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side tackles.

Stands there and takes it without budging an inch.

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At each of his hips, a cybernetic finger catches in the trigger guard of a DC-17 Hand Blaster, tugging them both out of their holsters with a spinning flourish. "These two?" Flipping them over, the veteran holds each pistol by its lengthened barrel, pointing the grips towards the since-aged Padawan. "They like each other just fine."

"This lightsaber and this other one simply do not like each other. The crystals are in disagreement." He nods multiple times, leaving one of the weapons hanging on the belt. Always the same one, lingering in wait like vornskr slumbering in the grass. Cirz smiles though, sweetly, reassuringly. "One is perfectly enough"

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"Came across a funny looking Trandoshan on Keldooine. Each of his arms and legs was a different color and length, like he'd been sewn back together from parts. Turns out he'd been paying his bills by selling his limbs on the black market as exotic meats. Didn't seem to mind. Told me they grew back anyways." He shakes his head in disgust. "Decided not to try the street food on that planet."

"You would be disturbingly surprised to know how many people don't consider it cannibalism to eat a person of a different species."

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Heavy raindrops clattered against Fordo's armor, revealing spots of the white paint almost entirely obscured by demonic blood. Wiping off his gloves in the rain, he squeegeed the excess viscera off his combat vibroknife and returned it to its sheath. Though seemingly a brighter soul, this version of Wanda was ironically much, much more violent than the one he had known so many years ago.

He did not necessarily mind.

"We'd better get inside before you start to freeze, Carrie." Their latest movie marathon must have inspired her new look, he surmises. He nods toward a Starbucks kitty-corner from them. "Could go for some lemon loaf after all that."

ᵒᵖᵉⁿ.

Emerging from the depths of the New York City railways, Wanda Maximoff stepped onto the sidewalk and the November downpour. She had no umbrella or appropriate clothing for the elements, all she had was an ebony slip dress and her entire body covered in blood. Not even slippers, they were lost in the scuffle with a cult and their demonic hybrid grand-mage. Wanda smiled, closing her eyes as she let the rain wash away the blood. She even outstretched her hands and tilted her head backward to face the cloudy skies. Wanda was sure people were staring, but she was used to them by now. 

[arc-77]

your muse as memes: post 6+ memes of any kind that relate to your muse

tagged by: @spokewar

tagging: @alphatwosix @iconaclysm @barrackbvnny @hexsreality @gloomfaithed and anyone else who's interested

[arc-77]

@gloomfaithed

This was a lovely little lagoon they had found. Talon enjoyed the smooth sand between her toes and under her soles, while the salty ocean water nipped at her feet. Watchful Sith eyes noticed the many shiny sea shells, that were hidden in the sand like little treasures. Talon collected them, until she had enough for a bracelet. When it was the right size, she slipped it over Fordo's wrist with a pleased smile.

Talon had changed so much in the years since they first met. Once, she was dour, laser-focused on returning to the future, to her master. Now, her demeanor had softened, and her goals re-evaluated. She had slowed down significantly, learned to live in the moment, appreciate the little things the galaxy had to offer her. Separated from the One Sith by one hundred and thirty years, she had been granted the opportunity to bloom, unfolding into something that had begun to remind him of a Jedi.

Fordo's gaze drifted away from his partner and back towards the waves on the horizon. Had they not been there on a hunt, he might have joined her in exploring the tidepool, picking molluscs out of the water. Their quarry must have clocked them back at the boardwalk, and the tracks in the wet sand stopped not far from the lagoon. In all likelihood, he had walked into the water and disappeared beneath the waves. The sea could have him, for all Fordo cared. He knew better than to fight a merman on his home-surf.

"This is the last time we go chasing a Nautolan on a resort world."

The tugging at his wrist brought him back down to earth again, the smile on her face infectious. He admired the bracelet, wiggling his wrist to make the seashells rattle and tink. Fordo oftentimes had to be reminded that their bounty hunting was more of an excuse to take in the sights rather than an actual, pressing job. His prey drive could be hard to shake.

"Let's get back to town. I saw a vendor selling octopus balls."

It would make a good substitute, he thinks.

