#ct fury

@sithfox, @cookiemonsterv3, and @adhd-coyote

I'm reverse tagging all of you 👀 otherwise this is open tags for whoever sees it!

“Something’s bothering you,” Fury says as he sits down next to xei. 

Well, one thing xe can always count on. Xeim brother will find ways to show up when he’s not particularly wanted, and will get right to the middle of things without any concern for whether xe wants to talk about it. 

For some reason, Whisper doesn’t mind as much as xe should. There’s no question that there’s some days where xe wants to punch him just so he shuts up for five kriffing minutes, but he’s not weird about it, at times like this. If xe told him to kark off, then off he would kark. 

It’s maybe the only reason that xe doesn’t actually say that. 

Instead Whisper lays back, flat on the roof of the hangar, watching the clouds above them. One of the rare breaks in Kaminoan rain, and xe wanted to be alone. Or at least that was what xe thought until he showed up. 

Xe raises a hand, and he takes it, his fingers lacing with xeims as he rests his head in his other hand. He won’t stay quiet for long. Xe can wait until he breaks the silence. Should only be a few seconds before– 

“Do you not wanna talk about it?” 

Sometimes his impetuous nature is amusing. Sometimes it helps make conversations happen. 

“I don’t know what to say,” xe admits. 

“Racer just says whatever comes to mind and that’s working out fine for her.” 

“She drives Blue crazy.” 

“We all drive Blue crazy.” 

“That’s true.” 

Whoever was in charge of assigning squads must not have been too good at their job. Blue is constantly begging them to behave for just five minutes and they’re all pretty consistent in ignoring him. 

Whisper doesn’t think xe’s that bad, but there is apparently quite a bit that xe does, that he doesn’t think is particularly appropriate social behaviour. The biting thing has been an argument since they were tubies. Xe wonders if he’s only still trying to rein xei in out of habit. Surely he can’t expect xei to change now. 

People have surprised xei before, though, so xe generally doesn’t say anything to that effect. It seems to be some kind of challenge to them. Say that can’t be what you want and suddenly it’s all they can think about. Ridiculous. 

“Sooo…” Fury prompts. 

Whisper sighs, and looks over at him finally. 

“I’m different. Like Racer. But not.” 

“What, like girl-different?” 

“But not,” xe repeats, and looks back at the clouds. They’re slowly separating from each other, bedraggled wisps scratching across the sky. That’s how xe feels right now. Slowly being torn apart. 

How am I supposed to figure out who I am? 

“That’s cool.” 

But he lets go of xeim hand, which doesn’t seem to be all that ‘cool’. Not until he shuffles down to lay next to xei, their sides pressed together from shoulder to hip. He likes touching people. Doesn’t have to be his batchmates, it’s anyone who can put up with his incessant talking and wiggling around. 

Usually, Whisper finds it annoy. Right now, it’s kind of okay. Xe hadn’t realised, until he came up, that xe didn’t want to be alone. Since the incident with the fight club, xe hasn’t been very good at being around them. Hasn’t been very good at being xeiself. 

Maybe it was just because xe didn’t know what xe was supposed to be. 

“If I’m not like you,” xe says, “and I’m not like Racer. That doesn’t leave a lot of options.” Xe frowns. “Does it?” 

Fury just makes an I-don’t-know sort of noise, which he seems to be rather fond of doing. 

People thinks he’s stupid, but he’s not. Whisper knows that more than anyone. He’s the smartest one of their squad, and probably a bunch of other squads, too. They can be competitive, batchmates. Among themselves, and with other cadets. When it comes to tech, nobody can match him, as far as xe knows. 

The sun breaks through the clouds, and xe grumbles to xeiself and turns over on xeim side to hide xeim face in Fury’s shoulder. 

“You wanna do something about it?” he asks. 

It’s xeim turn to make the I-don’t-know sort of noise. 

