#silver-goggles-guild

[xmcu-fietro]

Please note: This will probably look blurry unless you click on it (especially on mobile)

for @silver-goggles-guild "finish a WIP" (and technically the "design quicksilver merch" prompt, because I'm adding this to my redbubble)! I just uploaded it, so it may take a while to appear.

it's inspired by this old photoshoot:

I'm gonna make a second version of this drawing with zombie!Pietro (so the "to die for" thing will make more sense then xD) and then make it into a gif where this drawing glitches into that one. I don't have the second drawing done, but I wanted to go ahead and post this!

And lastly, a close-up (before I changed how the tv static looked):

[silver-goggles-guild]

September 2024 Prompts

In honor of Agatha All Along, here's some Peter-centric prompts inspired by that!

Finish a WIP

Peter accidentally finds himself on the Witches Road from Agatha All Along.

Agatha gets trapped in Westview for three years, but what happens if Peter gets trapped with her?

Peter returns to his universe, thinking he is finally safe—but he can’t fully escape the mind control Agatha put him under, and it's beginning to cause problems in his life. 

Peter wakes up one day and realizes his powers are completely gone.

Remember to tag @silver-goggles-guild, use the tag SGG-Sept24, and include the prompt you’re using in your post! 

[fuesch]

Browsing around on Redbubble and I'm reminded that there's a Quicksilver design I meant to make for myself. But first I'd have to finish at least 2 other things (the first isn't even anything fannish, more akin to actual work). So many things I still want to make, so little progress!

Hey, @toodles-me-doodles, @fouralignments and @xmcu-fietro, when is @silver-goggles-guild getting started? I could really do with these encouragement posts!

[cubaendeavour]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: X-Men (Movieverse) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Peter Maximoff, Ororo Munroe, Tommy Maximoff, Billy Maximoff, Remy LeBeau, Logan (X-Men), Raven | Mystique, Hank McCoy, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Peter Maximoff's Sister (X-Men Movies), Wanda Maximoff Additional Tags: Pietro Maximoff Goes by Peter, Ralph Bohner is Peter Maximoff, Halloween, Silver Goggles Guild, SGG-Oct23, Peter Maximoff is the best Uncle, Uncle P - Freeform, Peter and Ororo are in a Queerplatonic relationship Series: Part 2 of Uncle P - Guardian of the Minimoffs Summary:

Peter has been 'Uncle P' to the boys for a whole year, and Billy and Tommy mean to commemorate the occasion.

A one-shot in the No Distance Left to Run universe, written for the @silver-goggles-guild on Tumblr, for the prompt "anything to do with Halloween".

[hoeheaven]

Ever wonder what would happen if we saw a less restrained, more violent side of Peter Maximoff? Well Chapter 8 of out of time gives a pretty vivid idea 🤍

For the prompt Finish a WIP - cause oh boy this was a doozy

@silver-goggles-guild

[petermlx]

@silver-goggles-guild

Peter as a dad

Going off of canon (movie wise) and off of personal headcanons that I’ve seen, I’d say that Peter would be a really good dad.

He grew up with a younger sister (as seen in DoFP. Whether that’s Wanda or Lorna or a completely different kid is up to you) and in the same movie, we’ve seen that his mother drinks alcohol. So there’s a high chance pointing to the fact that Peter’s mother might’ve been too drunk to raise either of her kids.

So Peter, with both of his parents absent in his childhood, would swear to himself that he’d raise his sister better than their mother ever could.

And he’d get good at it. He’d probably even steal a book on parenting just to make sure he was going about things the right way, one of the few things he’s ever done by the book.

And as he and his sister gets older (she looks to be around 7 or 8 in DoFP and Peter’s probably in his late teens at the same time) he’d do other things too. Like go with her for parent-teacher conferences and back to school nights. Peter would go trick-or-treating with her on Halloween and would play dress up with her.

So I’d imagine that even after she’s all grown up and in high school or college and Peter’s moved into the mansion after Apocalypse, all of those parental instincts would just stick. He’s spent practically his entire life being his sister’s ‘dad’, he wouldn’t just forget all of that.

In the beginning, Peter definitely wouldn’t realize that he was even doing it. Like, he’d read bedtime stories to the students that wouldn’t be able to sleep or he’d make snacks for some of the students. He’d help the students with their classwork (even if he didn’t understand half of it) and would watch them whenever they went outside to play or practice with their mutations.

And then Peter would realize what he was doing and would double-down on it. His parental instincts weren’t something he was ashamed of and he sure as hell wasn’t ashamed to admit that he cares for the little rascals of Charles’s school.

And then those instincts would bleed into his friendships with the older mutants. At first it would be simple stuff like making snacks for them when they said they were hungry in between meals. Or he would help patch them up after training or missions even though they had Hank to do that. And then it would evolve into little comments like-

“Hank, you gotta sleep more, man. How are you expected to be our great engineer if you can’t even see straight?”

Or,

“C’mon, Charles, we were all teenagers once. Let them go to the mall. If it makes you feel better, I’ll be sure to watch over them.”

And then it would evolve into different, more serious comments such as-

“Scott! Don’t do that, you’re gonna bust your head open!

And,

“Kurt, buddy, I know your tail is strong but you can’t just go around picking everything slightly heavy up with it. You might drop it and I don’t think our good doctor here is well-versed in the ways of literal tail bones.”

Or,

“Jubs, I understand that you want a ‘hot summer bod’, your words not mine, but you really have to eat more than that. It isn’t healthy to cut back on food just because you want to get skinny. Here, have some more food and I’ll teach you later how to get a hot bod like mine.”

At first, the X-Men definitely don’t realize what’s going on, they just think that Peter is being protective over them because of Apocalypse (though that wouldn’t explain the things he’s said to the older mutants who are more than capable of taking care of themselves). But then, for whatever reason, Peter’s little sister comes to the mansion.

And all of a sudden the others are watching from an entirely different perspective on how Peter acts with others. He’s questioning his sister about her school while he’s making her a snack and how she’s doing and if anybody is giving her any trouble. And she kinda laughs while rolling her eyes and answers with a “No, Dad. Nobody’s giving me trouble,” and it’s not exactly said sarcastically as most little siblings would be with their older siblings.

And the others would analyze Peter’s behaviour with them and then would have that collective thought of ‘Oh. Peter acts like a dad to us’.

After that realization, the others would start to be more welcoming towards Peter’s words of advice and caution, even though it felt like he was babying them from time to time.

I’m just saying that with his family, biological or not, Peter would act like a total dad.

(I feel very strongly about this, if you couldn’t tell.)

[tarithenurse]

I see fire - 15

Fandom: D&D 5E/homebrew campaign. Word count: 3239. Contents: Hangover-hack, travel, stranger-danger, fighting, death, luck, gore, mystery. A/N: Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag. Divider by @firefly-graphics

XV

“My hair hurts,” Morella complains, blinking miserably against the sun.

The sigh coming from Anvindr is partially a testimony to his own state but more to the fact that no one really is surprised with the druid’s poor condition.

“Can’t you just...heal it away?” he asks.

The colourful female just groans. “Then I have to think.”

“But just for a while.”

