#or they might just be a general nuisance doing things like stealing candy or getting revenge for minor stuff

[dravidious]

◖⁠⚆⁠ᴥ⁠⚆⁠◗

Been in an imp mood lately, so I kinda made a villain character who's an imp. May or may not do anything with them.

[wrenhyperfixates]

The Gift

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Tony says no pets in the Tower, but since when has Loki ever listened to him? Warnings: like one curse word A/N: Any Tom Hiddleston stans out there should get the Easter egg in this one :)

Disclaimer: Picture not mine

“Oh, come on, Tony! Please,” you whined for the fifth time that week. “Not even just a little one?”

“Absolutely not. It’d make a mess of the place. Not to mention that this isn’t exactly the safest place for a pet.”

“So it gets into a lab accident and we have a super dog. Not the worst thing ever,” you said, half joking, though Tony actually seemed kind of intrigued now. You changed your tactic before he got any ideas. “Besides, it won’t make a mess. I’ll train it. And not all dogs shed.”

“I guess, but someone might be allergic,” Tony countered, thinking he delivered a winning argument.

“We can get a hypoallergenic dog,” you shot back, though you’d already checked with almost everyone and no one said they were.

Tony grumbled, running out of excuses to give as to why you couldn’t get the pet you’ve been pleading for the past few months. Tony had become somewhat of a father figure to you during your time in the Tower, and you’d been pretty sure you could use that to your advantage. Sadly, though, nothing had been working. In fact, that relationship had been more of a detriment to you than anything else as you didn’t want to make him upset with you. Otherwise, you might just go out and buy the pet of your choosing. Maybe even more than one. Although, to be fair, it was Tony’s building, and he was allowing you to live here rent free, so you should probably just drop it. But you really wanted a pet, and you knew you weren’t the only one.

“Sorry, but still no.”

“Fine,” you relented with an overdramatic sigh. “For now, anyway.”

“Thank you,” he said, going back to whatever he was tinkering with before you came in.

You pouted in the lab for a bit, hoping he might change his mind, but to no avail. Eventually you slinked out and went into one of the common rooms, plopping on the couch between Peter and Bucky.

“So, how’d it go?” Peter asked after popping a handful of Skittles into his mouth.

“No luck," you responded sourly, stealing some of the colorful candy from him. “None of my strategies are working.”

“What if we tried for something smaller?” Bucky offered. “Like a gerbil.”

“I guess,” you grumbled as you flopped back in exasperation. “But we’ve had our eye on that Cocker Spaniel for a while. A gerbil just wouldn’t be the same.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You all sat in silence for a bit and watched as Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck argued about what hunting season it is, mulling over the situation. Admitting defeat seemed to be the most likely option at the moment, but you hated to just give up when you were sure there was a way to get what you wanted and not have Tony be upset with you.

“I’ve got it!” Peter suddenly shouted, bubbling with excitement. “We go and adopt it and then tell Mr. Stark that it just followed us home!”

“Except he wouldn’t let us keep it even then,” you stated, having already thought of that yourself.

“So we hide it. Simple,” Bucky chimed in. “By the time he notices, Peter will be so emotionally bonded to it, Tony wouldn’t dare take it away.”

“Great idea, Mr. Bucky,” Peter said, high-fiving him.

“Yeah, if only there weren’t cameras everywhere. Not to mention a home system that tells him everything,” you added, growing more upset at the lack of options by the minute.

You pushed up from the couch as the episode’s end was heralded by Porky Pig’s “Th-th-that’s all folks.” After waving bye to your friends, you headed to your room to brainstorm in silence. The figure lurking in the shadows didn’t even register in your mind, so you had no idea that a certain god heard your whole conversation. Not only that, he was about to fix all your problems.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mr. Loki, where are we going?” Peter inquired as he and Bucky were led into the city by the trickster god.

“All will be revealed, spiderling. I assure you.”

Bucky just shrugged when Peter looked at him, and so they continued following Loki through the busy New York streets. After hearing about your plight, he had hatched a plan to get you what you wanted. All it took was a bit of research on that infernal computer device, and he was pretty sure he’d found the right shelter. It was a far walk from the Tower, and since neither he nor his travel companions could drive, he resorted to taking the subway, an experience he’d rather not have again. Finally, they arrived at the destination, and Peter was about to burst with excitement.

