again.

"It's a monument to the Unknown Soldier," he said stiffly. "He's not supposed to be happy. And he really should be saluting."

Vrawl suddenly looked up at his brother with intense interest.

"But why does he have a likeness if it's an Unknown Soldier?"

Vrasl remained composed and intent on taking them further down the brightly lit corridor.

"One of the Ruling Families must have hired a model for the likeness," he supposed logically. "Might even be one of their sons."

"But there are no patches on his arms," Vrawl argued. "And no name on the epitaph."

"The library should have a record of the commission."

"It doesn't."

Vrasl stopped walking abruptly and Vrawl was pulled to a stop with him. The soldier looked down at his brother testily.

"You want me to check the Defense Force Archives," he realised.

Vrawl looked up at him intently, his crimson eyes wide and hopeful. He had his brother's attention and a quick pout melted the stern warrior's icy glare.

Vrasl sighed and shook his head.

"Fine. You win, little brother." He leaned down and pinched Vrawl's face. "Cheeky little thing."

The boy laughed and pushed the offending hand away.

"Let's go home," Vrasl said, resuming his march through the labyrinthine tunnel.

It soon widened into a long road, stretching across the chasm which could be seen through its transparent surface. A city of crystal and light opened up before them, crowned by ten gleaming towers of different colours in the distance.

Speeders and starships spiralled around spacescrapers disappearing into the warm red depths of Csaplar's undercity. And the two brothers walked the road into Greater Csaplar with poorly concealed smiles, fading into the background of the busy Chiss metropolis as soon as they emerged from the tunnel.

The road took them toward a crossroads with a pfalesfir plaza built into the serapfis. A fountain of silver sprayed water in neverending spirals around another statue, this one polished and shiny - a woman of great beauty in billowing robes.

"Ra'su, look." Vrawl pointed. "Can we go see? Please."

Vrasl nodded gently, keeping a tight grip on his hand.

"Just don't wander off again."

"I promise," the boy said with the hint of a grin.

"Mmm," his brother uttered suspiciously.

They walked through the bustling crowd and reached the statue whose waters emanated a pleasant aroma. Vrawl quickly found the plaque and read the inscription.

"May warrior's fortune smile upon you."

"It's a metaphor," Vrasl explained. "Warrior's Fortune is a beautiful woman sending her love to the battlefield."

"Love?" Vrawl looked up at him skepticly.

"You'll know someday, ra'su," the soldier said wisely.

"I want to know now," Vrawl complained.

"Sorry. This statue's all you're getting today."

"Mmm..." The boy pouted. "It is really pretty. She looks like Aristocra Mitth'lav'isumi."

"I told you. The Ruling Families like to make statues of themselves."

Vrawl looked up at the elegant lady of pfalesfir and pfillo-glass, golden laces tying back her ebony hair as the fountain sang a quiet but soulful tune.

"You think the Unknown Soldier was part of a Ruling Family?" he asked his brother.

"Ra'su..."

"But then why aren't they maintaining it? Why is he all corroded?"

"Ra'su, your obsession with that statue is unhealthy."

Vrawl frowned.

"Don't you want to know why it's there? On the surface of all places?"

"Perhaps he was meant to be a monument to the Expansionary Defense Force," Vrasl reasoned.

"Then why doesn't the Nuruodo Family clean it?"

"I don't know, ra'su." Vrasl shook his head. "And knowing will bring you no happiness, I guarantee it. Such matters are above commoners."

"We're all Chiss, aren't we?" Vrawl said. "Freedom of information is our right."

"Not information on military activity," Vrasl pointed out. "That only gets declassified after a few hundred years. Which is why I'm not going to find anything in the Defense Force Archives, ra'su. I'm just a grunt."

"Humble as ever, Crahst'en," a deep voice came from the crowded street.

Very soon, a man emerged from the sea of Chiss, wearing the very same uniform Vrasl was - a black suit with light silver plate and steel capped boots. But where the young man's chest contained a single bar and engraving, the tall Captain's chestplate boasted far more.

Vrasl let go of his brother's hand and raised his right fist into the air, crossing it over his chest and bowing in a Chiss salute.

"Crahstor Vuluo'lar'mitth," he said sternly.

"At ease." The tall Chiss nodded. "Your patrol ended an hour ago, Crahst'en."

"I know, sir. My brother wanted to see Greater Csaplar," he lied.

"This little man?" He looked down at Vrawl. "What's your name?"

"Th-thav'raw'loni, sir," the boy managed.

"Another Thav, eh?" The Captain leaned down to look him in the eye. "Are you a fighter? Or a smooth talker like your brother?"

Vrawl stared back without a clear or definitive answer forming in his mind.

"I don't know," he said honestly.

"Mhmm," Captain Olarm came close to chuckling. "We'll see, won't we?" He poked a finger into the emblem on his school uniform. "Already six years old. Another four and you get to come play with the big boys."

Vrasl looked down at his brother worriedly.

"Hopefully he won't get posted too far from home," he said.

"Well, with a brother like you, I think some strings will get pulled real good," the Captain told him. "Run along home now. See you tomorrow, bright and early."

"Yes, sir." Vrasl saluted once again.

"Wait," Vrawl interrupted. "Do you know anything about the statue of the Unknown Soldier on the surface?"

Vrasl froze, his eyes wide.

The Captain's good humor was washed away faster than the fountain of water behind them.

"The what?" he said tersely.

"There's a statue on the surface," Vrawl continued adamantly. "It's a soldier and it's old and almost black. He's looking towards the North Pole. And there's no name or inscription. He looks like he's ready to die. What does it mean?"

Captain Olarm looked down at the boy with the coldest stare a Chiss could give, scarlet eyes glowing brightly.

"I'm really sorry, sir," Vrasl interrupted. "He's been watching too many conspiracy vids on the extranet this week. I can't get him to turn them off."

The Captain raised an eyebrow and studied his subordinate carefully. He seemed to find something trustworthy in the young man's face and unknitted his brow.

"I see," he said calmly. Then he looked down at Vrawl. "You shouldn't let that garbage clutter up your mind, vir'chah. Stick to facts and reality. There's no statue up there. Just ice and snow."

Vrawl was about to complain but Vrasl quickly grabbed his hand and squeezed tight.

"We'll be going then, sir," he said, employing his trademark smile with just a hint of his perfect teeth.

"I'll see you tomorrow," the Captain nodded and turned on his heel to march away.

Vrawl was about to open his mouth but a very swift hand closed it and held until the tall Captain was out of earshot.

"What do you think you're doing?" Vrasl hissed. "You want to get me discharged?"

"I was just asking a question," Vrawl complained.

"The wrong question," his brother pressed. "I need you to understand this, brother. There are things that are forbidden and unspoken for a reason. Please don't go looking for it. There's only so much I can protect you from."

"It's just a statue," Vrawl persisted. "Why is everyone acting like it's such a big secret? Don't you see? There's something weird going on here."

"It's not our place to question it," Vrasl said sternly. "Do you understand?"

"No."

The young soldier sighed.

"You see this fountain?" He pointed at the pool of dancing water. "We are the tiny molecules of water that knit together to make society."

"From each according to his ability, to each according to his need. I know," Vrawl said.

"That's true for us because we're commoners. And this-" He pointed to the gilded lady. "-is the Aristocracy."

"To them we are these tiny molecules of water. Useful, but on a planet full of ice and snow, replaceable. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"No."

Vrasl sighed.

"We mean nothing to them, Vrawl. They can do anything they want. Including building a statue to no one on the surface and they don't have to answer your questions."

Vrawl was about to argue but his brother interrupted.

"All they have to do is say one word and our entire family gets sent to one of the colonies. They'll banish us to the newest one and none of us will ever see Csilla, ever again. Do you understand?"

Vrawl's lip tightened as he looked down at his feet.

"Yes, ra'su..."

Vrasl sighed.

"Good. Now, let's go home." He offered his hand. "And don't tell mother about any of this, alright?"

"Ma'resh, rasu..." Vrawl took his hand sulkily.

His brother gripped it tight and set off toward the far end of the plaza where a wide crystal shaft passed through the pfalesfir. The two of them lined up in the designated queuing area along with several others.

"I'm sorry," Vrasl said, noticing his brother's pout. "It's for your own good."

But it didn't help.

A carriage full of Chiss arrived at the platform and the door chimed pleasantly to announce the disembarkation of its passengers. The queue waited patiently for them all to alight and filed in one at a time in an orderly fashion.

"Which platform are you travelling to?" the attendant asked Vrasl.

"Hach'ahku'vrou'kai."

"Chah'ir'vahs, nara'su," she replied politely and tapped in the number.

The carriage filled up and when the last number had been entered into the system, the door closed and they began to descend.