Interrupting what might turn into bickering, Zilvra asks her friends to wait there for a moment. “I’ll be right back,” and with that she heads into Travis’ Wax.

There’s only one other customer in the shop and as the huge, burly man behind the counter looks past her at the newcomer, Zilvra flashes him the hand-sign in Thieves’ Can’t for “business”, earning a curt nod: clearly he understands, meaning she must be in the right place as suspected.

It takes a moment during which Zilvra peruses the wares (a multitude of candles in different heights, thicknesses, colours and even scents) but then the customer leaves, allowing the man – who must be Travis – to focus on the drow.

“What can I do for you?”

His voice startles her because it is so light but she manages to keep collected.

“I’ve lost my tools and was hoping you would either be able to acquire new for me or at the very least point me in the right direction,” the rogue explains, with her hands signalling lock-picking.

“I can get that for you if you give me a few days and pay up front.”

“There’s no rush, I’m heading out for a while but expect to be back within a week.”

Travis nods. “12 copper then.”

For a heartbeat, the drow considers bartering but she doesn’t quite know what a fair price would be Topside and so she relents, counting out the copper and handing them over.

“Pleasure doing business,” the man squeaks, pocketing the money.

“See you soon.”

Once back on the street, it’s evident that Morella has taken the genasi’s advice and magicked her hangover away because she’s much more chipper. The male on the other hand wants to know what Zilvra was up to and he’s promised an explanation once they’re out of town.

They only have one more stop to make and that is by the Adventurer’s Guild to get paid for the jobs they have completed.

“Take care,” Tio warns the group, handing them 60 copper.

“You too.”

---

“So?” Anvindr demands.

Zilvra adjusts the wooden goggles slightly. “Hm?”

“Travis’ Wax. What was that about?”

She explains briefly about lacking certain items after her arrest and how she wants new sets.

“Oh, maybe I could have just made them for you,” is his reply which makes her look at him questioningly. “I can conjure tools every day. Woodcarving, stone carving, you name it. They only last 24 hours but they’re good quality.”

“Lock picking tools?” the rogue asks, slightly disbelieving.

The genasi wrinkles his brow. “No, but why’d you need them?” Morella giggles, patting his arm. “Why wouldn’t you just knock?” he insists, though.

---

That evening, the trio rests in Oldgarde knowing there’s still five days of travel to go before they reach the tower. They talk a bit with Davis but he’s too preoccupied and instead they hang out at the inn where also another adventuring group of silver rank is stopping by.

Deciding to play nice, Zilvra brings them ale and soon both groups are chatting about their experiences. They call themselves the Footsoldiers and are heading south to investigate a mine there.

“You better be careful,” Anvindr warns them, “we’ve been to a few mines and apart from the duergar there’s been something else there too.”

One of them, Valmir – a man with white robes and neatly kept hair, looks to the others with concern. “Something...what?”

“Fire,” Morella beams slightly creepily. “Living fire.”

Fred, the scarred melee in the group, looks bummed as he does gather that fire won’t be as susceptible to his weapons as the dark dwarves would be.

Letting the Footsoldiers in on what little the trio knows about mines, duergar, and the fire creatures, there’s little else the friends can do to help but the men are happy, feeling better prepared with the knowledge.

“And where are you off to?” Valmir asks.

“East past the logging camp,” Zilvra deflects neatly, “taking a bit of time for our own.”

The three men nod before the last – a ragtag-looking, robed guy with a wild beard – leans in, having just finished his ale: “If you go far east you’ll reach the swamps on the other side of a mountain range...we’ve just been there and found ourselves between orcs and ogres working together.”

“Mhmm,” Fred chimes in. “Watch out for the orcs, they’re strong and smart...and impressive sprinters capable of closing any gap rapidly. We were hard pressed just dealing with one.”

The trio exchange glances, happy that they aren’t going that far.

“Good to know,” Morella nods.

---

Nothing much happens on the trip but on the fourth day, the trio sees a cart in the distance with two familiar figures, Elmer and Harris, turning off towards the logging camp but they decide not to try and hail the men and rather continue on.

---

Watching Morella skip ahead of the other two, Zilvra can’t help but marvel at how much more vivid the eladrin’s green hue is compared to the plants they pass and yet when the druid does stand still, she seems to belong rather than stick out like Anvindr with his blue skin or Zilvra herself with her slate hue. Even the birds and little critters seem not to mind the druid...in fact, they seem thoroughly unbothered by anything at all and perhaps its because of that, that the trio suddenly stumble out into a clearing with a stout tower at the centre without any warning.

Round and perhaps a bit boring, the only part of the architecture that seems to carry any more thought than brutal practicality is the glass dome. Torches burn magically by the closed entry door but other than that the place looks quiet.

Too quiet.

No one hails the trio or tries to stop them as they withdraw a bit again into the bushes, finding a place to observe and wait the night rather than storm in unprepared. Anvindr and Morella see to the camp while Zilvra sneaks off, scouting the perimeter for any signs of...well, anything.

She’s made it about half way around the tower when she spots him: a man lying beneath the bushes, grasses and leafy branches used as disguise but incapable of hiding the sheer size of him. And he’s seen her too, it’s clear because their eyes lock – pale blue with golden brown – forging a mutual understanding that there’s no reason to pretend and so Zilvra waves.

He’s big for a human at a distance and seems somehow more imposing when he comes over, adjusting the cloth that covers half his face.

“Didn’t expect anyone coming around,” he admits.

“Didn’t expect anyone lying in the bushes,” she counters.

Nodding, the large man surveys the area before looking Zilvra up and down once more. “Why are you here?”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the drow recalls Paul Davis’ warning about trusting people. But at the same time...this guy wears a bandana similar to the ones the Mason people they’ve met so far have.

“Something seems to be up with the towers,” she begins haltingly, trying and failing to read his expression, “decided I’d check it out.”

“Took it upon yourself, did you?” he rumbles. “Impressive initiative.”

He reaches out to pat her on the shoulder, his touch making her freeze up and thus offering no resistance when the pat turns into a grasp and the other fist comes flying with a force that cracks several of her ribs and knocks the wind out of her.

It’s an unfair fight even as Zilvra dances to avoid the devastating punches while back-pedalling towards the campsite. She gets several jabs in with her rapier but he seems to just shrug the pain off, almost like he enjoys it. Then there’s a snarl of a wolf followed by two rapid shots and finally the man looks surprised even if it’s only for a moment because the brief confusion morphs into cold rage and flames begins to crackle from his fists.

“You should’ve said you brought friends and they wouldn’t’ve had to have missed out at first,” he growls, sending Morella flying with a single flaming punch that reduces her wolf form to her normal appearance with a puff. “Eladrin shit,” he snarls.

Three against one, and the trio still find themselves hard pressed although they seem to offer a worthy resistance too. It’s just not enough.

Having resorted to her crossbow to stay out of range of the hits the enemy tries to land, Zilvra watches with blind fear as her friend, Morella, is knocked unconscious and crumbles to the ground.

“Anvindr...run...” she gasps, throwing herself headfirst at the brutal man to win the genasi some time.