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favorite activities include: defending the honor of people twice his size @arc-77

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As she begins to lightly press against his neck, he squints his eyes, his only visible reaction to the discomfort. "I can feel it." After a few moments of examining the action with the combination of mirrors, he reaches back to attempt it himself. His fingers trace the route she took from his jugular until they graze T'Pring's fingers, still touching the pressure point, and take their place.

"Fascinating."

Compared to T'Pring, Fordo finds he has to press harder to achieve the same felt result. He probes the vicinity, attempting to discover what he infers must be the right angle. When he finally finds it, the additional pressure he applies causes him to wince more noticeably. Once he has repeated this action to his satisfaction, tracing from the jugular and hitting the right spot, he nods to T'Pring in the mirror.

"The next point, please."

The way he cocked his head told her that he was confused. Or perhaps nervous? Or displeased, it was hard to tell. She had been fully serious though, when she had told him that it was standard procedure to see the points on one's own body. T'Pring took a hand mirror and approached him after Fordo was finished taking his shirt off. "I can."

She handed him the hand mirror for him to hold for a moment, while T'Pring rounded him, studying what she saw. He had more muscle mass than most people. Practising with these conditions would make it even easier for him to apply the pinch on subjects who were similarly built. And for T'Pring too, as it would be her first time practising the pinch on a body like his.

With her assessment concluded, T'Pring came to stand behind him and moved to the side so that they could make eye-contact in the mirror. As she was shorter than him, she had to stretch her arm to comfortably place her hand on the side of his neck. "The jugular." She traced it downwards until she found the spot between that and the clavicle. "Here is the first spot. Pressing into it will cause discomfort at best and a choking pain at worst." She applied careful pressure to her finger to show him. "As my intention is not to hurt you, I will not press too strongly."

[arc-77]

// My order from @forgottenchapterszine arrived! Thank you and kudos to everyone involved!

[arc-77]

Masterpost | Rules | FAQ | Ask

FordoWeek2024 begins 🎉

DAY 1: GHOST STORIES, HAUNTINGS AND CURSES

A few things to remember:

Don’t forget to tag #fordoweek2024 and/or mention @fordoweek if you post on tumblr (especially if you upload links redirecting to other websites; the posts don’t always appear in the tags!)

The AO3 Collection is open; feel free to post your work there as well!

Remember to tag your work appropriately!

If your creation hasn’t been reblogged within a day following posting or is missed from the masterlist, feel free to send us an ask; tumblr notifications aren’t always the best.

You can submit any form of creative fanwork you can think of. We welcome all forms of writing, fanart and works in progress!

Have fun, everyone!

[arc-77]

@sunhearted

"I wish I were on a long sea voyage somewhere."

He flipped through a dusty old tome at a leisurely pace, reading little more of a paragraph of each page, unsure of what, if anything, he was looking for. The particular era of history the book pertained to—the New Sith Wars—was a curiously feudal one, full of knights and lords with primitive swords and spears, if the paintings were to be believed. Compared to the relative antiquity of Revan's era, it was a dark age, with few surviving records of reliability, thanks to the Republic's near-total collapse.

"Kamino's equatorial seas were engulfed in a near-perpetual storm. I grew up in Tipoca City, watching those black waves writhing so far below. There were only a dozen or so days over the years that were calm enough for us to get our aquatic training in the real thing."

Fordo went quiet a moment, closing his eyes. Unlike some of his brothers, he never got his sea legs. There were a few too many near-death accidents that continued to haunt his most stressful dreams.

"Still remember the first time I set foot on a planet's crust. Felt right for me. Never looked back."

Turning a page, he came across a picture of a great wroshyr-hulled vessel reminiscent of a sailing ship, another symbol of the quaint era. Fordo slides the book towards Ailana, tapping on the image. It was the Fairwind, the flagship of Jedi Lord Farfalla.

"This what you have in mind?"

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The Commander cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, laying upon T'Pring a searching gaze. When it came to topics that might fluster humans, Vulcans could be a perplexing combination of direct and nonchalant. Contextually, her request made logical sense, and he did have prior warning. If there was anything more to it, Fordo didn't have a good enough read on her to notice.

"If you insist."