Vrawl leaned onto the rail and watched the many roads and platforms and buildings drift by. Speeders passed and messenger bikes flew and the ten gleaming towers in the center of the city soon disappeared from view.

Vrasl pointed out an advertisement for an upcoming extranet series about the frontier but Vrawl crossed his arms over the railing and buried his head.

"Ra'su..." Vrasl reached out and touched his shoulder. "Come on, little brother. You can't not speak to me now."

"Yes, I can."

"Ah. There, see."

"Shut up."

"Hey, watch your language," Vrasl scolded.

"Why? I'm just a stupid commoner, right?" Vrawl grumbled. "My words are meaningless."

"They're not meaningless. And neither are your actions. You just need to prove yourself worthy of hearing. Worthy of following."

"Like you?"

"I'm second in my Captain's unit," Vrasl said. "And when my conscription finishes, I'm joining the Diplomatic Service."

"That's just pencil pushing," Vrawl muttered into the window.

"Pencil pushing with a lot more power," he said. "Might even be enough to ask who built a certain statue..."

Vrasl saw the reflection of Vrawl's face light up.

"Really?" He turned around quick.

"If we don't get kicked off Csilla first." Vrasl raised an accusing eyebrow.

"I'll be good, I promise." Vrawl hugged him.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

They travelled further and further down and soon the crystal city changed and morphed into pfal'mean and steel. The lights became a single warm tone of orange and yellow, like sunlight beneath the ground.

The speeders still zipped by the crystal carriage but with far less speed and grace than the ones above. Simple family and transport vehicles filled the air and flew through the suspended roads. The advertisements and billboards grew plain, less extravagant and there were no singing fountains and statues to entertain the stern Chiss.

Many of their travelling companions alighted and eventually the two brothers were surrounded by a whole new group of people heading down into Lower Csaplar.

They passed a wall of molten earth, red and glowing behind a serapfis wall, its energy collected by thermal generators on the other side. Many a plate was attached to the firewall and the black panels created ever-changing silhouettes on the red and gold.

"How do they sleep up here?" Vrawl asked his brother. "It's so bright."

"Everyone has shutters, ra'su."

"You think they help?"

"Probably..."

They travelled further down and the molten wall disappeared. More buildings sprang up and here, the light became uniform and warm. Suburban.

"Hach'ahku'vrou'kai," the attendant called out.

"That's us," Vrasl said, grabbing Vrawl's hand. "Come on, stay close."

They pushed through the crowded carriage and stepped onto the platform where a patient queue was already waiting to board.

The street was made of a dark steel and mirai'nis, greyed with age and beset by more Chiss than could be counted. Two of them matriculated from one block to the other, following the sentient flow further and further until they made a turn.

They followed the street for several more blocks and finally came to an apartment building that looked exactly like the ones beside it and the ones beside them.

Vrasl poked the intercom and the door unlocked without anyone picking up.

The two of them entered the hall and took not three steps before the landlady emerged from her little office.

"Thav brothers." She eyed them suspiciously. "Late again, I see."

"Ruastor Yoss'oto'dali." Vrasl bowed respectfully. "We were just returning from Greater Csaplar. My brother wanted to accompany me on my patrol."

"Don't lie to me, Vrasl," Sotod glared. "I've been subject to your cunning smile long enough to know when you're lying to me."

"It's true, Miss," Vrawl interrupted. "I wanted to see the Csillan Fine Art Museum. I have a project to do for school."

"Do you now?" The wizened Chiss leaned down to pinch his cheek. "Aren't you a clever little wonder? Using your brother to get ahead of your classmates."

"It was very informative." Vrawl nodded. "There was an interactive exhibit and everything."

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, vir'chah." She patted him on the head. "Go on home and tell your mother now. She'll be worrying."

"Yes, Miss Sotod."

Vrasl inclined his head politely and guided his brother over to the turbolift. Sotod's wise old mahogany eyes followed them all the way in but when the doors closed, they could swear she was still watching.

"How many times have you been to the Museum without me?" Vrasl asked as the car began ascending.

Vrawl glanced up at him worriedly.

"Three."

"When?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Ra'su..."

"Alright. It was your drill days last season."

Vrasl looked down at him hopelessly.

"What am I going to do with you...?" He sighed.

"Take me again?" Vrawl smiled.

"Fine. But only if you stop going by yourself."

"I promise," the boy said happily.

"You better come through on these."

"Warrior's word," he said proudly.

"You're not a warrior, Vrawl."

"One day, I will be. Just like you and chah'su."

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

"I like to plan ahead." He smiled.

"Yes. I know." Vrasl looked away. "You remember what we talked about?"

"I don't tell mother about the statue conspiracy."

"There's no-" Vrasl stopped. "Close enough."

They arrived at their designated floor and walked out into the black hallway. A warm light beamed down from an uninterrupted light fixture travelling down the ceiling and illuminated the identical doors.

One of them bore the Chiss number seventy six on its tiny screen and four names were listed beneath it.

H’sottor Thav'oren'loni Vimrau Shits'uvi'thav Crahst’en Thav'ras'loni Thav'raw'loni

Vrasl opened the unlocked door and let go of his brother's hand. The freed Chiss ran inside and straight into his mother's outstretched arms. She lifted him up and hugged him tight as Vrasl began the long and meticulous process of removing his uniform.

"You're late," Tsuvith said, putting Vrawl down. She pressed her lips into his forehead. "And you're running a fever." Her bright red eyes glittered worriedly.

"Vrasl, what is the meaning of this?" she demanded.

"He must have picked up a bug at school." He shrugged.

"Ah, nai." She touched her son's face. "Was it that Chiru boy again? I have half a mind to send his mother a scientific journal on herd immunity for the common cold."

"I'm fine, chah'seh," Vrawl said as his nose began dripping.

"No, no, no, no..." She immediately procured several flimsi wipes.

"It's just warm in here," he said, taking off the scarf.

"That's the first sign."

"Is there anything to eat?" Vrasl wandered past in his slacks.

"Food is for men with pants on," Tsuvith declared.

"I'm wearing pants," he said, continuing into the kitchen.

"And a shirt," she called out, unsealing Vrawl's coat.

"And a shower!" she added.

"Can't wear a shower, mother." Vrasl emerged with crumbly pastries in both hands.

"Use a plate, Vrasl. I'm not raising savages."

"But-"

"No excuses." She snatched the pastries from his hands. "Go. Wash. That's an order, soldier boy."

"Yessir." He saluted, disappearing down the hall.

Tsuvith put the pastries back and returned to help her youngest out of his warm clothing.

"Did you have fun today?" she asked kindly.

"Mmm." Vrawl nodded. "I really enjoyed the museum."

"Do you have a favourite exhibit?" she asked, hanging his coat.

"Mmm. The rebirth of expressionism is beautiful. They added several new paintings to it from an Aristocra's private collection. Now it's a complete set."

"That's wonderful," Tsuvith said. "I'm glad your brother was lucky enough to be posted in Greater Csaplar. You get to see so much more than I can show you."

"You can go see it too," Vrawl said excitedly. "We can all go together when father comes home."

"Yes..." Tsuvith smiled sadly. "I'm afraid it'll be another month, vir'chah."

"But he was supposed to be home next week,” Vrawl said desperately.

"The Expansionary Fleet said they need him for one more month."

"But we need him too," Vrawl argued. "And he needs us. Right?"

Tsuvith frowned.

"His duty is to the Ascendancy, vir'chah," she said. "Someday you'll understand."

"I understand plenty," he spat and ran off before she could stop him.

He barreled into his room and threw his backpack onto the bed as the door slid shut.

The bag landed on a remote which switched on the extranet terminal. Tiny holograms flickered to life on top of the old box and Vrawl sat down in front of them to stare aimlessly at the Chiss soap opera.

"Ah, Biufaru. My love for you burns hotter than a supernova..."

"Then why are your hands so cold, ros'chah?"

Vrawl rolled his eyes.

"She has vu'rakhis disease," he groaned.

"I must confess," he said. "I have..." There was a pregnant pause. "...vu'rakhis disease."

Vrawl changed the channel and a news broadcast switched on.

"In other news, the Expansionary Fleet has discovered a new star system outside of Picket Line 99-Chu. Three large deposits of pfalium have been identified on its largest planet and will see a surplus of building materials for the coming-"

Vrawl switched the channel again.

"Today we're cooking-"

And again.

"Chai'beiyu, vir'chah. Today, Captain Suri is going to teach you about-"

"Nnngh," Vrawl growled and slammed the power switch.

The holograms on the old black box fizzled out and left the tiny room silent. Vrawl sat there with his head in his hands, running through events in his head.