“Mr. Loki!” he gasped. “This is exactly where we were looking for dogs!”

“But I have a feeling you knew that already,” Bucky said.

“Indeed,” Loki replied. “I must confess that I overheard your conversation in the common room yesterday.”

“Oh I get it now. You’re doing this for-”

“No time for speculation, we are here to get me a pet,” Loki interrupted, “Go on. After you, spiderling.”

Peter, still blissfully unaware of Loki’s true intentions, led the way into the shelter. They were greeted with the sound of happy barking and the distinct smell of dog treats. Loki had to admit, he wasn’t the biggest fan of animals. He found some to be more agreeable than others, such as a good steed, but overall he thought them to be more of a nuisance than anything else. Thor had bought a cat for Jane once, and it tore up half of his capes before he presented it to her. Loki was glad his brother kept it away from him and his belongings. Not to mention he didn’t appreciate the sheer number of similarities people said he had with felines. Dogs, however, he was fine with, so long as they were trained properly.

“Hello, how may I help...” the girl behind the front desk trailed off, her eyes going wide with excitement upon realizing who the trio was. “Y-you’re... Oh my gosh. My friends are never going to believe this! But, uh, how may I help you?”

None of the heroes were particularly comfortable with the attention and star struck gaze of the girl, so it took them a minute to get over their sheepishness. Loki looked at both his companions before realizing he would have to do the talking. He sighed but knew the look on your face would be worth it. You’d look at him the same way you had so many times before, whenever he did little things for you, whether it be rubbing your shoulders after a stressful day or brewing you a cup of tea on a chilly morning. The two of you weren’t dating, exactly, but you weren’t exactly not dating, either. Loki found himself incapable of asking you to make it official, lest it ruin what you currently had. He didn’t know what he’d do if you no longer casually held his hand or rested your head on his lap while reading in the evenings. Even though he was fairly certain you felt the same way, that last bit of doubt wouldn’t leave him alone. Besides, despite usually being quite a great thinker, he couldn’t come up with a good way to confess. He supposed that kissing you would do the trick, but he wasn’t brave enough for that, so getting you a dog would have to suffice for now.

“My friends here were looking at some of your dogs recently, and there is one that they are quite smitten with. We are here to adopt it.”

“That’s right! A Cocker Spaniel named Bobby,” Peter offered. “He hasn’t already been adopted, has he?”

“Nope!” the girl responded in a perky voice. “He’s all yours as soon as you fill out the proper paperwork.”

“Mr. Loki, are you sure about this. Mr. Stark told me I couldn’t get a dog.”

“Exactly. He told you, not me,” Loki replied, picking up a pen.

“Well, yeah, but I don’t really think he meant it just for me. I think it was more of a general kind of thing.” Loki and Bucky looked at him in exasperation for a second, wondering how he could still be so innocent, before he caught on. “Oh, ok. I get it now. Carry on.”

The three boys huddled around the page as Loki filled it out, providing Tony’s credit card as payment when the time came. It seemed appropriate, Loki thought, that Stark should have to pay for making you upset, and taking that in the most literal sense was the only somewhat acceptable way, it seemed. No longer could The God of Mischief go around stabbing those who hurt the ones he cared about. In a way, he missed the good old days, as he referred to them, but his new life led him to you, which made the rest of it fine with him, he decided, as he finished his signature with a flourish.

“There,” he declared, admiring the loop of his fancy, cursive L. “Finished.”

The girl disappeared into the back, only to return with Bobby a moment later. After giving the paperwork a quick once over, she handed the leash over to Bucky, who couldn’t stop the smile from growing on his face. Peter immediately bent down to scratch the dark brown dog behind his ears.

“Who’s a good boy? You are! You’re a good boy!” he cooed.

“Spiderling, he hasn’t even done anything yet,” Loki said, somewhat perplexed, as Bobby rolled over onto his back, stopping at the god’s feet. “Though, I do suppose he is a rather good boy,” he added, an inexplicable smile tugging at his lips.

One stop at the pet store and a taxi ride later, both unknowingly paid for by Tony, they arrived back at the Tower with the newest member of their family. It wasn’t even ten minutes later that Tony strolled into the room where they were playing with Bobby. He stopped dead in his tracks as he noticed the dog, happily playing tug of war with Bucky.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing at the Cocker Spaniel.