He dropped his folded arms to his waist, pulling the hem of the form-fitting bodyglove top up and over his head, sliding his arms out of the sleeves. He had the characteristic physique of an Alpha-Class ARC: broad, trapezoidal, and dense. Thanks to a layer of healthy body fat, his muscles looked softer, though still evident. Rather than a taut, chiseled bodybuilder, his torso was more akin to a strongman's, full of dense, functional muscle. Nothing about it was for show.

Tossing the article of clothing aside unceremoniously, he approached the mirror wall, twisting to find an angle at which he could see his upper back. As a consequence of his muscle mass, there was a small section of his back he still could not touch, even with flexibility exercises. "Can you apply pressure to the nerves without knocking me out?"

@arc-77

The room they were in was covered in large mirrors and provided comfortable mats on the ground. It was used for all kinds of training and T'Pring had booked it for her and Fordo's endeavor regarding the nerve pinch. She had never thaught it to someone, especially a non-Vulcan. But she recalled exactly how she had been thaught and planned to replicate the process. She gestured at the dummy currently laying on one of the mats. "Since you have expressed apprehension at practising on me, you can practise on this dummy instead. It was made precisely for this purpose. The head will glow red if the pinch was performed successfully. However, before we can start on the dummy, you should see where the correct spots are. Preferably on your own body." T'Pring raised an elegant hand and gestured towards him. "You may undress now."

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Captain, I sense a large predator has been tracking you for quite some distance now. Are you just letting that happen?

"I'm aware, General. Been waiting to engage until we're closer to camp. That way I won't have to carry its pelt as far."

Though the weight of his WESTAR-M5 is supported by its sling, his hands remain on the grip and magazine well, reading to swing it around and fire at a moment's notice. At close range, the blaster is capable of piercing Separatist tank armor, so he's unconcerned about his ability to kill the beast.

"You ever been fitted for a Kama, sir?"

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"If practicing means using it on you, then I have apprehensions. Repeatedly misapplied force could be painful." Holding it as one would a stylus, Fordo moved a t'an in a circular, absent-minded motion. Vulcans may have been stronger than the average human thanks to their denser muscle fibers, but the difference between his and T'Pring's frames was still substantial—and he was anything but an average human. "Regardless, it will have to be another time, when we are not meeting in a diplomatic context. Sparring with foreign officials isn't typically part of our process." He winked. "Thank you, T'Pring. I will consider the offer."

When he placed his t'an, roughly one third of the Kal-toh shimmered and morphed into a more organized shape, resembling a wedge of the complex sphere. Pending any unexpected setbacks on either end, their game was coming close to completion, with only a handful of turns left. The nearness of a potential victory left him feeling wary. Chances were reasonably high that T'Pring had an unforeseen gambit left in store for him. He would welcome it, if anything. Victory on his first game would feel hollow, but defeat was a chance to learn and improve.

"Have to wonder what it would take to generate something else. Maybe a pyramid, or some kind of prism. Start simple." The competitive aspect of the game was clearly less intriguing to him than the creativity it fostered, the process of building. Finding his own ideas of order in the chaos of the jumbled t'ans. To him, this could be a game of personal expression. "One of these days I'll stump you, turn the pile into a perfect torus."

If there wasn't a way, he'd make a way.

"Very well, Fordo." No Dynamic between two individuals was identical. Under other circumstances, she may not have felt comfortable to refer to him by his name instead of his rank, but in this case it appeared appropriate, as despite their differences, the rapport they have built progressed satisfactorily. "Please call me T'Pring."

His conventional move was followed by hers. Her moves offered him time to understand the premise of the game and to prepare his own strategy. In a way games such as Kal-toh were similar to a battle. Each side made their move in hopes of being victorious in the end. Her research had included the fact that the clone army had been specifically bred for war. As such, he may enjoy Kal-toh because it played to his strenghts.

"I can teach you the nerve pinch," T'Pring offered. She put trust into the criminals she worked with, but since the rehabilitation process had not been finished, the chance of an unforseen attack was there. She had been provided with enough means to defend herself, should the need arise. "Most non-Vulcans do not have the ability to telephatically stimulate the necessary nerves on the touch points. Thus their rate of success is drastically lower. The frustration this elicits has prevented the spreading of the technique. It is not seen as reliable."

But if anyone could do it, it was Fordo. With his enhanced strength and agility he already resembled a Vulcan. He would not lack the strength the push required. "It requires finesse and anatomical knowledge. I suggest that we start by me showing you your own pressure points in front of a mirror. It is standard procedure."