He was already regretting the conversation with his mother. He'd chosen his words poorly, out of misplaced anger instead of reason. Like a child.

And his brother would be watching him now. His secret trips to the surface exposed. Everything had unravelled so quickly. Spiralling out of control.

He reached up and grabbed his backpack. There was a thick silver datapad inside and he pulled it out to study. Not his books but the statue.

He'd scanned every piece of it before his brother found him. The data transferred to the terminal and Vrawl watched the holoprojector form the Unknown Soldier right in front of him.

He stared at the mysterious man and he stared back.

"Who are you?" he wondered, alone in the dark. “What have you done?”

#thrawn #thrass #me writing a thing #chiss #csaplar #i had another fever dream XD

[reythemandalor]

Ar'alani: Where's everyone?

Thrawn: It is bizarre. They all called in to sign out. Wutroow wasn't feeling well, Eli has got a hot date, and Samakro went to visit Patriach Thalias.

Ar'alani: Son of a...

Thrawn: What?

Ar'alani:Wutroow doesn't get sick, Eli is not on a date because he's in love with you, and Thalias isn’t in Csaplar.

Thrawn: You know about that?

Ar'alani: Yeah, Thalias told me she’s returning to Avidich the last time we spoke.

Thrawn: No, I mean about Eli. How do you know about that?

Ar'alani Everybody knows about that.

#star wars #incorrect quotes #ar'alani #thrawn #thranto #eli vanto #samakro #thalias #samalias #wutroow #chiss ascendancy #thrawn ascendancy

[whirlybirbs]

✶  ———  TO KNOW, DESPERATELY  ;  thrawn

summary: arranged unions aren’t as popular as they once were within the ascendency, but the mitth are keen on anchoring mitth’raw’nuruodo to the lower political rankings of the family. they arrange vows with you, a member of the komisi family and recently scandalized member of csaplar's aristocran security force. the courting rites begin. set after book one of thrawn’s trilogy.

pairing: thrawn / female chiss!reader

word count: 6.9k

soundtrack: listen here

a/n: this is literally me roleplaying as timothy zahn for six thousand words and i cannot even apologize. there’s a whole pinterest board of locations. i’ve been drawing outfits. enjoy what will inevitably be a bunch of slowburn drabbles as i am gutted by the rest of the thrawn trilogy this month. this pretty gif is by @cloudxstrife​ from this set here.

The word comes at the beckoned call of your family's Patriel.

Komisi'dao'moradus is a short man, well into his eighties, who somehow makes even the worst news seem as if it is laden with all the peace, prosperity, and joy in Chiss Ascendency.

His assistant, Komisi'fa'nomo, follows his elder's coattails with three questises juggled in unsteady hands. Sifan is a young and nervous academic, someone who is constantly pushing a rather cumbersome pair of perpetually-too-big, rounded spectacles up his long, sloped nose. As if on cue, he does just that as he scrambles to offer the correct questis queued up with Patriel Idaomo's needed notes.

The Patriel's murky, pink eyes crinkle around the edges as he smiles at you. His vision has worsened in recent months, Siama had explained prior. Idaomo's intricately carved Naporarian birchwood cane wobbles a bit as he bears his weight down onto it.

As you sit beside the current Councilor of the Komisi family — your dear family — and offer the Patriel and his assistant an obligatory smile, you reckon there's something respectable about Idaomo's unwavering service well into his older years. 

Even when he seems as if he's a heartbeat from keeling over any second, lights above—!

"Please," comes the urged voice of Councilor Komisi'am'alo as Idaomo wavers on his feet; there's a panicked shuffle from some of the other high-ranking family members in the room. You note a particularly twisted grimace on the face of one of the House's guards. She watches the unsteady bow with elevated amounts of anxiety and shifts at her post, "Take a seat, Patriel."

"—Oh, oh, yes, thank you."

Lest you'll keel over, you think to yourself, and Sifan lets it happen.

Councilor Siama visibly relaxes in his spot on a long, pale emerald sofa once Idaomo heeds his suggestion. The Councilor — a man who you've come to admire greatly in your unexpected time at the estate — gestures quickly to the intricately carved chair adjacent to his own, beside you. The lines of worry in his brow are nearly comical.

Siama can be a rather dramatic man when it benefits him — such is the life of a politician. Even still, you're slowly beginning to wonder if perhaps this grandiosely cynical disposition is simply how he is.

The sitting room to the Komisi's main estate on Rentor is rather nice — though, admittedly as a cousin of the family, it wasn't often you found yourself here. Up until recently, that is. Now, with your earlier-than-planned retirement... well, Rentor's capital city was nice enough. Warm, even. Quite the adjustment from Csilla.

High windows cast streams of warm light as Patriel Idaomo lowers himself — and his heap of official Aristocran regalia — into the chair beneath him with a creak. Beautiful crimson linens with gold embroidery pool around his spindly wrists. His voice — no matter how kind — quivers with age, and his papery blue hands remain knotted in his robes as he smiles.

"I bring good news."

Sifan offers the questis from over Idaomo's shoulder.

Somehow you suspect he does not bring good news.

You learned quickly in your time at the Ascendency's capital that when word trickled down from Syndics to Patriels to Councilors there was most likely a catch. A political one, certainly. And with everything that had gone on in the last few months surrounding the attack on Csilla and conflict with the Nikardun, the impacted supply lines to Kinoss have been a spot of continuing political strain between the Komisis and several families — mostly the Mitths.

For as long as you can remember, the Komisis have always been a family built upon their pivotal contributions to Chiss arts and finery — silks, embroidery, jewelry, and the gem trade would be nothing without the Komisian hand. Paying ode to craftsmanship, as much mining and refinery, was a poignant part of carrying this family name.

The planet Kinoss, far to the Galactic East and on the outskirts of the Ascendency's core territory, plays a pivotal role in the family's attributed reputation. After all, the planet's pyroclastic caverns yield a wide array of gems used in day-to-day Chiss fashion. Owning something like a Komisian hand-carved periquartzen bracelet is seen as a flagrant display of status. It's the societal desire of those very baubles that cements the Komisis position amongst the Great Families.

Hells, everyone in this room was gilded with Komisi finery. You weren't exempt. Your crystalline pink teardrop earrings sway as you bow your head slightly. There is a necklace beneath your collar of matching pink quartz. Even your traditional dress was overlaid with familial touch. The silks were embroidered with spring scenery — specific to the family's homeworld of Rentor. The telltale jade-green of the family is intertwined in nearly every piece you wear.

The collar was a bit itchy. But on-trend. And, you suppose, rather pretty. Even you could admit that much, even if the layers of silks will stifle your freedom at the behest of expectations of you, a Komisi cousin. Blood, but not so coveted as a true son or daughter.

The Mitth were busy with the Usfa, vying for rights to mine Thearterra — pinching the supply to their main inner-Ascendency export on Kinoss was becoming a sore spot. The truth was that, despite their reputation, the Komisi relied heavily on the larger ruling family to fund their mining operations. Travel, freighter transport, and operations came at no small cost.

Talks of barter between the Mitth and the Komisi families have been rumored for nearly a month now. It seems like your well-timed leave from the Csilla's capital Security Force was enough of a push to get those talks going.

When Patriel Idaomo speaks, the entire room listens.

"The matter of union has been proposed as a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Ah.

There it is.

Councilor Siama has to hand it to you. He expected some sort of reaction at the suggestion. After all, arranged unions were gradually becoming less common Ascendency practice. At one time, they were as ordinary as snowfall. Siama and his husband had been arranged — and his mother before him. In fact, the sitting Councilor knew the history of the Komisi family well enough to rattle off eight generations worth of notable matches — each bringing in powerful allies from other Great Families. Even some from the previous Ruling Twelve.

This newer generation of Chiss is less interested, really. Often, the more vocal a blood-born or cousin was about matched marriage, the less likely it was to happen. As helpful as an arranged match could be, a messy severance of vows was nearly twice as troublesome.

And — in the current political climate between the Komisi and the Mitth — the suggestion bears more weight than usual.

Weighty. But, not entirely unexpected.

Siama finds his inky, blue-black brows lifting at Partiel Idaomo's words as he processes them.

Certainly, it would reinvigorate a sense of comradery between both parties. A union of such is a metaphorical peace offering, after all. For the Mitth to propose such an arrangement meant they were willing to bring in a Komisi into their family ranks.

Quite the compliment.

You're apprehensive.

You level your gaze with Siama's, then incline your head to the Patriel.

The delicate beading of your headdress tinkers as you do. "With respect, may I ask who the proposed union is with, Patriel Idaomo?"

Immediately, you find yourself wishing you could swallow the question back up. You know that the answer doesn't matter, truthfully — you will do whatever the family decides in line with your status as a cousin. You hold a unique position of power in the House of Komisi. One that can be kept or traded. Your name and your life, now, are one to barter with for the betterment of the family.