“A dog,” Loki deadpanned.

“Yeah, no shit. I mean what is it doing here?”

“I adopted it. Really Stark, for a supposed genius you ask a lot of obvious questions.”

“Don’t get snippy with me, Rock of Ages,” Tony quipped back, gritting his teeth a little. “This is my Tower and I say no pets, except for maybe a goldfish.”

“Yes, this is your Tower, but it is our home, is it not? As thus, we should be allowed the simple pleasures of life, such as having a pet. After all, studies show that having a dog can reduce stress, something I’d say is rather important for people in our position.”

Tony glared for a minute, not really having a good response to that. Then he called your name, certain you were behind this.

“No, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. “They had nothing to do with this. Don’t blame them.”

“That’s right,” Bucky also defended you. “It was all us.”

It was already too late, though, and you appeared in the doorway. Loki had been planning on presenting your gift to you in some cute or clever way, but all he had time to do was a magic up a bow on the pup’s head, a green one, of course. Bobby started happily yapping at your arrival and trotted over to you, looking for a scratch behind the ear.

“Oh. My. Gosh. He’s adorable!” you exclaimed as he rolled over for belly rubs. “You finally got a dog for me, Tony? Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Sorry, but I can’t take credit for this,” he said, turning down the hug you were offering him by putting a hand up. Then he pointed at the mischievous trio whose doing it was.

“Well actually, it was mainly Loki,” Bucky said, nudging the god in the ribs.

“But Mr. Bucky, we all- Oh wait. Awwww,” Peter gushed as he realized what Loki was feeling.

“Oh. In that case, thank you Loki!” you shouted, throwing your arms around him in a hug.

Without a second’s hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, too, returning the embrace. “You are quite welcome, my darling.”

You nuzzled into the spot where his shoulder met his neck. In turn, he put his head on your own and breathed in your scent, forgetting the others in the room for a minute. It seemed you had, too, because you looked equally startled when Tony cleared his throat.

“Ok, fine. He can stay,” Tony conceded, “but only if he doesn’t wreck the place. And keep him out of the lab.”

You all chorused your thanks and, despite his harsh tone, could tell that Tony had already taken to Bobby, who was now the center of attention again. After playing with him for a bit, Bucky made some excuse about having to leave and took Peter with him, both of them wanting to give you some alone time with Loki.

“This really is very sweet, Loki,” you told him after a few minutes.

“Think nothing of it. It is my gift to you.”

“I feel bad, though. I don’t have anything for you,” you said, biting your lip. “Well, actually, I do have one thing that I can give you.”

“Oh? What would that be, my darling?”

The end of his sentence was nearly cut off by your lips crashing into his. The kiss was a little sloppy, but filled with so much love and desire that neither one of you cared. After gathering his wits, Loki kissed you back, cupping your cheeks as you grabbed his shoulders, still a little unsteady from surging forward.

“That,” you breathlessly whispered, pulling away as Bobby began barking again.

Later that night, Tony found you and Loki passed out on the couch, Bobby sprawled out across both your laps.

“Huh,” he mumbled, draping a blanket over your shoulders. “I guess it’s a good thing they got that dog, after all.”

[jcmorrigan]

Notes from a Racecar Bed

The F/O? Giovanni Potage from Epithet Erased. The S/I? Rachel Scribere - mundie, writer of much fanfiction, independent contractor supervillainous minion who has also given up on adulting. (Most of those things apply to me IRL!) I’m only YT-current, not VRV-current, and it’s been four episodes, so I’m well aware this ship could get sunk at any time. I’m just having fun while I can. AU where I have a more “normal” job based on real-life events but do evil on the side. This ficlet features some sensuality (though no overt sexuality), discussion of illegal activities I only do in my fantasies and would never do IRL, and a blatant admission of how many ASMR videos I have watched, because cringe culture is now dead on my blog.

***

         Like so many nights before, sitting on the racecar bed, me with my legs crossed, him curled behind me. So lucky he likes to spoil his favorite minion, I thought.

           Though given who we were, it wasn’t a sexual tantalization. No, he’d found the weak spots in my shoulders. His fingers would dig into them for less than a minute and I would be like a collapsing water balloon.