Xe grumbles again when he pats vaguely at the side of xeim head. He probably things it’s helpful. It’s mostly just annoying. Not the first time xe’s thought that, but usually he’s better at picking up on when he’s being irritating, and he doesn’t seem to have a clue, right now. 

Whisper sits up abruptly, wrapping xeim arms around xeim knees. 

“Girls get stuff like that. Like Ruusaan. She said they changed her face. Gave her tits. But I don’t want my body to be different. I don’t think.” 

“Do you want your face different?” 

Xe has to think about that. 

“I don’t want to not look like my squad. Maybe newborns are different. But we’ve always been us. We’ve always been the same.” And I’m too different inside, to be that different outside. But I don’t think I’d want it anyway. I don’t care that I look like this. I just– 

“I just don’t want people to think I’m a guy,” xe realises. “Maybe I can put something on my armour. Like jaig eyes, but for – whatever.” 

“Well, I liked you as a brother,” Fury says, “but I like you as a whatever, too.” He knocks a foot against xeims, and grins. Like that’s all it’ll take for things to be okay. 

They manage to be quiet for a good thirty seconds before he speaks again. 

“You know, if you want something to change. We can look into it. After the war. Maybe tattoo something on your forehead.” 

Xe grins, then snorts a laugh, then puts an arm over his waist and snuggles closer. This was the last thing xe expected when he came up here, but that’s all right. He surprises everyone. It’s usually in a good way. 

“Whatever you want,” Fury promises. “I’ll find a way. You’re my favourite, you know.” 

“After Racer?” 

“Nah. Just my favourite. So it is cool. We’ll figure it out and you’ll be whoever you want.” He smiles crookedly. “Whatever, even.” 

“Whatever,” Whisper echoes, and closes xeim eyes. With the sun coming out, it’s warm up here, now. Xe could probably fall asleep. And with Fury here, there’s nothing to worry about. 

Someday. Maybe. Maybe xe’ll figure out what xe wants to look like. But right now, all xe needs to know is that xe can be whatever xe wants. 

“I want to do something different with my hair.” 

“Like what?” 

“Grow it out, maybe. On one side.” That seems… right, in a way xe can’t put xeim finger on. 

“I can cut the short side, if you want it to be buzzed down.” 

For once in xeim life, xe barely even has to think about it. 

“Yeah. I’d like that.” 

antagonising someone and then pretending he doesn't want to fight them and then :3 when Paz comes in like a freight train to bust their ass

letting someone get through an anti Tusken rant and then casually mentioning his extensive blended family

stopping halfway through doing an incredibly stupid thing to infodump about engineering and/or physics, confusing them about his intelligence

grabbing the bottom of Paz's helmet and kinda shaking it side to side like one might when playing with a large dog, while calling him mando'ika

laying facedown on the floor to Recover from the Symptoms and also making people wonder if he passed out

one of his siblings is deathly afraid of crabs but he thinks crabs are beautiful little friends, need I say more

carrying around a grenade just in case it's needed and telling people it's live (usually when he doesn't want to talk to them)

king of saying random unhinged shit to get out of social interactions in general tbh

eating vanilla pudding out of a mayonnaise jar and equivalent behaviours

tagged by @adhd-coyote, @insertmeaningfulusername, @hastalavistabyebye, @loverboy-havocboy, @aerjnn

@merlyn-bane and @rooksunday!

I have not actually been writing shit lately (very annoyed with myself about it, too 🫠) but I had this idea earlier so it counts!

The thing is, Fury’s used to loss. 

It’s all a clone is expected to know. Losing brothers to injury, disease, enemy soldiers, sometimes even their Jedi commanders – they were made to be killed. They were meant to be disposed. 

Mandalorians aren’t like that. They’re built on community. On hope. He’s seen it, over and over again. Even in Boba and Jango, who were isolated from their culture for so long. The strongest of lone wolves yearn for a pack. 