She’s vaguely aware through the pounding of her own heart in her ears that he calls for aid from the tower. The rogue dodges one fist, her dagger landing deep in the opponent’s thigh but as she’s about to step out of reach once more, he grabs her by the braid, yanks her onto the ground and the last thing she sees is a flaming fist coming for her face.

---

Gentle, warm hands are cradling the pounding skull of the drow, fingertips tracing the edges of bruises as the swelling diminishes just a bit. Enough to open the eyes.

Morella is there, leaning down and looking quite a lot worse for wear but smiling at the sight of consciousness returning to her friend.

“What happened?” Where -?” Zilvra beings only to be shushed by the druid.

“Glad to have you back,” a different, familiar voice says.

Looking about, the rogue sees #2 a few paces away. His brows are furrowed and his lips are pressed into a thin line.

Anvindr comes over, helping both girls to their feet. “I called out for the people in the tower to help, but he – the guy – said he’d killed them all. He was gonna kill me too but then #2 here showed up. The other guy is called #5 and he ran off.”

As if on cue, a distant roar can be heard in the direction Anvindr had just indicated. South.

“That sounded like...” Morella begins before allowing her voice to fade away.

“Like what?” #2 asks sharply.

The eladrin swallows. “Like a dragon.” Her eyes are big and filled with confusion. “I once new a dragon. Boil, the Protector of Forests.”

“Never heard of it.”

She shakes her head. “He’s a Fey Dragon. But this...it sounded just like that.”

For a long moment, they all stand in silence, listening for more but eventually it’s the sounds of the birds and critters that return.

Unable to keep to her feet, Zilvra allows herself to plop down onto the grass once more. She can reach her discarded weapons from there, drying them off in the emerald tufts before sheathing them. Morella joins her, stretching out as the sun begins to set beyond the trees.

“Why are you here?” Zilvra asks #2. “Not that I mind – thank you for saving us, really but...how...?”

There’s finally a smile on the man’s lips, as wry as it may be. “Klaud told me what you were up to so I figured I’d better warn you that someone were playing both sides of this mess...guess we know who it was now.” The smile fades. “I’d previously sent a gold group to investigate a tower and they found themselves having to flee...but at least they were able to ascertain that the Tower there had been wiped out.” He rubs his face. “Didn’t find out why or by who but...things will start to move now that he knows that I know of his betrayal.” #2 looks sternly at the trio. “That also means you three will be in jeopardy.”

Anvindr looks down at the girls. “I think we gathered as much.”

“Get out of Stouvania.”

“Right...we were already toying with that idea...” Anvindr mumbles, earning a raised brow but no questions voiced out loud. “Before we part we need to check out this place and there’s...we met a guy, called himself Gavin.”

It doesn’t take long to fill in #2 on what the trio had learned at the Lockett Logging Camp. What does come as a surprise to them, however, is that the man just nods, admitting to having trained many of the men that now are the core of the Masons, including the leader. Just like him, he explains, they were part of an elite intelligence corps and they all wanted Stouvania to prosper.

“Garrion Clarke was a good friend of mine. I considered many of them my friends. Men with the hearts in the right place although they have lost their way now.” #2 sighs. “They all have their area of expertise: intelligence gathering, tactician, you name it.”

Anvindr looks up at that. “Tactician...smart enough to predict how an entire people will search for a better home if their country is starved of resources?”

#2 nods. “Even smarter.”

Pushing up off the grass, Zilvra drags Morella along. “Right, so you know what you’re facing, that Stouvania is dealing with yet another corruption too...and we still haven’t checked out this tower.”

Resolutely, she walks up to the door and knocks on it, unsurprisingly receiving no answer. Investigating, at least there are no mechanical traps but it is locked – a detail that under normal circumstances could be dealt with if it hadn’t been locked by arcane means but together with Anvindr, the rogue manages to bypass the warding and soon the door swings open, allowing a stench of decay to waft out into the faces of the four peering in.

Gagging, they all take a step back to steel themselves and then the trio follows in #2’s wake as he crosses the threshold.

It’s a massacre. Still lying where they fell, guards and magicians alike are strewn across the floor and staircases. Some clearly tried to escape but the only way was up, trapping themselves. Others must have tried to fight because their weapons are drawn and there are marks from magical missiles like firebolts...but none of it had been any help against their foe.

“This is...” #2 is at a loss for words.

There’s nothing the trio can say to comfort the man and so they just follow him, eyes peeled for any sign of survivors or movement that doesn’t belong. Nothing.

At the very top of the tower, underneath the centre of the glass domed ceiling, is a large orb with the vague lines of a map and little sparks moving across the surface.

“These must be the anomalies in the area,” Zilvra deduces, studying the places that correspond with mines and...and a rapidly moving dot rushing south at an incredible pace.

“Hold on,” Morella mumbles. She manages to find some paper and an intact inkwell and she quickly tries to trace what the orb shows, placing little crosses for each spark. “That one’s so fast,” she points to the one heading in the southern direction.

“Dragon?” Anvindr asks nervously.

Morella’s nose wrinkles. “Are we saying #5 is a dragon or that he has a dragon?”

“What’s to the south?” Zilvra asks #2, pointing to the orb.

He studies it for a moment. “Silver Keep is southeast. But that’s not part of Stouvania and I see no tactical advantage for him by heading there.”

“Maybe a personal connection?” the drow suggests.

It earns her a shrug. “Don’t know...he’s fairly knew to the ranks although he’s been climbing fast. But I have to reconsider all I thought I knew about him.”

“While we speculate,” Anvindr suggests with a wary eye on the human, “let’s check out the place for anything useful.”

Calling upon his arcane gifts, Anvindr scours the place magically, finding that obviously the large orb with the sparks is magical (and too big to carry with them) but one other item radiates in his vision as well: a large gemstone with a word carved into it that according to both him and Morella is Gnomish for “power”.

“Doril,” Anvindr speaks it out loud, causing the other three to stop what they’re doing.

It’s as though his gaze turns inwards, the genasi listening to something he alone can hear but they can all hear his reply: “I’m Anvindr Hayate. The Tower has fallen, all are dead.”

#2 is rushing across the room, and he slaps the softly glowing gem out of the genasi’s hand. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t know if you can trust them!” Zilvra groans, having understood that the gem must be an advanced Sending Stone, allowing communication across great distances.

“Out. You must go,” #2 implores, ushering the trio down the stairs. “You must leave the country.”

“And you?” Morella asks with kind concern.

He looks torn. “I can’t leave things as they are...there are people that must be warned. I’ll head back. You can’t count on me having your back another time so let this be a lesson in when it’s time to run rather than fight...although I doubt you could’ve run from him.” At the Tower door, he pauses, grabbing on to Anvindr. “To the far, far south, there’s a mountain range which used to be occupied by giants...there are remnants of machinery there, mechanisms and feats of engineering.”

The genasi nods although with some confusion before asking, “will Silver Keep be a safe place for us to go?”

“And if not, do you know anything of a place called Umbra?” Zilvra questions.