           “ – and then she fuckin’ waves me over, even though I’m helping that other guy,” I rant, “and I have to just up and abandon the dude and walk over to see what she wants, and it turns out her card doesn’t have enough money on it, surprise surprise, but oh noooooo she can’t possibly believe that, but I’ve got this guy waiting, so I go bug my manager, and she’s trying to tell me she’s on the phone, but I see this lady about to EXPLODE so I tell her that this CAN-NOT-WAIT, and long story short, that’s why this Saturday, I really need to get some cash the good old-fashioned illegal way.”

           “What, like tricking a gas station clerk into leaving his station for just long enough that you can get behind the counter and steal an entire pack of scratch lottery?”

           “…That was incredibly specific, Gio.”

           His left hand kept massaging my shoulder; his right disappeared, and I could hear the nightstand drawer opening. “Prepare yourself,” he teased. “You’re about to tell me I’m the best boyfriend-slash-boss you could ever have in three…two…”

           A pack of scratch lottery, thicker than a deck of cards, was tossed rather unceremoniously onto the blanket in front of me.

           “Oh my GOD!” You’d think that would have been a scream of dismay and horror, but I’d lost my morals a long time ago. I picked the pack up with glee. “You even got the crosswords!”

           “I know how much you love a good puzzle.”

           “This is so gonna help me pass the time at my car appointment.”

           I could feel him wincing as his right hand returned to my shoulder. “Just don’t, y’know, bring the whole thing to the dealership. Because if they see you with that – well, I learned that the HARD way.”

           “Yeah, I bet you – “ I realized what didn’t add up. “Dealership? You drive a fucking Vespa.”

           “WHICH YOU CAN GET AT DEALERSHIPS!”

           “Fair point. Anyway, I’ll just sneak like five into my book.”

           He ended it the way he always did – halting slowly, then dragging both palms down my back. I shivered, and I knew he noticed. “No offense, but I think my thumbs are gonna fall off.”

           “I thought that was longer than usual.” I then stopped to ponder it. “…Have I ever tried on you?”

           “Wait, what?”

           “Have I ever tried massaging YOUR shoulders?”

           I could hear a snicker from behind. “You know, that actually sounds amazing and quite well-deserved on my part.”

           “Well, then let’s switch places, dork.”

           First, I turned about to look up into his eyes, their gold flecks reflecting off the irises. God, I could call my eyes “the color of ocean at twilight” in parody fanfic 365 days out of the year and that wouldn’t change the fact that they were the dullest possible mix of blue-green-gray. And his eyes…they always sparkled.

           His lips curled into a sly smile, his fangs peeking out beneath his upper lip. “Are you lost in my eyes again? I must say, I can’t blame you.”

           I flushed, turning away instinctively. His hand beneath my chin, turning my gaze back up to meet his, changed that.

           “Uh…hi?” I said rather nervously. Still wondering how this happened. How I could have been with someone for this long, nestled into him atop a racecar bed with his hands on my shoulders for half an hour, and still get so anxious about him.

           “You know, Composer…” He was now smirking broadly. “Your eyes are the color of this one sapphire necklace I stole once. But also kinda mixed with the color of the worst bruise I’ve ever gotten. And man, was I proud of that bruise. And that necklace. Actually, I’m pretty sure I got those on the same day…the point is, they’re beautiful. Your eyes, I mean.” He pinched the hinge of my glasses, pushing them closer to my face.

           Part of me I kept wanting gone but he obviously didn’t.

           “Thank you,” I practically choked. “They’re…nothing compared to yours.”

           “Well, mine are the best, but yours are a really close SECOND best!”

           Now I was the one practically laughing. “Just switch with me.”

           As we crawled around each other, I couldn’t help but admire his frame – I always did. Just something about his slender lankiness that made my heart speed up. Even sitting, he was taller than me, just by a bit, but enough that I felt dwarfed. Now I was faced with his shoulders, and above that, the fluffy fringes of his cotton-candy hair.

           A lump rose in my throat; I was almost too nervous to start. After all, there was a very decent chance I sucked at this. I just tried to remember how I wanted it done; do unto others. I lay hands on him, beginning to work. “So tell me,” I urged, “what minor nuisances pissed you off today?”