Which is why it makes sense that Paz would risk his life for his tribe. They all do, in every battle. There’s never any guarantee that any one of them will come home, no matter how much they want to, or how well they fight. It’s the risk of being a solider. They all know that. 

But that doesn’t mean he’s ready to let Paz go. 

So when the blast door starts to come down, Fury does the only thing he can: he drops and rolls, the bottom of the door scraping the paint from his pauldron as he narrowly avoids getting pinned to the floor. 

“What are you doing?” Paz demands. 

Fury doesn’t answer, just headbutts him, hard. Not the tap-together of foreheads that symbolises affection, but anger, more real than he’d like it to be, because if it’s real, it can hurt him. 

Paz can hurt him, too, more than he knows. 

“This is not the time!” Paz adds, as if Fury could just go back to safety with the others. 

“It is now,” Fury snarls at him, and turns to shoot at the kriffing Imperials. 

He can hear the beat of Paz’s cannon to his left, steadier than his heartbeat, and focuses on shooting to the right. The most important thing he can do is watch Paz’s back. That cannon will handle most of the rest. 

When he hears blaster bolts pinging off Paz’s beskar, he flinches, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t fear death the same way as natborns, not when it’s been staring over his shoulder every time he’s looked in the mirror since he was a cadet, but Paz’s death? 

That terrifies him. 

That’s why he’s here. 

And fortunately for him, no matter how stars-damned stupid Paz may be about himself, he protects his family. It’s half of what Fury loves about him, even if right now, it’s also incredibly infuriating. 

There’s no time to talk or think when you’re shooting your way out of an ambush, and it’s probably for the best, considering what Fury wanted to say when he rolled under that door a minute ago. Part of him still wishes he was yelling right now, but the more talking he does, the less shooting will happen. 

Of course, the shooting ends eventually. There’s only so many soldiers that a hidden base can throw at them, but more than that, there’s only so long that Paz can run that cannon before it overheats. The place falls strangely silent, then there’s the sound of a few blaster bolts, a grunt, and the impact of armour against armour. 

He turns. Paz is knocked down to one knee, holding the Imperial back but not able to get to his feet again when they have leverage. His boot slips on the rock.

With no time to reload, Fury tosses aside his blaster and tackles the Imperial over the edge. His jetpack gives him the advantage, aiding in a flip that slams them against the wall of the cliff, loosening their grasp just enough for Fury to kick them loose. 

He doesn’t stop to watch them fall, just scrambles back up, narrowly ducking under a soldier thrown doll-like over his head. There’s only three left. Two halfway across the platform, and the third with Paz’s hand around their throat, blood spilling over the edges of their cracked visor as their feet twitch feebly in midair. 

A handful of drops sizzle against the barrels of Paz’s cannon, laying at his feet, and then the soldier is flung aside, unmoving. 

The other two try to run. Paz’s jetpack sparks as he looks up, half-crouching like he always does before taking flight, but Fury’s is in good shape. He snatches Paz’s vibroblade from his belt and launches upward, slitting one Imperial throat before crushing the next against the wall in a full-body blow. Whether they’re stunned or dead doesn’t matter; they hit the floor near Paz, and he kicks them over the edge to drop with the others. 

When Fury lands, he flings the blade down between them, and the hilt cracks down the middle. Neither of them give it more than a passing glance. 

“What were you thinking?” Paz demands, flinging his left arm to the side in a gesture that encompasses half the area. He hunches over slightly when his arm extends all the way, and Fury knows the signs of him being hurt. 

Doesn’t matter right now. He’s too pissed off. 

“I was thinking that you were trying to be an absolute kriffing moron,” he snarls, “by staying here alone! What was supposed to be the point of that?” 

“To give you the chance to escape. To get out of here.” 

“How dare you?” Fury takes his helmet off. A stupid decision so soon after a battle, but one he makes so Paz can see the full extent of the hurt on his face, so that the tremble in his voice doesn’t get smoothed out by his vocoder. “How dare you think I would leave you?” 