The man’s head whips towards her, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

Baffled by the sharp reaction, she takes a step back. “I just...we need to lie low and -”

“According to rumour, many of your kin’s men aren’t keen on the matriarchy and their role in it. The ones that managed to escape should apparently have founded Umbra and now work as vigilantes, mercenaries, freelancers, anything they can find that still keeps them hidden from the females of their kin because they would not risk going back.” Studying the female drow, a soft understanding dawns on his features. “You’re looking for someone...well, good luck. If it does exist, then it should be between the farmlands to the south and Silver Keep to the east. According to rumour male drow have been spotted there and there are indeed abandoned mines, too derelict for use but maybe not for those in need.” Zilvra nods, too happy for the first leads to be able to thank him. “If you learn anything...tell me.” He turns to leave but then stops. “One last thing, Anvindr....maybe don’t use your name while travelling?” and with that he’s off.

The trio stands looking at each other for a moment. They’re beat up and tired and the sun has long since settled but it’s clear that they can’t stay there.

“Let’s go,” Zilvra sighs, taking the lead back to their little camp where they retrieve their backpacks.

From there they go northeast, reconnecting with the road and on for a while before eventually succumbing to fatigue and barely creating an adequate shelter for themselves.

[cerebricarchives]

///// ext, fancy shamancy poolside the size of a yard, alien looking bodies floating on the underground pool as /////

Sorry I'm late, the traffic held up for miles and-oh you're kidding me. -grabs a pool net and starts poking the bodies- yeah great and they're dead too.

-alien screeching as one of these squid creatures breaks through a window and lands into the pool. Splashing Green Thunder-

Oh come on! Hey who ever did that is just lucky this suit stopped conducting energy! Now come on out, this is now official TOJ business.

-a burly figure jumps out the broken window, dousted in green slime over his shiny sapphire armor, silver iron viking helmet and bright goggles, yelling Nordic chants as throws one final squid larval into the pool-

Great. I'm assuming you're a professor Caleb something, researching in advanced evolution in insects and-

The man was dead before I even got here. Slaughtered by the Ancient's scourge to humanity's hubris. Toying with the mortals like they are pawns in chess, and I am Luke's wall.

Oh geez fine. So you tried to save the guy before you could save them from getting eaten by his own creations, whatever. Is this situation at least you know handled?

I'm afraid you don't understand. These were not of the professor's creations. They were not of this Earth, nor of this realm. And your little guild of knights are playing with tools without permission.

Well it makes you feel any better I'm not with the Trinity too I'm just for cover up but like okay what's going on here I'm mostly assuming you didn't pick up from their radio signal did you?

I am the combined son of Odin and Zeus, as chosen by the true heirs of the ancients, the creators of this realm. The very lone protector from the unspeakable cosmic natures that come to torment us for the coming of The Master, as I wield my brighten shining ax bound to my blood and soul! I am Thy Neon Viking. The chosen one.

Great I'm with a nutty. All right listen, I don't know what kind of crack job you got going on here pal. But right now we have a lot of dead alien bodies, an MIA professor and sometime by now an agent of the Trinity of Justice is going to come by here to reconnaissance or whatever. You at least have any idea where the professor is?

-thy neon viking points his glowing ax to the pile of alien larval drowned in the pool, with full bellies. green thunder sighs-

Well if he's not cooking up bug experiments out of his college work, what the hell are these things?

Star Spawn.

The fuck?

Mother nature finds her way to be very beautiful with meteor showers and Aurora Borealis. All distractions from the falling stars, sprinkling these abominations that mankind cannot comprehend.

Looks like the XenoQueen had some time with the Eraserhead baby. Well you know when it grew up to the age of consent or - gah nevermind joke flew over.

Jokes are for the ones who only have something to hide and fear. You must be brave and powerful like a mighty warrior, as Thy Neon Viking has witnessed how much of occurrence of the ancients doings. This is none of your business. Please leave.

And you kind of sound like you want to stick around and make sure you didn't miss any spawners back there am I right? Or was that a 40-in plasma that you got in the back of that station wagon blocking the garage?

Oh no it was uh broken, during the scuffle between the star spawns and the battle I decided... Hey you know the professor liked to recycle electronics.

Buddy... That's some shitty reefer you got on your skin.

///// Neon Viking tosses a punch to green thunder's stomach, running away with a lawn chair as GT falls down on fetal position /////

[xmcu-fietro]

this is an old post (2016 I think?) so the network is not currently active and hasn’t been in a while, but I’m reblogging because I found it while looking for more posts to reblog from when the xmen movies were still being made, and I thought it was cool because it’s like an older cousin to @silver-goggles-guild !

are you peter maximoff trash? did you literally die after all his scenes in x-men days of future past and apocalypse? then this network is for you!!

RULES:

mbf me and vince 

reblog this post (likes dont count)

fill out this form

applications close on june 20 @ 12:00 AM EST

LOOKING FOR:

nice, active, and positive bloggers

you dont have to post a lot of x-men!! but if you posted a little that’d be cool :-) 

people who love peter maximoff <3

WHAT YOU’LL GET:

a follow from both vince and me if not already

a bunch of new friends!!

a group promo when announced

a spot on the net page

MORE INFO:

we’re picking 10-20 memebers

track #petermaximoffnet for updates

if you have any questions, feel free to send an ask to either of us!!

[xmcu-fietro]

For @silver-goggles-guild - April prompt #5 (drabble challenge)

Summary:

Peter is tortured for information about Erik.

[silver-goggles-guild]

October 2024 Prompts

October is here! Here are the prompts for this month:

1. Finish a WIP

2. If you could design any Peter Maximoff merch (stickers, shirts, etc), what would it look like? You can describe it or actually design it! (bonus: post it on Redbubble!)

3. Peter and Halloween (spooky pranks at the mansion? Helping students trick-or-treat? His feelings during the Wandavision Halloween episode?)

4. Peter thinks something—or someone—is haunting him

5. What is Peter most afraid of?

tag @silver-goggles-guild, use the tag SGG-Oct24, and say which prompt you're responding to in your post!

[xmcu-fietro]

There's so many interesting things to explore with him both being in a different universe and essentially time traveling. I wonder if there's a way to turn this (or something like it) into a prompt for @silver-goggles-guild ?

Do you ever wonder what it was like culture-wise for Peter to be stuck in a different era & universe?

What if he listened to songs he knew, but had to find out they sound different there? Was he weirded out much by the new tech? And what new things will he definitely miss when he's back home?

[purelyfiction]

Title: The Return of A Royal

Summary: After finding a bounty hunter in the midst of Mon Calamari, Cara, Din and Grogu jet off with the new accomplice to complete a favor, in exchange for information about a Jedi.

Word Count: 2,263

TW: Sexual Tension but that’s about it. Canon violence and weaponry

Chapter 2: A Rough Start

Exiting the cantina with another body tagging along felt strangely familiar. Many times the Mandalorian would find fellow hunters to split payment on a job and easily bring the bounty in with no issues. So, with Cara and the new face, it would be a little crowded on the Crest but they would manage. Din not being one for small talk, lead the four of them back to the ship, leaving Cara and the other woman to speak. "You got a name? Or are we just not gonna go there?" Cara asks rather bluntly, Din's head dipping slightly to hear the woman's reply.

"I go by Eliaden. You can call me Elia if you want." She offers in response. Din finds her phrasing odd, but doesn't judge. It was possible that this wasn't her primary language and she did her best to translate as rapidly as she could.