The person matters not. Whatever Chiss they've betrothed you to, so be it. You find yourself scowling at the girlish request to know their name.

"They propose Senior Captain Mitth'raw'nuruodo."

...Oh.

Your head snaps up. All girlish demure melts away and shifts to a glacier-like sense of disbelief.

Siama mutters a curse in Cheunh.

Where he saw a levelheaded young woman, he now sees the other half of you — a warrior who has just been ordered down from war.

You clench your jaw so tight your teeth ache. It's all you can really do to keep your mouth from falling open.

The clear joy with which Idaomo speaks the name is as if he has no idea who the Senior Captain in question is. None, none whatsoever. There simply isn't any way that's the case — after all, Idaomo was present in the ongoing proceedings around Yiv the Benevolent's arrest.

Idaomo is smiling. Grinning!

He's as affable as ever, even when a cough resounds from one of the sitting room's guards. Even Sifan winces at the delivery of news and moves to push his glasses up hurriedly. Gods, all of this is completely uncomfortable, you decide.

The eyes of a few other high-ranking family members in attendance are now stuck to you with a mixture of bitterness and pity.

All you can do is try not to gawk.

In the corner of your eye, you spot Siama dropping his head into a leaned hand. He rubs his brow with ringed fingers and then pinches the bridge of his nose. Again, another quiet curse is wrung out of him in Cheunh. He crosses his legs, creasing the well-starched blue slacks as his intricate, Komisi-family robes swim around him. He leans his elbow on the arm of the sofa.

He looks as if he'd like to squirm out of his skin.

He's covering his mouth. Hell, he has to. This is — he hadn't expected this. No, no, at first he'd expected the word of a re-matching when Patriel Idaomo had arranged this meeting. A proposed union was a surprise, but not entirely unwelcome.

But this?

... This is disastrous.

This was Thurfian.

"Mitth'raw'nuruodo." 

You say it slowly, looking to confirm the blatant fact.

His name is one you've heard plenty in your time as a silent, faceless Sentry in the inner halls of the Syndicure's main governmental building in the center of Csaplar. You've heard it whispered in hurried tones by passing Syndics or boomed off the walls by bitter Mitth leaders. You were privy to a world of information as a Sentry — that's why the job held a high expectation of anonymity and confidentiality within its ranks.

...The very expectation you'd broken when you'd learned of a high-ranking officer spilling family secrets back to her homestead.

Perhaps you did earn your permanent leave for your post. And the knife in your back mid-confrontation.

"Senior Captain Mitth'raw'nuruodo," Idaomo corrects with a well-natured waggle of his finger, "A rather accomplished member of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet from the word of Syndic Thurfian."

...Thurfian.

You can't place his face, but you're sure you know the name. Siama — on the other hand — knows is oh-so-well.

"I must say 'accomplished' would not be my sought-after definition of Senior Captain Thrawn," comes Siama's pained voice, muffled into his hand as he bows his head. He looks as if he'll wind himself into a knot on the couch out of sheer frustration.

And there's Patriel Idaomo, as happy as ever, speaking candidly. "Ah, so you have heard of him?"

Heard of him?

What politically-minded Chiss hadn't?

Now, it was all beginning to make sense. The Mitth weren't offering this union as a means of agreeance, of comradery. No, they were attempting to keep their family's black-bantha from rising the ranks. Marriage to a lower-ranking member of one lesser, Great Family would certainly cement his status — at least politically — as defunct.

Suddenly, a rush of full offense blossoms at the double-edged implication of the union.

So that was just it: you were seen as an amenable option to keep the orchestrator of the Vagaari pirate incident, Mitth'raw'nuruodo, anchored to the lower political caste of his family. You, with your own sorted and blemished reputation in the eyes of the Ascendency. Even still, you can't help but feel it was hardly worth the sort of punishment being given.

Your leave from Csaplar's Security Force had been on necessary terms. You did the right thing. You had caused a stir, certainly, when one loose thread lead to a pull a parsec long. Bribery and blackmail were certainly expected of the Syndicure, but their security force? Unimaginable. And you'd been the one to unabashedly draw all attention to it. You were, in a way, lucky the attack on Csilla came a week after the wave of turmoil came crashing down — it preoccupied the frenzy.

It clearly didn't stifle it enough, however.

You have to fight a sneer at the thought of some Mitth Syndic casting judgment upon your now tarnished reputation. Thurfian, you remember.

The most difficult part of all this is that House Komisi will see a union to a Mitth as a move towards greater political power — in the fallout, and in the wake of the Kinoss mining tensions, this will be a well-sought gesture in the eyes of the public. After all, if one of the Great Nine was to choose a cousin to marry into their family, the House was worth renown. There was no possible way the Komisi would say no to this purposed union. In the grand scheme of the Family's best interest, the pros outweighed the cons.

All in all, a rather daring play by the Mitth.

One that leaves your hands completely tied.

"Yes, Idaomo, we've heard of him," Siama says, still as pained as before.

You reach up to press a well-manicured hand to the curve of your brow. Once again, the delicate beadwork sewn along the headdress jingles and sways. Your hair is wound up and back, hidden beneath the traditional Komisian piece of apparel. You'd always admired your mother in this set of robes, in the blues and greens of House Komisi. Now, you feel the part of a girl playing dress-up. The truth is, you're far from it. But, uncertainty creeps in to weigh you down just as the layers and layers of handsomely embroidered silks do.

You'd thought you knew the right thing to do all those months ago. You were confident then, leading the charge to stamp out the corruption — and it lost you your respected title as Sentry and earned you a vibroblade to the back. Even now, as you cross your legs, the healing wound aches.

Eugh.

You can feel a headache coming on.

Perhaps your headdress is too tight. If you're lucky, this is all some ridiculous dream.

"What do you say, then?" Idaomo asks you, leaning forward a bit as he hands off his questis to Sifan and smiles, "We can propose a chaperoned visit — perhaps to belay the anxieties of the courting rites? I see no reason why the Mitth would oppose."

Siama slides you a look.

You slide it right back.

"All due respect, Councilor, Patriel," you bow your head to both men respectively, "My thoughts on the matter bear no weight on the determination of this offered union. I extend myself as a hand for us Komisis. If this union will cement a further friendship with the Mitth, then I abide."

Siama hasn't known you long. Surely he's known of you — a cousin who spent her years training to acquire a coveted position in the Csaplar's Security Force. Though the positions were bided in secrecy, he knew you to be a reputable woman. To serve the Syndicure meant to be privy to the sort of secrets families would kill over. And now, stripped of your title, you still maintain the sense of dignity that earned you that position of Sentry.

Siama feels a pang of guilt in his chest. There are members of the family that resented you, surely, as any sort of scandal was a sure promise of disappointment. To some Chiss, a good life meant wading through the water so slow as to barely cause a ripple. But, you did a good thing — and here you are, falling victim to the bewildering game of politics you sought to protect.

The Councilor draws in a deep inhale through his nose. He claps his hands to his knees and tries to shake his evident anxieties away — for now, a union was something to celebrate. And, if the Mitth saw the Komisi excited over this probable union, then maybe it would knock some damn sense into them.

"Then, I believe we best contact the Mitth family's representatives," he says, "As we have a union to prepare."

You try your best to smile. It comes off pained. Idaomo doesn't mind. He wouldn't be able to see the exhausted look in your eyes, anyways. He laughs brightly as he rings those weathered, blue hands together.

"Isn't this exciting?"

✶  ———  ✶  ———  ✶  ———  ✶ 

"Isn't this exciting..."

Ar'alani has no idea how to react. Truth be told, the late-night interruption to her usual wind-down routine wasn't all that unwelcome. After all, it was Thrawn who came knocking on the door to her quarters well past the implemented CEDF curfew.

He is — as odd as it feels to admit — one of her closest friends.

I mean, people like her and Thrawn don't have friends. They have higher-ups, co-commanding officers, and warriors under their command. They sit neatly in a well-balanced military hierarchy that isn't built for friendships, even when they pack them into the barracks like a bunch of Sorgan salt-water sardines. Or, better yet, a bunch of first-year academics finally getting a taste of freedom.

...Well, Wutroow is a friend. Thalias, too. Even Samakro could be considered if she squinted hard enough.

The whole lot of them were unofficially grounded — at least while the majority of the fallout from their little incident with dearly beloved Yiv the Benevolent unrolled in the trials and courts of the Aristocra. General Ba'kif had called it a vacation of sorts, though Ar'alani isn't sure how much one could truly relax on Naporar. While the planet is home to the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet, it isn't exactly quiet.