His fingers curl around the edge of his bucket as he steps forward, just enough to reach out and set his fingertips over the iron heart on Paz’s chest. 

“You’re my heart. Don’t you remember me promising? Because I could never decide to walk away from you.” 

“There are no easy choices in war.” 

“This one was. And you tried to take it away from me.” 

He can only share secrets when they’re wrapped in layers of late nights and early mornings, and he doesn’t have to look at anyone. But they’re still told, one little detail at a time, like tiles of a mosaic being pressed into place. Paz has heard, over and over, that the clones weren’t allowed to choose anything that mattered, anything that could change their lives for the better. 

It was the hardest learning curve in their relationship. The clone who resented anyone that made a choice for him after years of slavery, and the Mandalorian who made things happen his way so he could more easily protect people. 

Sometimes they’re a shitty pair, even after they learned how to compromise. Paz still overrides other people, when there’s no time for discussion. Usually it doesn’t matter, but sometimes it just sparks the wrong way, and the fact that Paz has never hurt him intentionally just makes it harder to deal with. It would be so much easier if he could say you hurt me without Paz being hurt in return. 

“E'tad'nare,” Paz says quietly, holding his hand out palm-up. 

He can’t say he’s sorry. Probably never will. 

But that’s okay. 

Fury sets his hand in his riduur’s, fingers flexing for a moment over Paz’s palm before they lace with his. 

“E'tad'nare,” he whispers back. Seven Actions. The six that govern all Mandalorian lives, and the seventh – to love his husband, unflinching, to forgive mistakes and be forgiven in return. 

They’re not good at I’m sorry, but they’re good at I love you eternally. He kind of likes that about them. 

The moment evaporates when they hear a scrape of metal against metal. Fury’s helmet is on in a moment, but even before the HUD flickers back to life, Paz has rushed one of the red-armoured guards. Protecting his riduur, as he’s meant to. 

Fury draws his own knife, and follows him. 

The electro-weapons make things difficult, but there’s no backing down. The other blast door won’t open, and the hole that kriffing Kryze put in it with the darksaber isn’t big enough to fit either one of them. 

Whether she knew Fury would stay with Paz, or just can’t plan for shit, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t matter. He’s punching her either way. 

At least if these red troops don’t kill him first. 

They converge on Paz, and they’re doing a pretty good job of beating him to a pulp before Fury catches up to them. 

He carries a long blade, Whisper’s influence, and its sharpness means it gets through the fabric underarmour with almost no resistance. It pierces lung and heart before they realise they should be afraid of him. 

When the body drops, the other two draw back. This is where it will get hard, but he’s never been afraid of hard. If he was, he would have gotten wiped out on his first deployment. Honestly, the only thing he’s really afraid of is Whisper before xe's had xeim caf. 

Paz snatches up the soldier’s dropped weapon before one of the others has time to reach it. He won’t know how to use it, but he’ll learn from watching the others. When they strike, he’ll know how to strike back. 

“Back up,” Fury says in Mando’a. 

He and Paz move in sync, Fury matching his movements, the soldiers advancing at an equal rate until Fury says to stop. His blaster might not be much help against that armour, but he can only imagine what he’d hear when they got back home, if he left it aside while a fight happened. 

In the time it takes him to reload, both guards lunge, trapping Paz between them. One has their whip wrapped around his throat, pulling him off-balance, and the other is raising theirs sword-like, ready to run him through. 

Fury does the first thing that comes to mind, and shoots them. Several bolts hit them in the side and under their arm, injuring them enough to knock them back, but not enough to take them out of the fight. 

It’s enough time for Paz to surge upwards like a wave, roaring indistinctly as he falls to crush the soldier strangling him against the concrete floor. Their grip loosens just enough for him to get free, his jetpack sparking atop his shoulders.  