"Cara Dune. And of course you're familiar with The Mandalorian." The larger woman speaks as the group enter the ship.

"Razor Crest. Nice. You get her second hand?" Elia pipes up as Din shuts the back hatch, only after settling Grogu in his small hammock for a nap.

"Yes. Sturdy piece of machinery." He doesn't give much to her and Elia makes a face. The New Republic employee sees her reaction and gives her arm a tap.

"Don't let him bother you, he's not a chatterbot. I think in my acquaintance with him he's not said more than one hundred words." The three of them each take their turn climbing to the cockpit and settling in. Elia seemingly takes in the controls of the ship, a small smile on her face. Cara watches her uneasily, tilting her head. "You're into this kind of thing aren't you?"

Elia shrugs, watching as Din made haste with the buttons and levers easily. "I had a lot of time on my hands growing up, I spent a lot of time reading. I studied a lot about ships, machinery, general repairs, the likes. I mainly do a large portion of my own repairs on my ship. It's just some rusty freighter I got from some guy who cleary was picking up parts from Jawas. I call 'er Gypsy." She speaks pretty rapidly before Din cuts in.

"I need a location." Elia looks to him, rather quiet, emotion falling from her face. She stands and reaches over the silver that reflected off of the Mandalorian, quickly putting in coordinates before sitting back down. "Off you go." Her response is curt and she stays quiet from there on out.

The journey to their next destination was rather stiff, no soundwaves moving between anyone. Cara had gone down to the cargo bay to clean and condition Din's collection of weapons, while Elia stayed put. She simply sat looking at nowhere important, before Din started the ship into its landing sequence. He's turning to leave to check on the Child, noticing her far off gaze. He sighs and she seems to look to him when he does so. "I didn't mean to be harsh. Earlier."

"Well it wasn't exactly a meadow of sunshine and flowers, Mando." She snarls before looking to a screen flashing behind him. The helmeted man's head rolls, almost as if he was trying to crack his neck.

"Cara was right I don't speak much. So -"

"Mando, you -"

A breath of annoyance leaves him before he speaks again. "No, don't start. You need to learn that I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to get the kid -"

"Waadar Ke'sush'! The screen!" The brunette shoots up, pushing past him to settle in the ship's captain chair, kicking into action as the ship's warnings begin to take hold, ringing through the cabin and the cargo bay. Cara's head pokes up from the lower level as the ship begins to shake.

"What the hell did you do?" As the ship rattles towards the atmosphere of the planet they were arriving to Elia is quick to level the ship as the landing sequence fails, the other passengers grabbing onto whatever they possibly could. In a flash, the Razor Crest finds its way from the midst of space to the docking port of the planet. It's no gentle ride, but Elia manages to keep the contraption from turning to rubble. Once they're stopped, she looks to the Mandalorian on the floor.

"Gar cuyir very olarom." With that, Elia was making her way to the cargo bay, leaving Din in a pile of surprise.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Elia paid for the port fee and started leading her companions to their destination. As they walk, Din slowly strolls behind her as they maneuver through a crowded marketplace. "Where did you learn Mando'a." It's firm, no inflection in any portion of his words.

"Self taught. Remember the studying I mentioned?" She's quick and Cara gives him a glance, waiting til she's out of earshot to grab Din by the arm, making him look to her.

"What did you do." Her head tilts to look at him, like a disgruntled mother almost. Din turns his head away and mutters.

"I just tried to talk to her. Then the landing protocol failed. I didn't do anything." He pulls his arm away, hearing Grogu from his side making plenty of noises. When he looks back to Elia, she's standing with a grin on her face looking the tallest of them.

"You're falling behind, you two."

The woman leads them to what looks to be a residential building and she's quick to wrap her knuckles on the door. When no response comes from it, Din reaches over her and knocks on the door firmer and much louder. When it finally opens, a scraggly man dressed very minimally comes to the door, goggles on his forehead, toothpick between sharp teeth. He has a smirk when he registers Elia's features.

"Em. What a surprise." Cara's chin rises when he speaks.

"Em?" Elia's voice burns in the air and Cara suddenly knows what this is about. "Try again, greaseball." She gives a slight nod, taking a step back where Din finds himself pushing past the man into the residence. "You owe me. Big time." She stands with her arms crossed in the foyer of the room, Cara on her left, Din on his right.

"The only thing owed here, is an apology from you." The other speaks and the shorter woman groans.

"Gander, I don't have all day. You know what you owe me. If you just give me the payment, we'll leave. Otherwise, this is gonna end differently." Din can see the male give her a scowl before moving to a box on a table across the room. He unlocks it before pulling the blocks from the container with ease before slowly approaching her and handing them over. The Mandalorian can see the emblem clear as day in her hands, a small smile on her face. "Good choice. Have a nice life." She gives a squint before heading out the door, Cara looking to Din in confusion before the two follow her out. The owner of the residence gets to the door, cursing something in a different language, a clear curse, before a very clear word is pronounced.

Mari.

"Elia." Cara calls out to her through the market as she slinks her way through the crowd. She's moving quickly - far too quickly. Din can see what's happening and pulls the satchel from his side, offering it to Cara before he's quick on his feet. Elia turns behind her and sees the body of metal moving towards her and rapidly tucks the metal chunks in her pockets before starting at a running pace. The two begin in a race through the market, displays occasionally being knocked over and yelling insinuating at the actions. Elia slips into an alleyway, starting to navigate the maze like neighborhoods. Din was one step ahead of her, using the scanner in the helmet on his head to follow her footsteps.

Elia had thought she was clear, sat behind a wall, catching her breath. Din rounds the corner, an attempt to grab at her arm, circumnavigated by a block from Elia. The two begin in a hand in hand combat, each throwing their best efforts in. A kick, a duck, a dodge under legs, ending in Din grabbing the woman by the waist and pinning her to the wall she'd been hiding against. Both of them panting, it was then they realized how close together they were. Din finally gets a word out, spoken between sharp breaths.  

"Who's Mari." He snaps and Elia's back straightens. Her cheek is against the building and she can feel the material scratching at soft skin.

"I don't know, his ex?" She scoffs before Din moves one of her arms behind her back, pressing a little harder into her, metal forearm armor most definitely leaving bruises.

"I'm not playing games. You either tell me and we can figure this out or I can drag you in bindings back to the ship and introduce you to the carbonite sheet with your name on it. Your choice." He watches as the two of them sit in the empty alleyway, the light of day beginning to fall, leaving a slight glow of orange over everything.

"Fine. Let me go first." She grumbles, Mando letting out a slight chuckle.

"Try again, sweet girl." Elia can feel her skin tingle at the words, eyes widening a little. She stays quiet for a few moments causing Din to grow impatient. He lets his hips press to her, securing her to wall further as he takes a hold of both arms, holding them above her head. He leans in a little, breath heavy.

"If you want to test me, you're welcome to. But I guarantee you'll regret it." It's lower than normal, husky and dark almost. Elia has to take a labored breath, her lungs feeling tight since most of her was encased between a sheet of beskar and a hardened wall.

"She's my sister." The young woman's voice is almost a rasp now as Din pulls himself away from her, hand over his blaster - just in case she gets an idea of running again.