Naporar is a densely urbanized planet, laying directly on some of the most vital hyperlanes within the Ascendency. Spaceports, shipyards, docking and repairs stations... Not to mention sky-creeping complexes of barracks, training grounds, and educational buildings as far as the eye can see. And that was only the Fleet District. Outside of that, the bustle and burn of life in the city rolled on.

Some of the best starcherry puff bread came from a bakery on the outskirts of the Fleet District. An entire loaf of her favorite guilty pleasure is sitting on the small counter across the room. That was certainly a plus to being planet-side. Wutroow would agree.

... The point is, friends are rare. All the more reason Ar'alani let him in, despite her barely awake state. She was in bed with her tea and slice of puff-bread, parsing a handful of old academy flight tactics when he knocked.

Light reading material. And a snack to boot.

Thrawn's quarters were across the esplanade — smaller at the behest of his rank, but accommodating all the same. He'd known those walls for a handful of years now. To pry him from the quiet calm on a rainy evening, when he himself could be reading about the mid-to-late century analytical cubist movement that gripped Mandalorian painters at the tail end of one of their civil wars?

He'd nearly thrown himself from his cot when the notification had lit up his desk questis, painting his face a stark — and rare — look of confusion.

The moment Ar'alani's door slid open, she saw the out-of-character stare on his face and knew that this interruption would most likely be important, if not well worth it.

What she wasn't expecting was a burning bright questis page being shoved her way, bearing the title:

[IMPORTANT] UPON IMMEDIATE REQUEST — UNION RITES

She almost laughed. Then, she saw the twisted corner of Thrawn's frown and realized he had not been expecting this either.

No, not at all.

"I don't understand."

"I am afraid it's exactly what it says," she says slowly.

Ar'alani tries not to sound as if she just sucked on a sour citra wedge. Marriage? Really? What sort of half-cocked idea was this? No doubt Thurfian had a hand in this. When they'd landed back in Ascendency space the waves of uproar were nearly immediate. One particular Syndic seemed particularly interested in keeping Thrawn out of the fray... as long as possible.

But, marriage? A proposed union, of all things?

Hell, they must be desperate.

But, they were Expansionary Defense Fleet officers. No doubt Thrawn will soon be earning flag rank — and he will give up the Mitth family name just as she did when she first took the post as Commodore. A proposed union meant little with no family to tie your power down to one nexus.

Furthermore, marriage wasn't often explored by active members of the CEDF — not until retirement when re-admittance to a family was sought or permitted. Be it proposed union or desired union, Chiss courting rituals alone sometimes proved lengthy and time-consuming, all dependant on the families involved and their respective traditions.

Ar'alani can remember a particular Irizi cousin who spent three whole months locked in courtship practice with her soon-to-be partner. And the Irizi weren't even considered a particularly devout family to traditional Ascendency courting rites.

The wedding itself, however, was rather fun. She remembers that much... and she doubts that would come as any consolation to Thrawn.

Ar'alani's words come out more pitied, and half-winced. She's trying to make a joke. "I take it you would have told me if you'd met someone nice—"

Thrawn wants to laugh.

But, he's too preoccupied with reading the debriefing note over and over — so preoccupied, he's hardly noticed he's begun to pace as Ar'alani settles down on the edge of her mid-sized cot and crosses both her legs and arms. She winds herself tightly, feeling a sudden edge of guilt creep into her heart.

In truth, she never considered marriage. Her career is the most important thing to her — and she held not a single doubt that Thrawn felt the exact same way. Now, be it by Thurfian's hand or some other power-that-be, that path he'd spent carving out for himself was changing.

Not at all lost but changing. Whether he likes it or not, it seems.

"The only logical answer I can glean from this," he says finally as he lifts his gaze and levels it with Ar'alani's, "Is that our little... conflict with Yiv alarmed those above us more than we realized."

Ar'alani lifts a brow. "You believe this is retaliatory?"

"Perhaps," he's regained some of his cool edge. Even still, he doesn't seem completely convinced, "Though I am struggling to understand it with clarity."

"It would make sense," she explains slowly, measuring his reaction, "Proposed unions are usually built with political goals in mind. Let me see the note. Did it say anything about your match?"

Thrawn hands the questis over once more. The bite of anxiousness is an unsettling feeling in his chest. It's the prospect of becoming a pawn once more in a political game — one he had ever hardly understood — that has him pinned with discomfort now.

Even worse is the fact the Kivu family rarely dealt in proposed unions. They were by no means lower caste, but... Union to a Kivu dealt no winning cards. It was power lost to induct one into a Greater Family. The only unions Thrawn knew of were desired ones.

The most secretive part of himself, one he keeps well tucked away, pangs at the thought — those unions, like that of his mother and father, were born out of love. Respect, care, and adoration. Foundationally speaking, those were things that, yes, Thrawn looked forward to — because love could only be witnessed so many ways through the brushstrokes of a Nabiran pasture in spring. To see the petal-mouthed kiss of lovers in a Bespin sky was one thing.

Thrawn hesitated to admit he yearned to know the feel of it.

And here he is, pacing across the confines of Ar'alani's apartment with not a single idea of who you are.

Ar'alani scrolls. "No indication of gender—"

"Hardly a concern."

"Ah, it says here they're a Komisi," Ar'alani notes with a reflective tone of approval, "Surely you'll both have plenty to talk about."

"Meaning?" Thrawn inquires, tilting his head minutely.

Ar'alani flicks her eyes over him. Dark lashes narrow in thought. "The Komisi are a family dedicated to the arts — Chiss finery, really. Gems, silks, those itchy, traditional collared jackets that are back in style. You know the ones."

The inky-haired woman waves a hand to dismiss her own off-hand comment and returns to skimming the query. Not important. The Admiral continues as Thrawn lifts a hand and thumbs the curve of his lower lip in thought.

That is some small comfort.

"And — if I am caught up on recent political drama — the Mitth and the Komisi are vying for a return to equal footing following the interruption of Kinoss supply lines."

"You're suggesting it's purely political, then."

"There was never any doubt about that," she corrects lightly, "Though what the end game is, I cannot be too sure."

Lovely.

Thrawn's expression is rather flat. Ar'alani offers the questis back. The Senior Captain decidedly clicks it shut and tucks it beneath his arm. There's a momentary pause, and then in a rare show of frayed composure, he bows his head and pinches the long, straight bridge of his nose.

The Admiral watches her friend with an apologetic look.

"You could always say no, you know," she proposes slowly.

Then, Thrawn looks up at her like she's just said the most blasphemous thing in a thousand years of Ascendency history. His own dark, crimson eyes narrow critically. He almost rolls his eyes. But, he doesn't. And that's enough for Ar'alani to quirk a brow at his reaction.

"Please, I never took you for the sentimental type, Thrawn."

"It's not sentimentality," he explains curtly, "It's..."

Her smile is slow. Not at all unkind, Thrawn realizes. But gentle and apologetic. "A bit daunting?"

"It's politics, Ar'alani," he says slowly as he knocks the questis with gloved knuckles. In comparison to her white uniform, the one Thrawn wears is as black as the Chaos outside, "Interpersonal politics, now. Try as I might — and fail as I often do — I attempt to give topics as such a wide breadth."

Ar'alani sees a twitch in his fingers as he straightens his posture. He's nervous. A rare sight — coming from the man who usually could be presumed to know everything.

Thrawn sought comfort in knowing. In... In understanding what came next. If he's able to parse the tactics, he can understand the intentions. Life is easier that way — when he knows how everything fits together before he finds himself hip-deep in the middle of it all.

"You plan on agreeing to the proposal, then?"

"I don't believe I have much choice in the matter," he breathes, "I hesitate to disrupt the Syndicure's plans with little understanding of their goals. That would be... unwise."

"It wouldn't be out of character for Thurfian and his ilk to be hoping you'll deny the inquest, either."

"Precisely," he nods, "So, I will act in agreeance for now."

"Let us hope they are kind, then," Ar'alani hums as she leans back and twists her mouth into a frown, "And patient. That is all people like us can ask for, after all."

He mulls on that for a while, on the slow walk back to his designated barracks.

And, back in the quiet and comfort of his quarters, he digs into the Komisi family name.

✶  ———  ✶  ———  ✶  ———  ✶ 

"Are you nervous?"

You hadn't expected such a question to come from Councilor Siama, of all people — but you find comfort in knowing he cared enough to ask. Across from you in the land speeder, he crosses his legs and tilts his head. He looks apathetic, and the gilded lines of the Komisi family's traditional make-up sharpen his already angular face.

You bear a mirrored composition — formulated of oil harvested and ground from the homestead's own skylily patch and a heaping pile of gilded mineral dusts — that runs up the length of your nose and splits into two archs above each brow. It's itchy, and it feels like it cracks when you worry your brows together.