He wrenches it loose and flings it away behind him, hand outstretched toward Fury. There’s only one thing he could need, and Fury tosses him the blaster without hesitation. Paz nearly fumbles the catch, but salvages it just in time, twisting the moment his finger touches the trigger. 

The jetpack explodes, taking the guard with it. Fury spares no glance for the crater left, beskar gouged into shrapnel, intestines roped across the floor. Not when there’s still one left. 

Now that they’re alone, they look nervous, fingers clenching and loosening around the hilt of their whip as their weight shifts side to side. 

Good. 

Fury’s not usually the kind to take pleasure in a death, but this time, it’s personal. 

He and Paz move together, tossing out the occasional coordinating word in Mando’a, but mostly working quietly. They learned the steps of this dance a long time ago. And even though it doesn’t carry over into the bedroom, it’s still the fun kind of dancing. 

All they need to do is get Paz back to where he’d dropped his cannon earlier, the barrels cooled enough to fire again without warping or exploding. The moment his gloves touch the metal, it’s over. The soldier in the red armour, whoever they are, doesn’t have time to scream before whatever was under their helmet is turned to paste. 

“Well, I didn’t approve of that shit at all,” Fury says conversationally, taking his blaster back to holster it and hooking his thumbs in his belt. He shifts his weight, rolls his shoulders, tilts his head. No injuries. 

Now he just has to figure out how to get them both out of here. The blast doors were never an option, not with it being sealed from the other side and them having nothing to cut with. He could take the same route as the ships from the hangar… but his jetpack won’t carry both of them. 

There’s a clatter, and he stills, looking for what made the noise. Just Paz. Picking up his broken knife and discarding it again. Fixing it would be as expensive as getting a new one, and vibroblades can get… independently minded, once the internals are affected. 

“Are you all right?” Paz asks. 

Fury tilts his head to the side. Hm? A glance downwards tells him what Paz is worried about. 

“Not my blood,” he says. 

Paz steps closer anyway, the fabric of his glove rough but his movement gentle as his fingertip lifts Fury’s chin. Fury can feel his cheeks heat at the quiet, murmured good. 

“This is not the place,” he mutters. 

“It’s a little bit the place.” 

“It’s not the time,” Fury adds, laughing despite himself, even as he doesn’t turn away. Paz knows better than to get distracted at a time like this, but there’s still room for teasing. 

“What’s your plan for getting us out of here?” 

“Oh, it’s my plan, now?” 

“You’re the smart one.” 

“And the hot one, which leaves you to be the funny one, I guess.” 

“I have jokes.” 

“You have the worst ideas imaginable,” Fury corrects him, “that are delivered with the cadence of a joke. Even Jules hates them.” 

“Jules hates everything except your flatbread.” 

Mm, true. Their kid’s at that special age where all he thinks about is fighting people and causing trouble for his parents, preferably both at the same time, when he can manage it. 

“I’m going to call in Racer for a ride out,” he decides. 

“Come on,” Paz protests. 

“Stop whining about her flying.” 

“No.” 

“Racer,” Fury says, talking over Paz’s further complaining, “Paz’s jetpack is gone. We need a flight out, can you ping my helmet?” 

There’s a laugh in his earpiece, then nothing. Well, at least she heard him. 

He and Paz pat down the bodies, while they wait, and find nothing but the weapons. They can be turned off, fortunately, so they each coil one on their belt, for later. Fury knows without asking that the third will go to the tribe’s leader, giving her the chance to reverse engineer it for others in the covert. Speaking of which… 

“Your mom’s going to be furious when she hears about your jetpack.” 

Paz pauses, as if this thought had not yet occurred to him. It might not have. Then he shrugs and gets up from where he’d been crouched over the body of the third soldier. 

They both know he’s right, so there’s no argument. Instead Paz sits with his legs over the edge of the ledge, staring above them as the occasional fighter whizzes by. 