"Explain. Now." Its a command and now, Elia isn't risking pushing him any further.

"He sent that to every bounty hunter in the Guild." She begins, referring to the hologram message Din had received. "I know because I got one. He's been looking for her for years. He had my mom and I evacuated before they closed in. He claimed he couldn't lose us too. As for why Gander called me that? He's her ex. She left quite a bit of things at his house. I knew he had the material, and I knew that if I got it, I'd be able to get a hefty amount of credits for it. He's just a junkie, he's not a bounty hunter. " She confesses before reaching into the pocket of her clothing, pulling out the four bars of beskar and handing them to him.

"I'm not taking those." He scoffs, shaking his head as he takes a step back. "If you lied about the bounty hunter, do you know where that Jedi is?" Din is doubtful, as the woman in front of him as certainly lost most of his trust now.

"That, I didn't lie about. I know she's been planet hopping. She's been trying to find the kid." Elia looks to him with a softened face. "Listen, I know you have no reason to trust me on this, but I promise. I can help you get to her. I know her last coordinates." Din shakes his head turning away and starting down the alleyway again, Elia finding herself confused. She starts to follow him, needing to take larger steps as he practically gallops away. "Where are you going?"

"To my ship. You're a joke." He scoffs, still walking towards the market in the direction they had previously ran through. Elia slowly stops walking, watching as he continues walking further from her.

"His name is Grogu." She speaks. The Mandalorian stops. He'd not once said his name in front of the bounty hunter, neither had Cara. And only four of them knew his name. Well it seemed as though, five did. He turns on his heels, jaw clenched. He's beyond frustrated. The whole day had been wasted because of this deviation and now Elia was milling it.

"How do you know that." Din pushes his tongue to the root of his mouth as he waits for a response, looking at the woman. He can see the scrape on her cheek from the plaster from earlier. He'd not thought he'd been pressing that hard - guess not.

"She told me. The Jedi. I may have spoken to her before she left Mon Cala. She told me that she was looking for him and that she was struggling to locate him." Elia takes a closer step to the Mandalorian and looks at him with a calm gaze. "He told her he was safe. That he was protected and that she would find him when she needed to." She laughs a little shaking her head. "But I don't blame you if you don't believe me." Din wants to punch something right about now. This woman had been so innocent at the cantina. A simple favor was all she asked. Now here she was, going on about conversations with the Jedi he'd been searching for. With hesitation he gives a wave.

"Get your ass back to the ship."

[newsiegirlscribbles]

There was no mistaking it, this was the watch of Emilianna Robinson.

 It was such a fine name for such an unkempt girl, and known by most of Londinium in curt, snapping words from neighbor to neighbor or in sighs over shaking teacups. Suffice to say, the well-to-do had looked much more favorably upon charity galas and the “poor, underprivileged children” eleven years, eleven months, and a day ago; now, the beneficiaries’ pocketbooks were used more often to swat the first pint-sized terror to get close enough more than anything else. What nobody seemed to realize, Millie thought, was that Emmy was right impossible, and became more so with every other social worker that was laid off with a government-funded check that said the job was important, and a bank statement that said they weren’t. Millie had worked at Robinson’s Foster Care long enough to realize that Emmy was more headstrong than anything else and wasn’t nearly as bad as she could have been. 

The seal that came issued on all the gingham skirts, faded blouses, and pressed blazers that couldn’t have been updated since the fifties or so had long since been mended and re-mended, torn off by thorns or hedges in pursuit of some rabbit to chase or tree to climb on all her clothes; her flats were scuffed and worn from much of the same activity. Her hair was curly, the colour of wheels that have traveled a long way on dirt roads, and tied back hastily in twin pigtails. No matter how presentable she was when she left, Emmy had a remarkable talent for acquiring scraped knees, freckles, and streaks of earth, blood, jams, or whatnot on her clothes with the declaration that she’d do it again.

 (“You should have seen the other bloke.” she had quipped once with a wince and a smile as Millie had swabbed the clip that would become the faint white scar on her shoulder with the last of the alchemist’s Essence of Kingsfoil.

The social worker raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you lose this fight?”

“‘S why you should have seen ‘im, the princely genetics and shiner I gave him would make him a right poster child for this place and really bring in the folks.“) 

By some chance of fate or fair fortune, the gentleman Decennium had taken a shine to her and requested her as his apprentice. Emmy’s face had lit up with a smile warmer than the sun, kicking her heels excitedly and shaking the timekeeper’s hand with vigor, and her enthusiasm was almost--almost--enough to excuse the fact that she had broken the Most Important Rule.

 In most of Sylvaria, those with stars in their blood had a talent for magic and were destined to protect and enrich the world; in Londinium, Emillianna was destined to destroy it. She was forbidden from tinkering with timepieces by the strictest of orders, never allowed to touch the gearwing menangery that fascinated the other children so, but somehow, she had slipped and caught the notice of one of the most esteemed positions in all Sylvaria. Millie could only breathe easily in the gratitude that the girl had been entrusted with the delicate waltz of time and mechanics and not thrown to the best judgement of the people like so many others long gone to the unwound future. The watch was a gift, a contract of sorts; as Emillianna accepted it, she placed her left hand over her heart and the clock’s face lit up with a soft glow, the gears inside ticking to place. 

She had loved the watch, and she had loved Decennium and chronomechanics and the silvery glow of fluid time as it clung to her fingers and stopped every clock she touched, capturing the essence again, and again, and again. 

Which was why, when Millie saw the pocketwatch all but smashed to bits by the edge of the clock tower, and felt the minutes torn from the bells and from her day as the residuum rippled ever so slightly, she knew that something had gone very, very, wrong. 

I. In which things go very, very wrong

Emmy ducked and slipped through the crowd into the marketplace as the starchly-dressed gentleman’s shouts came to an end; once she heard the distinctive click of an unsatisfied well-to-do person’s boots stalking off, she leaned against the archway and sighed with relief. 

Catching snap-dragons was a bother; they always managed to get loose once they spotted a rose garden, which wouldn’t have been so much of a problem had the well-to-do not been so fond of fences that she always got stuck in because of course she did. 

This was the fifth garden this month.

Drat.

As she gained a better view of the scene, she saw the market larger than she had initially imagined; hundreds of people bustled from stall to stall, passageways twisted through streets, and song and chatter rang through the air. If she could just get a smidge higher, she could see more of the area and make a clean escape….and the highest vantage point wasn’t far off. 

Emmy stopped one of the nearby marketgoers, a girl with short-cropped raven-black hair tucked beneath a lavender bonnet, her corduroy skirt and aegean blazer nearly close enough to indicate a fellow Robinson’s orphan--the silver buttons notwithstanding. There was a sparkle in her eyes, almost as if she were holding back a smile. 

“Pardon.” Emmy said, tapping her on the shoulder, “Would you know which way to the gallows?”

The girl laughed, evidently amused. “Are you expected?” 

“What? No!”

“Pity.” she sighed, “It’s been so long since we hanged a thief.” 

Emmy’s face blazed scarlet. “Are you always this horrid? I’m not a thief!” 