           “Well, I almost had to change Car Crash’s name to Vespa Crash.”

           “Ouch.”

           “Then there was the person with the whole ‘Anvil’ Epithet. Whose Epithet is ANVIL? I was lucky to get ou – I mean I was lucky to get a way better Epithet than that. I mean, Soup is better than ANVIL, right? But I was always going to get out of there with – “

           He gave a sudden, sharp intake of breath, and my hands froze. I had just remembered how much I enjoyed when he dug into the very hollows of my shoulders, that all-too-often tense spot leading up to my neck, and had been attempting to mimic that. Probably a bad idea. “Did that hurt?” I asked softly.

           To my surprise, he replied, “That…did the exact opposite of hurt. Keep doing it?”

           “…Yeah. Okay. Sure.”

           As I resumed, I found myself compelled to ask: “So, did that, like, turn you ON or – “

           “Of course not, but this might be the closest I can get.”

           “Well, you know you can always promote yourself to demi at this point and I won’t even be mad.” I gave my left hand a break to flick at the ends of his hair. “I won’t be able to help you with any of it, but – “

           “That’s not in your contract, Composer. Don’t even worry about it.”

           “Duly noted, Boss.”

           I had been better at mimicry than I had expected. He was practically melting back toward me, his shoulder-flesh sinking beneath my hands. That was when I got a rather devilish idea. “You know…I may or may not have a few other tricks up my sleeve.”

           “Oh, yeah? Well, play them on me and let’s see how well I withstand them.”

           “You know the sheer volume of ASMR videos I watch, right?” This room being one of the few places I could bring that up and know I wouldn’t be mocked for it. Same way he could wear pink tie-dye pajamas and not hear any shittalk from me. “I’ve learned things. Things you wouldn’t believe.”

           “Come on. I’ll believe anything from you, Composer.”

           “Then don’t say you weren’t warned.”

           I let his shoulders alone, sliding my right hand up into his bubblegum-pink hair. Struck once again by how ridiculously soft it was. He seriously put time into it. I started off in the traditional method – just working the skin of the scalp, same way as the shoulders.

           “Seriously?” he taunted. “I mean, sure, it’s good, but this is just level-one stuff. Even I could – “

           That little devil took over, and I changed tactics, using the gentlest of pressures to scratch through his hair with my fingernails.

           “…Now thaaaaat’s more like level three.”

           “I finally get to spoil you for once,” I said cheekily.

           “Well, outside of the general gratification that automatically comes with recruiting you as an independent-contractor minion.”

           “You’re sweet.”

           “Yeah, well, that’s our secret, remember?”

           “What secret?”

           “About me be – “ He got it then. “I mean. Yeah. Right. I didn’t say anything. You don’t know what I’m talking about.”

           He then flinched and gave a light “Yeep!”. I’d changed tactics yet again – lightly grabbing the roots of his hair and giving a mild tug.

           “Did that hurt?” I asked, a new wave of anxiety suddenly washing over me.

           When he warbled “No,” I could hear that it wasn’t the tone of someone in pain – it was the tone of someone who wanted more of that. So I dealt more out, lightly pulling locks on the left, the right, near the front, near the back of his head.

           “I really did underestimate you on this front,” he admitted. “You know now you have to do this more often.”

           “You keep doing my shoulders and it’ll be an even trade.”

           “This is actually…really, REALLY relaxing…I could almost just…”

           It was gentle yet sudden, him falling back onto me, pinning me to the headboard. The back of his head was nestled onto my right shoulder, nuzzling close to my own face.

           “What,” I teased, “you’re falling asleep already?”

           He didn’t answer. Just snuggled a little closer back to me, like I was some sort of body pillow. That was when I realized he actually had fallen asleep on me – quite literally.

           “Gio!” I hissed, poking his shoulder. “Giovanni! Wake up!” Though I didn’t say it quite as loud as I could have. “I can’t sleep pinned up like this!”

           He wasn’t moving, sound asleep.

           Great.

           I contemplated just shifting his position, laying him down properly or just scooting out from behind him. However, that ran the risk of a rude awakening, and…I just couldn’t. He was twice as adorable asleep as usual, and considering that average, that’s a pretty amazing statistic.