Fury can imagine his face under the helmet, calm – for the moment – and curious. Shame they’re not alone, because the blindfold is tucked into Fury’s utility belt like always, and he always loves the taste of Paz’s mouth. But Paz would never risk breaking the Creed that means so much to him, and Fury would never ask him to think about it. 

“Coming in hot,” he says a minute later, echoing his sister’s words. 

Paz scrambles up and away from the edge, which seems a very reasonable reaction to Fury, considering he’s already tucking himself under an overhang by the blast door. It’s the most sheltered spot on what’s otherwise a flat span of concrete, and he’s going to need it. 

Paz follows him, pressing close, standing between him and the hot gusts that will fly off from the ship’s engines as it lands, a few moments from now. 

“Hi,” Paz murmurs, their chestplates scraping together as he breathes in. 

“Hi,” Fury repeats, and leans a half-step closer. 

A shuttle rockets through the crack in the ceiling, swooping down to spin in place an arm’s length away from them before the hatch slides back to reveal the pilot. The circle and a half was just for show, he’s certain of it, and she’s much too close considering how wide the rest of the ledge is. 

“Kriff me,” Fury mutters, scowling at her even though she won’t see it through his visor. 

“Thought you just said we couldn’t,” Paz replies, and grunts when Fury punches him in the shoulder. 

“Hey,” Racer bellows, smacking her palm against the shuttle’s side, “stop making out and get in the stars-damned back already!” 

“I’ve heard before that in-laws are the worst,” Fury says. 

“You like my mom.” 

“Yeah, but me? I come with a five-ring circus.” 

Paz shrugs. “I like it.” 

“Good, ‘cause I like you too.” 

Paz steps aside, and Fury squeezes his hand in passing. He hops over the shuttle’s low door, landing with his boots on the seat and half-falling down to sit. Paz takes his time a little more, circling around the back of the shuttle to take the seat next to him. 

“Seatbelts!” Racer hollers over her shoulder, and flies off at a much faster speed than would be safe whether they wore them or not. 

18. Any OC crackships?

29. Which one of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they’re going?

29. Which one of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they’re going?

Cam for sure! He's a marine biologist :) He lives on the next planet over in the Tatoo system, where he works at an aquarium. He ends up going to college later in life, sometime after his marriage to Ember. Ember btw is very cute about hyping up his husband, he thinks Cam's the smartest guy in the galaxy.

Oh do I. You're familiar with Stormbrake/Optimus, the enemies-to-lovers of all time. Whisper/Zer0 from Borderlands are very strange about each other and tbh I support them in all things. Fury/Paz/U'Rajya/A'Hidayat is a ship that started as Fury/Paz and went on to spiral completely out of control (they have eight kids). And honestly I'm gonna count Boba/Oola for this one, because I made up almost everything about her and did some significant redesigning. I'm gonna keep it to canon/OC pairings bc otherwise this will get out of hand.

Hm, who are my haunted house people... Jude, Kestrel, or Bee would be investigating some crime they believed to have been committed there.

Racer, Fury, B Roll, Atlas, Rence, the Valkyries, Eixes Judarri, Scrapper Crew, would all go there for funsies.

Whisper, Prey Drive, Bella, Carno, Vinir, and Ripper would go to try to provoke the ghosts into fighting them.

Boom would go to video things and show he's fine and no ghosts ate him, so can the kids chill out, now?

Watcher and Shrike are there to take notes on whatever they find, like some kind of ghost anthropologist.

Cathedi is there to try to befriend the ghosts.

rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like). 

tagged by @loverboy-havocboy <3 (and Uno Reverse!)

"You don't have to keep it," Fury says, though he very much hopes they like it. U'Rajya turns the bantha over in their hands, head tilted to the side. He can't see their expression under their wraps. They stretch up on their toes, both arms wrapped around the plushie, and tilt their head back to be able to keldabe kiss him without poking him in the face. "You like it?" he whispers. "It's special to me," they sign, "because it came from you." He smiles and keldabe kisses them again.