“Well, you sure weren’t dashing like a rabbit to see this.” the girl said with a wink, gesturing to the tavern hall. She leaned in, ever-so-slightly, in a softer voice, “‘less you were hoping one of these blokes would get so absent-minded they’d take you in.” Her playful laugh cut across the market like a dog’s bark; Emmy leveled a glare, and the girl grinned back, somewhere between the sort of adorable cheer that let you get away with murder and the self-assured smirk that let you commit it. 

It was a delight to see it knocked straight off her face.

The girl raised a hand to the mark, and before Emmy could raise her a second, a sharp clip stung the side of her jaw; light hands shoved her fiercely into the archway. There must have been a clock embedded in the stone above her--she wasn’t sure how that thought sprang to mind, but she could have sworn she felt microseconds being shaken from the timepiece as the girl’s knee was driven into her chest. 

The moment was dismissed; Emmy swung her leg under her opponent’s and threw her to the ground. A swift kick bloodied the girl’s cheek; a heel to her stomach would have settled the fight ultimately, but with agility she shouldn’t have had, she rolled to her side, out of the way, stood up, grabbed the orphan’s collar, and slammed her into the archway. A hairline fracture split the clock face; Emmy raised a hand to push back, but the silvery mists of the loose time clung to her fingers as they brushed the edge of the clock. 

And suddenly

The girl moved a little bit slower. 

II. 

Emmy grabbed the girl’s shoulders and tackled her to the ground. 

Beneath the thin shine of the silver filaments, her opponent made a move to catch Emmy’s ankle with her own, but the orphan sidestepped it easily, swinging her foot out of the way and onto the raven-haired girl’s ribs. 

“Ha!” she cheered, digging her heel in just for the sake of sheer cockiness, “Not quick enough, now!” 

“Shove off.” the girl muttered, moving to sit up. “‘Sn’t fair, you used magic.”

Moments from offering her hand, Emmy resisted the urge to slap the girl. 

“Do I look like a starblood to you?” she said, laughing humorlessly, “I’d really think I’d ought to have noticed, but pardon--suppose I forgot my robes and silver spoon today.” 

The raven-haired girl sighed, accepted her opponent’s hand reluctantly, and got to her feet. Once level with her, she took her by the shoulders and shook her. 

“Are you daft? Look at the clock! Look at the time!” 

Emmy shook her head, moved away. 

“You pushed me into it in the first place! What did you think would happen?”

The girl threw up her hands, frustrated. “Well, would asking that you didn’t do...whatever you did be enough?” 

Emmy scoffed, shoved the girl back. “What are you getting at?” 

“You’re...”

She fell silent; Emmy would nearly flatter herself enough to say awestruck. Behind her, a tall gentleman, resplendent in a pressed dark suit with an emerald blazer and tie, strode closer; a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, and all but slid off as he beamed. 

“A timekeeper.” he said warmly. 

Emmy’s eyes widened as she reflexively stepped back; by the look of the intricate elliptical badge on his blazer and the brass-lined goggles in his fair hair, he must have been one of Londinium’s timekeeping guild, all but a prince. Speak of the wrong person to cross….

She held her breath as he stepped back; his hand slowed as it neared the clock. 

“Let’s see here….there are only a few seconds missing from it that have since passed, so not much damage done there...though that fracture could cause a problem the next go-around. Can’t say I’ve ever seen that done by anything besides magic.” he remarked absently, withdrawing a tool somewhere between a wrench and a spyglass from his pocket. 

With his attention on the clock, she could probably dodge. There were enough people to cover, enough loose bricks in the alley walls to lift a foot on. Sure, it wouldn’t be proper, but there were scores of orphans in Londinium. The faeborn girl started the fight, she could finish it. 

….and her former opponent was gone. Stardust to ashes. That had been her plan. 

Before she could map out a better route, the gentleman caught her shoulder. 

“Ah--not so fast. I’m not cross, don’t worry; but magic of this sort is always best recognized by the caster. Would you like to give it a shot?” he said gently, offering the tool to her, “It’s a lenity, designed to counteract effects on tempered material.” 

She took it, glanced up at the clock warily, and extended one of the legs of it like a compass to enclose the fracture; immediately, thin tendrils of temporal energy twisted along it towards her hand. The gentleman nodded approvingly. 

“Now, just bring it together and press your hand against the fracture; it’ll help if you keep a more level head about this.” 

Emmy took a deep breath, but the temporal discharge only grew thicker around her fingers as she willed the fracture to mend, the time to recontinue; it strangled her from the inside, burning her fingers as her face grew hot. Hairline cracks spread outward from the fracture; by the most basic of Sylvarian survival instincts, she swept her foot in a protective half-circle behind her. 

Forcing her heart to slow, she drew her hand away lightly; slowly, the smaller fractures began to stitch back together, time began to resume course in the marketplace, and the silvered mists of time were drawn back towards the clock, yet the last glow of it never quite left her hand. The smallest crack, despite everything, still  remained. 

Her heart beat once, and again, andagainagainagainagain

And

A g a i n 

As the faintest, ever-so-slight shine of her own time stubbornly intertwined among the manipulative. 

That….wasn’t good. 

Emmy twisted her hand toward the presence of the clock as her heartbeat registered as if at the bottom of an ocean in her ears--

Until at last, fingers outsplayed and wrist outstretched towards the temporal charge, Emmillianna Robinson fainted. 

III.

“_ss R_ns_n? Miss Robinson, are you alright?”

There was a tight hold around her left wrist, and that more than the formality jolted her to attention. 

“I will remain silent until allowed a lawyer….” she said quickly, yanking her wrist roughly out of her holder’s grip, “As is required by...Londinium Code thirty--” 

The man’s shoulders relaxed in a sigh of relief; as his laughter broke the air in short, triumphant bursts, Emmy looked up and recognized him as a Timekeeper and cut off abruptly. Stardust to ashes, well, she was as good as done for if she’d botched it this poorly. With a clap of his hands and a boyish cheer, he swung her into a twirl.

“Brava, Miss Robinson” he chuckled, resting her back on her feet, “I dare say I’ve never seen such a display like that before.” 

She cocked her head in confusion, but as he gestured to the clock, she stepped closer. As if through the refracted glimpse of a pond, she remembered the lenity, the time as it twisted around her hands, and--

She must have fixed it. She couldn’t remember it, but she supposed that’s what happened, somehow, so a grin spread across her face. “Really?” 

The gentleman shook her hand enthusiastically. “Yours is a talent to behold. I’ve been looking for an apprentice for some time; if you don’t mind my presumption, would you be interested?”

Emmy pressed her hand to the faded Robinson’s seal on her blazer, beamed a lopsided smile with all the cheer in the world. 

“I accept.” 

[petermlx]

@silver-goggles-guild

[shiningso1o]

Reborn § Cal Kestis x Reader [1]

Summary: You are a Bounty Hunter, tasked with catching Cal Kestis for your boss, Sorc Tormo. However, plans change, and it's up to you and Cal to fight alongside one another. On a quest to find the sacred Jedi texts, you and the Mantis crew run into trouble—trouble by the name of the Empire.