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Fordo moodboard🚨

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"My apologies, I did not intend to create any confusion regarding titles. Please continue to use Commander, or Fordo."

He made a mental note of T'Pring's furrowed brow and the additional delay in her next move. Acting unpredictably seemed to vex his opponent, impeding her strategy. With every new turn, the nature of Kal-toh became clearer to him. Much like Dejarik, this was a game of planning and foresight, requiring one to consider moves far in advance. Jedi would like this, he imagined.

As much as he'd love to pull the game apart, playing it in different and incorrect ways to the chagrin of his opponent, there were still many nuances to learn. A single move could drastically change the shape of the emerging sphere in ways that, to his novice perception, seemed entirely nonsensical. Until he fully understood why these things happened, it was best to play the game as intended. Thus, in stark contrast to the last, his next move was fairly conventional.

"I've done some cursory reading." It was a deliberate understatement, not the full truth. The moment the Vulcans became relevant to him, he prioritized identifying their martial strengths and weaknesses, should he ever need to defeat one. It was a process he underwent with just about everyone and everything he met, ingrained in him from a young age. "I'd like to spar with a practitioner, should I get the opportunity. The nerve pinch seems incredibly useful; I'm surprised similar techniques have not emerged in other systems, if non-Vulcans are indeed capable of performing it."

"I understand. In that case, would you rather be called Captain, Commander?" Clearly he valued his active participation in the strategies and carrying them out, rather than drawing them up in the first place. T'Pring saw where he was coming from, even if she still believed him to be strategic. Should anything go wrong after all, he would be able to adjust and optimize the next course of action. And interestingly, despite having earned a higher rank, he didn't seem to relish in it.

If there is no wrong way to solve it, then there are no mistakes. "Hmm. That is correct," she mused, secretly amused at how he found an error in her sentence. Well - Vulcans considered any moves that would lead to an eventual defeat a mistake, but T'Pring felt like their game was less intended to lead to a show of excellent gaming, and rather an opportunity to talk.

With his move being random, there had been no way for her to anticipate it, forcing her to change her strategy. She took a t'an and mulled over the best next move, her brow furrowing in concentration. "Have you had the chance to inform yourself about Vulcan martial arts yet?"

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"When I think of tacticians—and more-so strategists—I think of uniformed officers who lead from the rear, consulting their maps. My place is at the tip of the spear, reacting to situations as they occur." He places another t'an on the pile, this time somewhat randomly to see what happens. "Small unit tactics is the domain of the Clone Captain. Though I may no longer hold that rank, it remains the most efficient descriptor of my life, role, and context."

Fordo had turned down several promotions over the course of the war, finally relenting after the Battle of Coruscant, for which he was bestowed the rank of Commander. For the duration of the war, he and his retinue were a flexible, loose unit. He and his men would be sent wherever they were needed, participating in conflicts on multiple planets within a single month. His concerns regarding promotion were twofold. One, the greater managerial responsibility would limit his time and effectiveness at the front. Two, Clone Commanders were permanently attached to a single Regiment, Legion, or Corps, which meant his days of flexibility and travel would be over.

In practice, it was not so bad; in the Grand Army, even the highest level Clone Officers still fought on the front lines from time to time, and with the war now over, it benefitted him to have a permanent command with which he could build a power base. It was serendipitous timing, as his ambitions grew to fit the galaxy's changing circumstances.

"If there is no wrong way to solve it, then there are no mistakes." He muses. "Perhaps I will take the less efficient path, for the sake of the journey."

"What would be the correct word?" she asked, curious to see how Fordo defined his own values, as every person had many different facets to themselves. There was much to be learned about someone by the way they described themselves and how they introduced themselves to others.

She observed his turn. "There is no wrong way to solve a kal-toh. Only more and less efficient ones." Nobody was born a master. Even T'Pring herself had taken a while to become good enough to beat her mother - who in turn had gone unbeaten before that. "Farsight will serve you well. A move that may appear smart now could turn into self-sabotage eventually."

When it was her turn, she took a t'an, considered her move thoughtfully, and placed it. "No need to rush. I learned that when playing with other species, they deemed delibrate consideration as a sign of weakness and ended up making mistakes."