           So I decided to try and make the best of it. Sure, I was pinned up against the seat of a faux car, but I had once bragged that I could fall asleep anywhere. (The airplane proved me wrong when I had no idea how to recline the seat, of course. Not a good sign in this case.) I tossed my glasses lightly to the nightstand and shut my eyes, attempting to make myself comfortable pinned between a crime boss and a hard place.

           Strangely enough, it eventually actually worked, somewhat. I could finally feel that state just before sleep when none of your thoughts seem to make sense, turning into a frieze of colors that make up surreal images as the opening act for dreams.

           However, I was just awake enough to be aware of a few things, if not so much to respond to them. One was of a weight being lifted off my chest and shoulder. The sound of a soft curse. A pair of hands gently locking over my forearms, and suddenly, things weren’t so vertical and solid anymore – perpendicular, much softer. (The mattress. I figured that out the next morning when I woke up in the usual position.) A muttering of words that I’m pretty sure were “There we are…nice and cozy.” Then, eventually, the pressure of a second body beside mine, clinging on like I was a life raft in the sea of somnolence, the only thing keeping us both afloat in the dream-realm.

[kyberled]

🛠 gimme some of these side charas :0

Send “🛠” and I will reveal some OCs, NPCs, or side characters I have || Accepting

Otto, Maverick, Razz, Surefire, Beskar, and Steppes are a group of clone troopers who serve in the 212th Attack Battalion. They’re no definite clique, but they do find themselves working together more often than not. And, of course, I don’t mean that they work as a unit, since that goes without saying; I mean that they’re often assigned to certain missions together, and they just assume it’s because they can get things done to a satisfactory degree. As far as actual ‘groups’ go, Razz and Surefire are best friends, Steppes keeps Beskar’s temper and abrasive attitude from getting him into trouble, and Maverick and Otto are sort of the odd ones out in that they aren’t really best friends with anyone in the group. They just go along with it - Or, in Maverick’s case, sprint ahead whooping and hollering on ahead to take the proverbial bull by the horns. Otto’s more likely to hang back and make a sarcastic comment (Same with Beskar, unless Bes has decided to fight someone about it).

Otto, or CT-5588, has short hair in a crew cut, a bit of stubble, and often has his fingernails painted in the 212th’s signature gold. He also has a few sabaac cards tattooed onto the inside of his left wrist. His armour has gold-painted shoulders with the Aurebesh number eight painted in white on each; the underside of his bracers are painted gold, as are the tops of his boots, and the rims of his helmet and visor. He’s a younger soldier, but not naive; war’s taken that privilege away from him. He’s quiet, unless spoken to first, with a wry, blunt way of speaking and a straightforward and sarcastic sense of humour. He likes to think of himself as a man of simple tastes and simple pleasures. He likes his caf black, his bedding dry, and his Seppies dead. He doesn’t like thinking about the bigger things; he says it’s not his job. He’d rather leave that to the Jedi and the Senators. On his off-time, Otto can be found cleaning his weapons and his gear, playing sabaac, arm wrestling, or drinking with his brothers, napping, or working out. Braig finds his simple, to-the-point outlook and method of speaking to be refreshing, and appreciates his down-to-earth views; Otto, himself, thinks Braig’s ‘optimistic naivete’, as he calls it, a nice change of pace from the gritty and upsetting nature of war. Because of this, the two view each other as friends, and can often be found chatting idly when the 212th sets up camp on missions, or when Braig visits the barracks. (Sidenote: Otto’s best friend, Macho, was killed during the Second Battle of Geonosis.)