Immediately, you smooth your expression. You huff.

Was that the original purpose of this face paint? To remind the Chiss that wears it to mind your countenances?

The heavy, albeit beautiful, silks of the Komisi's traditional union garments feel like they're wrapping their little hands around your neck and wringing you to death. Two sashes are family heirlooms, gifted as guidance — how kind. The pale, white qartzen earrings that hang low along your throat are your mother's, and the headdress you're wearing keeps your hair back and well out of the way.

That was a gift from Patriel Idaomo himself.

There are other parting gifts from the family woven into the outfit, as it usually goes in the case of Komisi family nuptial traditions. A delicate bracelet, the Cheunh invocation embroidered into the hem of a duracotton sock, three rings for mother, wife, and child.

All in all, you feel like a walking green, gold, and white advert for the family's craftsmanship — and you find yourself wishing to be back in that ridiculous, well-starched, high and tight Security Force uniform. Hell, you'll even throw on the boots that give you blisters no matter how many times you break them in, and thirty pounds worth of your usual polycarbonite armor. Then, at least, you'd be comfortable — emotionally speaking.

The find yourself laying a hand flat to the thin white band of embroidered silk secured around your waist.

Mitth'raw'nuruodo will be wearing a similar piece of apparel — this chord was a common tradition among the Chiss. Worn around waists, it was indicative of courting phases. Later on, it will be a signature of newlyweds. Some families insisted on keeping the sashes on nearly a year following the union. Something about preserving luck. In that case, the white sashes are traded in for woven chords — to be worn around wrists or off of jackets.

You exhale, your puffed cheeks deflating as you do so.

"I don't know if nervous is the right word."

"—Perhaps you ought to be," comes Siama's catty reply, "Seeing as I may just gut Thurfian where he stands—"

The speeder shifts over one of the traffic speed-runs as he speaks. You both list side to side. You laugh. Again, you smooth your brow as to not crinkle your makeup. You clear your throat.

"It's fine, Siama—"

"A right bastard he is. Never listens. He'd burn the Ascendency to the ground if he thought it means of bettering it," Siama snaps as he leans forward and waves a gilded hand, "I don't like him using you as a pawn."

Your brow quirks. "I'm shocked you're this upset."

"Of course I am," he lays a hand flat to his chest; the speeder rocks again, "Look at you. The family ought to be hailing you as Hero of the Security Force's Confidence. Instead, here we are — marrying you off to Mitth'raw'nuruodo."

Your scoff is bitter. 

You turn your eyes out the window and watch Rentor's capital roll by. The grand architecture and winding canals are framed by bustling crowds. Academics and politicians and vacationers... All mingling along the main stretch of Philon's governmental district. Though the Aristocra has no formal footing here, the capital still possesses the space for members to convene and converse. Surrounding the capital building — that looms in the high distance — are various religious buildings and public spaces. Libraries, colleges, markets.

It's almost sunset. Everything is bathed in warm light.

"Maybe it's for the best."

Siama frowns. He casts a slow look over your expression — and he notes the touch of melancholy there. You've done a mighty job hiding it, through all the forced merriments and weighty family dinners that have led up to this catalytic conference.

It's tradition for the parties of arranged unions to be introduced with family representatives present — the high gardens in Philon frequently operated as a place to do so. Propositioned families frequently hosted the first meeting. While representatives converse over the political exchange, the courted are expected to walk the gardens. All of these moving pieces. It's a simple enough duty.

Though, the buzzing swarm that overwhelms you the moment you step from the stopped speeder would have you believe otherwise.

You inhale tightly as Siama closes the door behind you. You try to ignore the chatter of Cheunh that flies around you as two of the family's attendants make work on touching up your make-up and adjusting your robes. They're experts in their application, and the two older women seem vested in the perfection of your appearance. They aren't exactly gentle, but their looks are fond when they step back to admire their handiwork.

As you're pulled and prodded and poked, Idaomo and Sifan emerge from their vehicle — behind them, a train of Komisi advocates and Aristocran constituents gathers. They meander along, keen to hinge their actions on that of the Patriel and Councilor Siama. You are completely secondary to this exchange, it seems.

Idaomo is... as wavering as always.

Gods — can someone help him?

A chatter of members rush up with guided palms when he sways backward a bit too much, and both you and Siama go tense at the display of geriatric concern. But, the Patriel is still smiling. Laughing, even.

You blink away your moment of fear, square your shoulders, and inhale.

Siama slips you a look.

"Are you ready?"

The entrance to the gardens is just ahead — with swelling fountains and intricate bricklay. Ivy vines are climbing the walls, kissing the electric lamplights that grow brighter with every inch of the sun that dips below the horizon line. You can see a gathered crowd at the South entrance, no doubt the Mitth family organizing their own procession.

Patriel Idaomo greets you with a grand smile — those pink, cloudy eyes of his wrinkling with joy.

"You look beautiful, my starlight."

Even though he can't see you — even though you're simply a blurry little figment of the Komisis future — you believe him.

"Thank you, Patriel Idaomo."

You mean it.

The compliment is enough to spur you onward. Siama, as your main representative, matches your pace with ease. Each stride is easy, carrying your forward as you clasp your hands before you and keep your shoulders back. You cast a look behind you, marveling at the long train of the family that's come to engage in the transactional quality of this meeting. It's certainly something.

When you turn your gaze forward, you see that the Mitth have begun to enter the garden as well.

Up until this point, you realize, you never considered what Mitth'raw'nuruodo might look like.

You've heard his name plenty of time. And still, you never bothered to match his name to his face.

You've been so difficult with yourself. You'd sworn away any fantastical romantic thoughts. After all, this was a duty. There would be time, well down the road, to consider the romantic implications. For now, this was a trade. A display of vested interest in the Komisis success. You had a role to play and you intended to play it well, well enough that perhaps the scrutinizing gazes of these very Komisi family members would miss you.

...Doubtful. But, you'd try your damnedest.

But, as you enter the maze-like center of the garden, you realize that the man beside Thurfian must be him.

You're pleasantly shocked.

Nowhere in the winding gossip of Senior Captain Thrawn's exploits was there a detailed note of his looks. No, no one ever mentioned he was handsome. Tall — very tall — with a striking profile and strong posture. His void-black CEDF dress uniform is perfectly set; it seems like he was born to wear it. There's a decorum of gilded little pins along his chest. Along his shoulder, there's a skylily-white chord that matches the one across your waist.

The Mitth are more practical. Less obsessed with the theatrics and fashion associated with a monumental moment such as this. Their garb is simple, lacking in comparison to the silks and paints and gems of the Komisi.

"No one said he was handsome," you mutter tightly as you walk alongside Siama.

"His accomplishments overshadow any conversation about his looks," the lanky Councilor offers slowly. He was just thinking the same thing — lights alive, that man is tall. He scoffs cattily, swaggering along. His voice is low. "Besides, anyone looks good next to Thurfian."

You choke on a laugh.

You swallow it down and try to remember your posture.

When you lift your eyes once more, you find that Thrawn is looking right at you.

After all, you're beautiful — delicately pieced together in traditional family details relevant to the event at hand. You carry the weight well, and Thrawn can see that there's an undercurrent there. Perhaps a dancer? Or a warrior? He isn't sure. A better look at your hands will prove worthy.

Thurfian is tense beside him.

Thrawn tries his best to ignore the stares being burned into the back of his uniform as he steps up into the center of the garden, beneath the blue-glass of the belvedere. The space will serve as a negotiation zone. The families will mingle while he and you take your time about the garden.

The Mitth and the Komisi aren't the only families present tonight, it seems.

Across the way, in another arbor, there is a meeting between the Styblas and the Drocs. They've begun introductions, it seems, and a nervous half of the union seems keen on fainting. He looks rather pale. Shakey.

Another couple is wandering the aisles. Thrawn isn't sure what families they belong to, but he catches a snippet of the conversation as they pass — something about traversing the plain of Chaos' quantum sub-space depending on a multitude of mathematical factors. Interesting enough. Academics they both are.

Thrawn's eyes dart back to you.

In the center of the greenery, he settles neatly with his hands clasped behind his back. Not necessarily at ease. He watches you — sees the way you mind your step and level your head. It's graceful. Easy. The intricate coronet atop your head stays steady. You seem... confident. Placid. Calm. Thrawn even thinks he catches a dash of humor in your expression when you mutter something to the man beside you.

Your words pause. Siama looks up then, noting Thrawn's evident attention on you.

The Councilor smirks.

Komisi finery indeed. Not only in their wares, but in their members as well. Lest any of the Mitth forget, Siama chides to himself, And he's damn proud of it.