Warnings: Mild violence, mild threat, injury

Some things that you will find in nature are quite remarkable. There are certain plants, for example, that have the ability to grow—or even thrive—in conditions that definitely don't seem habitable. You will occasionally see brightly coloured petals blooming amidst murky, muddy swamp lakes, their pinks and reds standing out against the dull brown water. It is quite a rare sight, but striking nevertheless, and you will find yourself staring at that particular flower for ages. You hoped that one day, you would be able to be reborn from the worst possible conditions too, just like those flowers.

As it turned out, the waters you resided in were far too polluted for even the strongest, most beautiful flowers to emerge from. Namely, the Grand Arena, where Bounty Hunters provided the hunted and gamblers would flock to in order to place bets or simply enjoy a battle between two or more creatures. It wasn't the most dignified place in the galaxy.

You reviewed this fact in your mind as you stood, waiting, with your back pressed against a sturdy brick wall and your arms crossed tightly over your chest. This wasn't an unusual position for you to be in—in fact, it was a common occurrence—but you still felt, in that moment, as though you were sinking further into those swamp waters. Maybe it was the steadily loosening grip you had on your morals; maybe it was because you were doing so well in the place. You didn't know, but you couldn't decide whether you wanted to or not.

A door to your right opened, causing you to look up. Behind it stood a droid; tall with long, metallic limbs and a cylindrical head. "Hey ON-4," you greeted the ON-unit.

The droid stood back, pulling the door wide open. "Sorc Tormo requests you now."

You shuffled past ON-4, patting him on the shoulder as you did so. Stepping into the room, you marvelled, as you had done many times before, at the spaciousness of the place. In comparison to the rest of the building's grey, rock walls, dim lighting and compact cells, this room was lavish. Lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating ever corner and allowing no shadows to hide there. Every piece of furniture was made from a rich fabric or lustrous metal, colours varying from deep crimsons to navy blues and shiny golds. Everything about the place reeked of power and money.

In the centre was a sleek white desk, where an Umbaran man sat in silver robes. He rose, outstretching his arms as you approached. "(Y/N)(L/N), one of my favourite Hunters," he began. You leaned over and shook his hand before taking a seat across from him. "Did you see that fight yesterday? The poor Espirion didn't stand a chance against that Wookie."

You nodded in response, but honestly had no idea what Tormo was referring to. "What did you need me for?" You figured that cutting to the chase would be your best bet.

Tormo sat up in his seat. "Well," he said, resting his elbows on the desk. "There's someone I want. The Brood were successful last time, but the target outwitted and outfought us. Now, the bounty on his head is even larger, and get this-" He moved closer and lowered his voice. "-the Empire are the ones after him."

"The Empire," you echoed. You watched as Tormo relaxed in his seat. "I thought bringing people in for the Empire is what Troopers and Inquisitors are for."

Tormo shrugged. "They're desperate. The pay depends on his condition, and if you bring him in with his crew too."

"Wait, this guy has a whole-"

You were silenced by Tormo raising his hand. "Relax, (Y/N). I'll recruit some others to keep their ship busy, whilst you go and get him yourself."

"Sounds like a plan." It seemed relatively simple—just one guy was a walk in the park for you. He had beaten the Haxion brood, but you were sure you'd be able to do a better job than them.

"Good. We can split the money, seventy-thirty," Tormo continued. It wasn't a great deal in your eyes, but you knew that it was guaranteed with him, and hoped that maybe it'd be enough to get you out of the business for good; you sighed internally and stood to shake Tormo's hand once more.

"I won't let you down," you promised. You retracted your hand to see a tracker slipped in by Tormo, with it's soft red light blinking slowly.

"I know." His words were kind, but you knew him well enough to recognise the malice and warning behind them. "It's not a long journey, I've been given the word that he's headed here already."

"Easy."

"That's right. Easy," Tormo repeated. "Be careful, though—he's a persistent one." You backed out of the room as Tormo spoke. Shooting him one last grin, you slipped out, patting ON-4 on the shoulder as you did so. The door was promptly slammed shut behind you, and you found yourself alone.

You spared no time in making your way through the maze of hallways. Almost like reflex, you turned corners, swung on ropes and shuffled through thin passages. It was as if a map was stored in your brain; you didn't even have to think to climb onto one ledge here or press a button to open a door there. After all, you had spent over a year working for Sorc Tormo, hunting down the unfortunate and bringing them to his ship. You joined his team after leaving the Nevarro Guild, believing that it would provide you with stable pay, as well as guaranteed loyalty. Tormo had a reputation for always staying true to his word, no matter what, and only punishing those who didn't reciprocate this honesty. He was a lot of things, but at least he wasn't a liar or a cheat.

It wasn't long before you arrived at the landing port. It was a relatively large area, where visitors, gamblers and Hunters left their vehicles. You made your way over to your speeder, which you had recently acquired off of a trader when the ship had first arrived on Tatooine (Tormo's vast ship usually floated around between the stars, but he had recently taken a liking to the planet and decided to stay there). You climbed on, then tugged your mask above your nose and your goggles down so your face was protected from the scorching heat and blinding sand of Tatooine. It wasn't your favourite place to be—you were more used to the balanced weather of a city, not extreme conditions such as this, but it was better than having to stare out into the endless blackness of space all the time. You switched your engine on and set off into the desert.

  As you steered the speeder with one hand, you clutched onto the charm that hung from your neck with the other. It was a simple, translucent crystal attached to a thing string. You had been gifted it by your younger sister before she died. You couldn't risk losing it.

The nearest village (and one of the only) wasn't too far away, and it had a more accessible landing station, so you figured that if the target really was headed towards Tatooine, he would go there. The rest of Tatooine was mainly flat, stretched out pieces of dry land or rolling sand dunes anyway. As you approached, the tracker began to emit a high-pitched beeping sound. You glanced at it briefly, and observed it flashing on and off frequently. That must mean he's here already, you thought. This'll have to be a quick job.

Soon after, you entered the village and slowed your speeder to a halt. It was busy, not only with villagers trading food and spare parts, but with stormtroopers roaming every corner. You guided your speeder to a wall and shut it off. As you stared up at the building opposite, you scaled it with your mind. Then, you grabbed onto two bumps in the rock, digging your boots into crevices lower down and began to climb up. The building was only small, so you easily reached the top. You knelt down on the flat roof, feeling the heat seep out of the rock, through your pants and burn your skin. Ignoring the discomfort, you surveyed the area. You could see almost the entire village from where you perched, but witnessed nothing unusual.

Having been a Bounty Hunter for a few years, you could usually tell who your target was without knowing their appearance. The majority of them shared commonalities, most of which were nervousness, suspiciousness or the tendency to jump at anything remotely unexpected. Most of them knew of the bounties on their heads, so were particularly cautious with every move they made.

But everything looked perfectly calm to you, beside the small groups of stormtroopers here and there. You checked the tracker once again. The beeping was consistent, not rising or falling in speed as anyone approached or moved away from your position. You frowned, then peered closer. Maybe the orientation is wrong? Or maybe it's the direction, you thought as you span around. The frequency picked up, and the flashes became faster as you faced away from the village. You took a step closer to the direction and the sound sped up. Then a step backwards—it slowed. Where could this guy possibly be? you wondered. And then you saw it. In the distance, stood the ruins of a temple.