Maverick, also known as ‘Mavvy’, was assigned the number CT-5653 upon his ‘birth’. His hair is a bit longer than regulation, scruffy, and slicked back on all sides. He sports a small goatee, has a silver stud earring in his right ear, and a large target tattooed onto his chest. He’s known for being a ruthless fighter, an ace pilot, and the cause of most the trouble his unit finds itself in. He loves stirring things up with his brothers, pulling pranks, teasing, and generally making a nuisance of himself with all the vim and vigour you could imagine. He’s fond of pulling off stunts in the air, complete with victory barrel-rolls when he makes his way out of a dog-fight, or when the boys in gold have taken victory, Because of this, he’s a fan of Anakin Skywalker’s work, and as such is thrilled when the 501st teams up with the 212th. On at least one occasion, when told to deliver a report, he announced that ‘there’s a singing telegram for you, sir’. Once, Braig decided to indulge him, and told him to go ahead; After Maverick recovered from the brief shock of actually being allowed, to his credit, he did start singing; His report was delivered in a short, jaunty tune that had to be rapidly altered to have a lot less cursing when he noticed Cody staring him down from across the field. In his off-time, Maverick can be found vying for a chance in the flight simulator, fussing over his fighter, dissolving different candies into his drinks at 79′s to ‘make them taste better’, listening to music, pulling pranks, or trying on eyeliner. He’s not sure if he wants to make it part of his permanent look. Though he doesn’t speak to Braig much, as Braig has a distinct loathing for flying and was rarely a part of the flight group, Maverick does appreciate the fact that Braig lets him get away with his mischief. As long as it doesn’t cause any serious harm, and it’s not during a mission, Braig’s not one to intervene on their fun. So, Maverick thinks positively of their pint-sized commander.

Razz, who will to his dying day deny the fact/rumour that he got his name from the phrase ‘razzle dazzle’, carries the number CT-5759 next to the lighter he always keeps on his person. Nobody really knows how he got it, but he will never tell anyone that it took a lot of time picking credits off the street, bringing bottles and cans to the recycling droids, etc, etc, until he’d saved enough to get his precious luxury. Razz is, by his own admission and his brothers’, a pyromaniac who’s channelled his love of fire into becoming a demolitions expert. He was fascinated by fireworks when he was younger, which was, in part, the instigation of the chain of events that culminated in him receiving his name. He keeps his lighter around to help relax when things get too much, to help keep himself centred, and to quiet his thoughts when he gets too noisy. It’s come in handy a few times, and he’s not hurting anyone, so, even if they’re not sure if he’s supposed to have it, his brothers aren’t gonna take it away from him (Maverick might try, but that’s less ‘You shouldn’t have this’ and more ‘I want to have this and potentially cause trouble with it’). He has the sides of his hair shaved down, but the top’s grown out and tied back into a ponytail. He also has freckles along his nose and cheeks, faint burn scars along his fingertips, and he’ll sometimes steal Maverick’s eye liner as payback for trying to steal his lighter. But, that’s usually only when they’re on leave and heading to 79′s. Razz is a pretty relaxed guy, though he’s more into the bigger picture and the nitty-gritty sort of thing. He likes hearing about what’s going on, getting a feel of what people are doing, and he can be a socialite with his brothers and their Jedi (he’s not a fan of talking with people outside those ranks; Civvies are rarely good conversation, and same goes for politicians). Outside of fire, he finds a bit of comfort in flimsi-folding, drinking, boloball, sketching, yoga, and sparring. You can often find him at the shooting ranges, though, while he does put in his fair share of training time in, he’s often there just because Surefire is there. Nobody’s surprised. As for his relationship with Braig, Razz is pretty fond of the little guy. He taught Braig how to make paper flowers, and is absolutely fascinated by lightsabers. He’ll take every excuse he can to ask about ‘em.

Surefire got his name in a pretty ordinary way - he’s good with a blaster. Before that, he was known as CT-5754, and he was one of Razz’s batch brothers. He’s got his main position in the unit as a sniper, though he’ll also gladly take up positions on walkers or with a sturdy weapon closer to the front lines, if need be. Surefire’s got the regular crew-cut that’s standard for troopers, a scar slashing through his left eyebrow, and a small, neatly-groomed moustache. He’s also got his name tattooed across his knuckles in Aurebesh; ‘Sure’ on one hand, ‘fire’ on the others. He’s almost always got some kind of firearm on his person, either cleaning it, fiddling with it, practising with it, or just admiring it. He likes guns. He’s a sarcastic kind of guy, known for making quips over closed commlink channels when he can get away with it, or to whoever happens to be standing next to him (usually Razz). He likes to think of himself as a realist, embracing a situation whether it’s awful or fantastic (and making sure to comment on his views all the while). Like a lot of his brothers, he also has a dark sense of humour, and, with him being one of the more vocal soldiers, is not above cracking jokes in the face of certain death. In spite of his quirks and quips, Surefire is a fiercely loyal soldier, proud of his duty and protective of his brothers. He has no qualms with putting himself on the line if it means the rest of them get out safe. Surefire’s hobbies include practising at the shooting range, reading holomags, chatting with his brothers, hogging the treadmill, rock climbing, boloball, and hanging out with Razz. Surefire’s another one who’s grown fond of little Braig. Their friendship began when Surefire suggested that the Force must make the Jedi into great marksmen, and implied that he wanted to have a target-practise contest. Surefire was utterly horrified when Braig informed him that, as a matter of fact, he’d never fired a blaster in his life, and he promptly dragged the Padawan Commander off to at least figure out how to use a rifle. Since then, there have been a few times when ‘Fire’s taken Braig out to a range to do some shooting, and to shoot the breeze. While he does think Braig’s got a ways to go when it comes to marksmanship, Surefire very much enjoys their conversations.