While Siama isn't, you are certainly surprised to find Thrawn staring.

Thrawn is wholly convinced your beauty amplifies with every step nearer you take.

There's a bit of confidence that suddenly comes with this territory, you realize. You're not sure you've ever been looked at like this.

This mythic warrior — a steadfast symbol of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Force. A man scandalously invested in the nature of the Ascendency's future. Senior Captain Mitth'raw'nuruodo.

And here he is, bowing low to you.

Here the entirety of the Mitth are, their gesture of welcome rippling through their gathered crowd like a wave. To you.

The Komisi do the same.

At the center of this political cosmos, you stand mere feet from Thrawn. Surrounded by a laurel of advocates and Aristocra, you seem cooly calm. Your expression is set in something that lays between stern and receptive. Your hands still lay entwined before you.

You offer him a well-hidden smile — so subtle as he nearly misses the lifting corners of your painted lips.

"House Mitth," Siama greets, "We excitedly assemble to discuss the arrangements of this prosperous union."

"That we do," Thurfian parrots — the two hold gazes for a tense moment — before he continues, "As the... appropriate parties seemed to be gathered, may we begin?"

You slide your eyes over Thurfian. Siama catches your look. Thrawn notes the glare. Thurfian ignores it in favor of scowling at Siama.

...Already, it's wholly too much for Thrawn.

"We may," Siama grits out, trying his best to play his zealous part.

There's a bated bit of silence as Siama and Thurfian turn to the two of you.

"Then let us allow for our union to walk," comes the excitably weathered voice of Patriel Idaomo, "Go on, as we have done for ages — walk, and know one another."

Easier said than done.

But, with that, you and Thrawn are shooed from the glass-roofed pavilion and into the setting sun. The garden is hailed in pinks and oranges. The path is clear, winding, and long, and as your boots touch the gravel you have a sneaking feeling that this will be a longer night than you anticipated.

If the sudden, terse exchange of informalities between Siama and Thurfian are any indication, you're sure of it.

Thrawn clears his throat.

And so the night begins.

#thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #mitth'raw'nuruodo #thrawn trilogy #thrawn ascendancy #thrawn x oc #thrawn/you #thrawn x y/n #thrawn imagine #LITERALLY I HAVE NO WORDS FOR THIS #to know desperately

[dragonfly-wings1]

Chiss Names, Places, & Words

Currently done with all of the Nu!Canon novels, OF & SQ yet to go. I'm excluding all words with super obvious Latin roots (ie Aristocra, Syndic, Patriel), though something might have slipped in.

Families

Boadil

Chaf

Clarr

Coduyo

Cohbo

Csap

Dasklo

Droc

Elod

Erighal

Evroes

Irizi

Kivu

Kiwu

Krovi

Kynkru

Mitth

Obbic

Plikh

Pommrio

Stybla

Tahmie

Tumaz

Ufsa

Xodlak

Names

Ab'beɡh

Afpriuh/Chaf'pri'uhme

Al'iastov

Apros/Csap'ro'strob

Ar'alani

Azmordi/Tumaz'mor'diamir

Ba'kif

Bet'nih

Biclian/Obbic'lia'nuf

Bomarmo

Borika/Cohbo'rik'ardok

Brisch

Che'ri

Cinsar

Dalvu/Elod'al'vumic

Dilpram

Dy'lothe

Ers'ikaro

Ghaloksu/Erighal'ok'sumf

Ieklior

Ilparg/Boadil'par'ɡasoi

Ja'fosk

Jaraki

Kharill/Plikh'ar'illmorf

Khresh

Kloirvursi

Labaki/Stybla'ba'kif

Lakansu

Lakbrovom/Xodlak'brov'omtivti

Lakbulbup

Lakinda/Xodlak'in'daro

Lakjiip/Xodlak'ji'iprip

Laknym

Lakooni/Xodlak'oo'nifis

Lakphro/Xodlak'phr'ooa

Lakris

Lakuviv/Xodlak'uvi'vil

Lakwurn

Lappincyk/Stybla'ppin'cykok

Lamiov/Stybla'mi'ovodo

Larsiom/Stybla'rsi'omi

Mafole

Mi'yaric

Ocpior

Octrimo/Droc'tri'morhs

Oeskym/Evroes'ky'mormi

Oesputi/Evroes'pu'titor

Ovinon

Pontriss

Raamas

Retuvili/Clarr'etu'vilimt

Rivlex/Clarr'ivl'exow

Roscu/Clarr'os'culry

Rupiov/Clarr'upi'ovmos

Shrent

Soomret

Samakro/Ufsa'mak'ro

Tanik

Thalias/Mitth'ali'astov

Thistrian

Thivik/Mitth'iv'iklo

Mitth'omo'rossodo

Thooraki/Mitth'oor'akiord

Thrass/Mitth'ras'safis

Thrawn/Mitth'raw'nuruodo

Thurfian/Mitth'urf'ianico

Thyklo/Mitth'ykl'omi

Un'hee

Vah'nya

Velbb

Vimsk

Vorlip

Vurawn/Kivu'raw'nuru

Vurika/Kivu'rik'ardok

Wevary

Wikivv

Wutroow/Kiwu'tro'owmis

Yokado

Yomie

Yoponek/Coduyo'po'nekri

Ziara/Irizi'ar'alani

Ziemol/Irizi'emo'lacfo

Zififerenc/Irizi'fife'rencpok

Ziinda/Irizi'in'daro

Zistalmu/Irizi'stal'mustro

Places

Avidich

Camco

Celwis

Cioral

Copero

Cormit

Csaus

Csilla

Csaplar

Desum

Dioya

Glastis

Ibbian

Jamiron

Kinoss

Krolling Sen

Massoss

Naporar

Noris

Ornfra

Ool

Oyokal

Panopyl

Pesfavri

Pleknok

Rentor

Rhigar

Sarvchi

Schesa

Sharb

Shihon

Sposia

Taharim

Thearterra

Vlidan

Yopring

Ships

Bokrea

Jandalan

Orisson

Parala

Tomra

Words

charric

docklet

grillig

growzer

nyix

questis

vivan

yapel

yubal

#cheunh #chiss

[not-the-tie-youre-looking-for]

ok ok i would like to ask about. spa day rituals with the besties??

OK OK SO

so whenever the springhawk and the vigilant are docked at csilla at the same time AND samakro and wutroow want to treat themselves, they either do one of two activities:

go to the equatorial csilla hot springs—think the blue lagoon hot springs in iceland. they make it a day trip and make sure to get there early. it’s one of the only places on csilla where you don’t have to wear layers to stop yourself from getting frostbite, and swimsuit fashion is all the rage since the planet doesn’t have any warm beaches. the two of them usually end up catching up, talking about the newest episode of the acclaimed chiss soap opera “Families of Csaplar,” samakro’s standing in the springhawk’ ping-pong championship, or wutroow’s latest forays into baking.

if the weather isn’t quite good enough for the springs, they’ll go to a spa in Csaplar and get manicures and pedicures. afterwards they also stop by a local store and pick up some clay masks, snacks, and a vid, and spend the rest of their day in whatever apartment or room the ascendency pays for while they��re on leave.

no matter what they do they always feel refreshed by the time they go back on duty. :)

#tye answers asks #samakro and wutroow #samakro #wutroow #samakro wutroow besties agenda #spreading the samakro wutroow friendship agenda 💪 #thrawn #star wars #chiss #thrawn ascendancy #I LOVED WRITING THESE #keep sending asks people these are so fun

[asteroids-and-tractorbeams]

If the “cs” in Csilla and Csaplar make a “ch” does that hold for the Csap family name too???

#sorry csap’ro’strob ive been saying your name wrong this whole time #honestly I didn’t even notice it until right now #rip Apros #thrawn ascendancy

[danger-xylophones]

Pomp and Ceremony (Thrass x reader/oc) Pt. 2

warnings: spicy but not explicit, nudity, the slightest hint of a dom/sub dynamic, breath play (implied)

squishy thrass rights

masterlist | chiss

The family dinner was finally over and your relatives had begun to depart, leaving you in the care of the Mitth and your new husband. Thrass's room (now also your room) within the homestead was smaller than you were expecting but not lacking in any amenities.

"Well, here we are," Thrass laughed, gesturing to the room he'd just opened the door to, "shall I carry you over the threshold, my love?"

A single snort-like laugh lifted from you, "That's alright, Thrass," you smiled, "with our luck, I'd catch my foot on the door and we'd both fall in." You laid a hand on his arm before stepping through the door. "I like the decor," you said, looking around, "but it's not really your style."

Thrass followed you in and let the door slide shut behind him. "No - it's not." He hummed, already moving to the vanity to take off his jewelry. "I'm in Csaplar more often than I'm at the homestead so my room is also a guest room."