Beskar, known on official datawork as CT-5579, is the sort of person who seems to be perpetually in a bad mood. Tough and unyielding as the iron he’s named for, Beskar doesn’t mince words, has minimal control of his temper, and seems to be one of those clones who actually enjoys being sent out to fight the droid armies. Sure, he doesn’t like when his brothers get hurt, and he doesn’t like a lot of the collateral and fallout and stress associated with warfare, but he does find something very satisfying about taking out a klanker, no matter the method (though he does prefer being up close and personal). Beskar’s head is shaved bald, and he has a short yet scruffy beard and near-constant dark circles under his eyes, and a smattering of scars over his body. While he has tally marks painted on his armour, he also has them tattooed on his shoulders, back, chest, arms, and hands, and even a few tiny ones under his right ear - clumps of tallies to mark his kill-count wherever he felt like having that bunch at the time. Beskar’s preferred method of killing time include lifting weights, hogging the punching bag, push-ups, arm wrestling his brothers, spending time at the shooting range, listening to the radio, and drinking alone. He’s not a fan of the crowded atmosphere of 79′s. He’s also known to be fond of gambling, though accusing him of cheating is considered asking for a beating. (He doesn’t cheat, he just has one hell of a poker face). He also probably has the best grasp of profanity of the entire group, aside from possibly Maverick. Beskar doesn’t talk to Braig much; he doesn’t really talk to anyone, outside of necessity, with Steppes being the one exception. Beskar finds running after the 212th’s notoriously extra Jedi to be exasperating and headache-inducing. He’d protect Obi-Wan and Braig with his life, just like the rest of them, he just wonders why the kriff they keep asking for danger, or to get captured, or who knows what else. He does appreciate the fact that they treat him and his brothers like people, though. They’re a bit less frustrating than the Kaminoans. 

Steppes, or CT-5581, has cemented himself as a pacifist among his brothers, doing his best to make sure that any infighting is nipped at the bud and quelled peacefully - Or, as peacefully as is possible for them. As far as he’s concerned, they have enough violence in their lives already. He has the typical crew-cut, is clean-shaven, and has a few small scars on his lower lip. On the right side of his jaw, he has three small stars tattooed in white ink. He’s one of the only boys patient enough to handle Beskar, and one of the only brothers Bes will actually get along with. Seeing as some people think Steppes’ pacifism is a weakness, especially when they were cadets, having a snarly, hyper-aggressive best friend definitely kept Steppes from being teased, tormented, and picked on nearly as much as he would’ve, otherwise. Now that they’re older, Steppes’ empathetic tendencies have made him a common choice for a would-be ‘therapist’ amongst his brothers, and have contributed to his well-known leadership abilities, which resulted in his promotion to ‘Lieutenant’. He’s absolutely the ‘mom friend’ of the group, and, though he can come off as overbearing, some boys appreciate the concern. In his off-time, Steppes enjoys reading, going for walks/jogs, checking in on and chatting with his brothers, making sure his gear is in order, games of holochess, and fixing up the speeders he and his brothers ride into battle. While he does also enjoy drinking, he’d rather sit around with a few brews and a few brothers in the comfort of their own bunks; 79′s is good in small doses, but he appreciates the peaceful quiet of home. Being the soft heart that he is, Steppes has found a kindred spirit in Braig. It’s reassuring to him to know that even Jedi can be soft. Makes him feel a bit better about himself. They’re good friends, and Steppes fusses over the kid when he gets the chance.