"Ah," you hummed in understanding. It was strange that you felt awkward in Thrass's presence right now - normally he was the person you felt the most comfortable with.

"I suppose I should start saying our room though," Thrass chuckled to himself. "It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Our? Our room, our home, our marriage?" He tittered, moving on to his hair. "I mean, we've been a 'we' for quite some time, of course, but it's different saying our."

At some point, you'd started openly staring at him as realization settled in. He was nervous. And it was adorable. And it eased your own nerves. "Thrass," you called, approaching the vanity.

He looked up, hands behind his head with one of his sunrise hair-combs pinched between his fingers. His eyes were wide and innocent. "Hmm?"

That one look, that little hum, did something to you. It felt like some veil had been lifted from you and you found a different confidence setting your blood on fire.

Your hands landed on his shoulders and slid around to clasp in front of his sternum. His own hands fell away to hold at your forearms, allowing you to lean into him, "I love you." a kiss was placed on his crown, "I'm so happy I found you, my beloved. "A soft, almost guttural hum slipped from him as he leaned back against you, eyes slipping closed. You loosened one of your hands from the other to cradle his jaw. "And," bowing down, you found the shell of his ear- "I'm so happy we're finally married," -and took it softly between your teeth.

"Oh..." Thrass whimpered, a hand reaching up to hold the back of your head in place as you nibbled at the sensitive skin till the blue flushed purple. Despite the slightly awkward angle, you continued to lovingly abuse his ear's sensitivity till the skin was warm to the touch and the flush had overtaken his face and neck. Only then did you move on - moving the hand resting on his jaw down to take Thrass's neck in hand and apply some gentle pressure. A funny little breath escaped him, stuttering - almost shocked at the sensation.

A grin broke over your face at the break in his decorum which prompted you to crest your lips down, searching for the little spots on the journey to his shoulder you'd long since discovered your own affinity for. Your free hand which had been politely resting on Thrass's chest till now wormed its way beneath the first two layers of the chiss man's outfit and found a resting spot over his excited heart. You could feel the warmth of his chest seeping through the remaining undershirt.

Parting your lips against his neck, the warming of a small patch of his skin was the only warning you gave Thrass before re-introducing your teeth to his pulse point. "D-darling," the syndic spluttered, both hands latching onto your forearm resting across his clavicle.

You waited a moment for him to say something else but when he didn't, you disconnected from his neck and appraised his reflection - looking for signs of discomfort. He didn't show any, in fact Thrass looked quite content in your hold if you had to say so yourself. But still, "Do you want this?" You relaxed the hand on his throat.

It was as if he was brought out of a trance. Thrass's heady gaze met yours in the vanity mirror, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Of course!" He asserted, a small pout on his lips. "Do you?" He added more shyly.

You nodded in the mirror before pressing your forehead against his shoulder. "I do, Thrass," you spoke more to the floor than the man, "I just want to make sure I'm not pushing you."

"Not in any way I don't want, my love." Thrass's voice was soft, still sitting in that shy cradle. You could feel his thumb rubbing at the shimmery fabric of your sleeve.

You took a moment, letting a beat pass before moving once more. Rising, you pulled away from him entirely and took a step back. Thrass twisted to follow you, reaching a hand out to lure you back to him without standing up. But when you stopped purposely out of reach, he stilled, waiting almost like a growzer for a command. "Undress for me." You could feel the bulk of each word as they slipped past your lips.

Thrass's own lips parted in shock.

While you'd been intimate before neither of you had introduced the idea of orders into the bedroom. "Please?" you amended, backpedaling a little.

His head bobbed twice before forming into an actual nod. As if he couldn't take his eyes off of you, he swung his legs around to be facing you. But his hands hesitated - caught between moving to his hair and the belt about his waist. There was a moment where his indecision was on full display on his face before he looked up at you again, a little helpless.

"Start with your hair, darling." You suggested this time, not entirely sure if you were comfortable with the small thrill you got from watching Thrass follow your demands so readily.

Thrass was quick to raise his hands to his hair, gently tugging out his second hair comb and various ties and pins holding his hair up. The dark blue locks fell like night down his back in the mirror and now that they were the only things still in his hair, the small gold beads stood out all the brighter. To help him the numerous beads, you stepped forward and gently began to unthread them at the same time Thrass did so.

When all the beads were removed, you collected them and his pins, ties, and comb and stepped around the syndic to set them atop the vanity. It was as you were returning to the spot you'd been in when this started that Thrass moved and took your waist gently in both hands.

But, you grabbed his wrists. "Not yet, my love." You scolded softly and stepped out of reach once more. He pouted again. "Your clothes next." Schooling your features, you tried to feign a cool facade. Crossing to the bed, you settled on the edge and reclined back, supported upright by your arms. "Show me the man I married."

Thrass rose from his seat, his hands going to the silk belt about his waist first to untie it. He dropped the wide gold colored belt unceremoniously to on the ground. Only to immediately pick it up when an involuntary tsk slipped from you. This time, he folded the garment (albeit a bit hastily) and set it on his abandoned seat. The outermost layer of his attire, a wide, grey piece of fabric that looped over both shoulders to separate the burgundy color of his next layer, shifted and started to fall away. That piece came next and joined the belt. Next his pants and socks, the burgundy tunic, and finally, his undershirt.

You raised a finger when he paused, "those too, darling," you pointed to his drawers - the only thing keeping Thrass from being completely nude before you.

A look you couldn't name crossed over Thrass's face but he did as he was told and soon he truly was completely naked before you. And looking a little shy.

With an appreciative hum, eyes near devouring his form, you rose from the bed and stepped up to him. One hand went to hold his cheek and Thrass immediately leaned in to the gentle grasp. "You are so handsome, my love." You whispered, rubbing your thumb along the skin under his eye. Your other hand landed flat on his chest, over his heart which was truly racing now. "In all the languages I know," your hand trailed down and to the side, "there are not words powerful enough to convey how beautiful you are to me," squeezing softly, you couldn't help but relish in how pliant he was - both in form and for allowing this experimentation between you. "I love you," Thrass's hands found your waist. "I love your body," you kissed his chest, your lips resting on his sternum, "I love your heart," another kiss, just a little higher up, "I love your mind," your lips reached the hollow of his neck. Pulling back just a little, you met his lovestruck gaze. "I love you, dearly, my wonderful husband." You pulled him into a kiss.

Thrass's arms tightened around your hips, pulling you against his soft frame. You keened into him, pressing impossibly close to the man as you fell into the swirling tempest of enchantment. His hands were grasping - they squeezed at your hips, your sides - and his lips chased yours where ever they went. You were hardly aware you'd become mobile until your back met the mattress. "Thrass..." you sighed into the space between you when he separated from your lips for a moment to catch his breath. His forehead met yours and for a moment you were content to lay there entirely lost in your joint infatuation.

But you'd come this far. While Thrass met you in another soft kiss he busied his hands with finding the places where your elaborate outfit was held together. "My darling," he spoke against you, "may I-?"

"Yes, Thrass." You panted back. "Please." Skating your fingers up his side, you delighted in the shiver that ran through his body. "Make me yours, my love."

taglist: @handbaskethell @girlfromanotherworld2001

#thrass x reader #thrass #mitth'ras'safis #syndic thrass #thrawn ascendancy #chiss ascendancy #thrawn trilogy

[swtorpigeons]

1, 3, 6, 23 for Emilat

What’s your oc’s most irrational fear? Is there a specific reason this fear came about?

He doesn't really have any irrational fears. They're all perfectly sensible and well-earned!

What does your oc’s voice sound like? (Or, if you have one, what’s their voiceclaim?) Can they sing, whistle, or roll their rs? Do they have any speech impediments or notable dialects/accents?

Huh, I haven't really thought about that. I think the regular IA voice fits him pretty well! Except he switches accents more flawlessly lmao. I imagine that when he speaks Cheunh, other Chiss can probably hear that he's from Csaplar, though.

What kind of clothes is your oc least comfortable wearing?

Any kind of formal wear! Em's taste in clothes is mostly practical and a little slutty, if he has to wear anything formal his experience is more or less this:

Who would this oc consider their family? What is their relationship with these people?

Pmuch the whole IA crew, but especially Vector. Em had a crush on him for a long while, but once he got over that they became really close friends.

#asks #emilat

[ipreferfiction]

I really wish Timothy Zahn would write some stuff from Eli’s POV when he’s in the Ascendancy because I really want the scene where he just rocks up to Csaplar and is like “Yeah, Mitth’raw’nuruodo sent me—” and every Chiss in the city unanimously goes “Oh god not that guy again.”

#star wars #thrawn #eli vanto