#The Corries Tag

[margindoodles2407]

Take Me Instead (Tumblr Version)

But you, my brother-in-arms, I'd rather I lose my limbs than let you come to harm -The Decemberists, "The Soldiering Life"

If Commander Fox is a broken man- well, he's more than happy to be one if it means his brothers don't have to.

(Whumptober 2024, Day 6: Not Realizing They're Injured)

There was a moment, at the start of the war, when a young and naive and utterly terrified Marshal Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard stood shaking against the wall of some bellowing Senator’s office and watched helpless as his dearest friend and brother, Thorn, stumbled and tripped and fell backwards onto the floor with two black eyes and blood spilling from his nose and mouth, because said Senator had decided that a ten-twenty-year-old youth was the perfect target onto which to direct the destructive force of his abject rage. That same young and naive and utterly terrified Fox had then watched as his co-commander received, as a reward for laying helpless and sprawled on the floor for two seconds too long, a hard kick to the ribs and a barked order to scrub the red stains out of the otherwise-pristine blue carpet.

If it’s not mine, I don’t want it in my office. And that’s not my blood.

That moment was all it took for Fox to swear that from then on, if anyone was to take the fall- the abuse, the screaming, the bruises and the scars and the night terrors they all caused- it would be him.

Never his brothers. Never again.

He’d gotten good at it. He could roll with the punches. He could handle screaming, cursing, threats, and that certain brand of  comment that made his skin crawl. He’d shouldered more physical violence than he cared to remember, because he could stand there and take it, if he had something to fix his eyes on. He rarely flinched, hardly made a sound, and if he kept his helmet on, no one could even see the occasional tear that slipped unbidden down his cheek.

He was even better at hiding the aftermath- from his brothers, from the senators, from anyone who so much as gave him a sideways glance. What was supposed to be a medicine cabinet in his office was really used to hold tubes of cheap drugstore concealer and even cheaper drugstore dye to mask his bruises and the silver winding its way through his hair. There wasn’t a curl out of place, not the slightest shadow of stubble on his jaw, and since hardly anyone ever bothered to look him in the eye, there was no way to notice their dull exhausted glassy glaze. He trained his spine to stand erect and his hands to never shake, he spoke in a steady, measured, patient tone and never raised his voice, and when all else failed he could just set his face and let everything wash over him in a grey blur until whoever it was this time had spewed all the vitriol they could manage to get out in one sitting.

And, of course, there were ways to… deal… with the especially bad days. Ways that usually involved the cabinet behind his desk and bottles of a dark burning liquid that tasted for all the galaxy like concentrated paint thinner. 

(So many bottles of that dark burning liquid.)

In fact, Fox was so good at what he did that sometimes he didn’t even realize that he was injured. It was something he’d learned to pride himself on, his ability to keep going even as his body screamed and ached and throbbed, even as his head spun and he lost the feeling in his hands and his knees threatened to buckle underneath him- 

(-even as the world pitched under him and the floor flew towards his face and everything went briefly black and soft and silent-)

-because as long as Fox could keep going, as long as Fox could take the batterings and the blows and the backhands that sent him reeling, his brothers wouldn’t have to.

And that was good enough for him.

[margindoodles2407]

@whyoneartheven

@seeking-elsewhither

disney needs to stop making 'serious' shows and give us the coruscant guard buddy cop show we all need

(commission info // tip jar!)

[tender-traps]

grab them by the hair

grabbing a fistful of their hair to hold them in place for the next punch or slap

grabbing their hair to force them to look at you

grabbing their hair to make them bow

grabbing their hair to slam their head back into the wall

grabbing their hair to smash their face on the floor

grabbing their hair to make them bare their throat to you

grabbing their hair to stop them moving away from the blade or syringe at their neck

grabbing their hair to dunk their head under water

grabbing their hair to rub their face in a mess

grabbing their hair to pull them across the room before throwing them down where they belong

grabbing their hair to hold them up when they’re about to slump over

grabbing their hair to drag them up to their knees from where they lay on the floor

placing your hand in their hair when they’re already kneeling just to remind them what you could do with it

stroking their hair as a half-hearted apology after pulling a little too much

comment more please :)

[izzystizzys]

As High Marshall Commander, a title foisted on him by the Galaxy’s fakest bitch aka Chancellor Palpatine, Fox theoretically has privileges and authorities like no other clone. In practice, he has a headache and gets ignored more obviously than before.

What he also has is a fancy new function on his personal comm unit modified to broadcast GAR-wide to all commanding officers, up to and including Jedi. It gathers dust next to his own modified button that sees much better use - a private channel to Stone, the only vod that will let Fox bitch at him to his heart’s content without hanging up (Thire) or bitching right back (Thorn).

It’s been a long shift of 72 hours, the maximum Stabby allows him to do without a well-placed hypo to the neck, when Fox finally collapses on his rickety cot in the Command quarters and hits the private comm connection to Stone without looking. He’s already rolling his eyes so hard it tweaks at the migraine that’s been building since hour 18 and heaving a put-upon sigh.

“Everyone is stupid, Stone, and asking to be thrown face-first from the Dome balustrades”, he begins, settling into a low, dead tone of voice to warm to the building monologue. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. “I swear to haran I’m going to wring Amedda’s stringy neck one of these days. I don’t know what magical Force gods his mother pissed off, but they made sure to punish her and the Galaxy at large a hundred times over. He sucks the joy and competence out of every room like a black hole of stupid. I’d call him a has-been, but I trust in the power of nepotism and also just don’t believe he ever was. I swear he’s doing it on purpose and - oh, kriffing Sith-damned hells, you know who’s definitely doing it on purpose?! The kriffing Chancellor, that wrinkly ass-faced ballsack!”

Taking a deep breath, Fox lets that sit in his chest for a moment, indulging in the feeling of bright weightlessness. “I swear he’s trying to keep the war going - no one man can be that incompetent and still draw breath, not even Amedda or Taa. Goddamn Taa - but anyways, kriffing hell, Stone, either the senility isn’t an act or he’s a bad cartoon villain from Dooby Scoo. Yes Sir, sending Senator Amidala to a Seppie-infested planet for negotiations is a great idea after her fourth bomb threat of the week. No Sir, I can’t hear you cackling evilly with Count Dooku under your lame two-credit robe as you’re definitely not colluding with the Republic’s enemies. What, you have a red lightsaber?! Oh, of course I don’t know what that means, I was dropped on the head as a tubie!”

Barely pulling in a harsh breath, Fox continues, palms pressing into his eyeballs hard enough to cause sparks. “And speaking of lightsabers and senile fucks, haran smite my ass off but who the kriff thought it’d be a good idea to give absolute tactical and military authority to the kriffing eldritch space monks! The Force didn’t bless them with the collective good sense it gave to a kriffing rock, and I’m tired of pretending otherwise! Has anyone kriffing read the Theed Convention of Sentient Rights in Wartimes?! NO?!! Well, color me UNSURPRISED, because war crimes ARE NOT! GOOD! BATTLE! TACTICS!!”

“They run around in crop tops, Stone, in crop tops! Oh, the Force provides - WELL I’M GOING TO PROVIDE MY FOOT UP YOUR ASS, AND IT’S GOING TO HURT BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT WEARING KRIFFING ARMOUR!”

“Sure, let’s send the preteens into active warzones under heavy artillery in kriffing party wear! Surely nothing will ever go wrong! And give them commanding positions equivalent to CC-clones, WHO WERE LITERALLY GENETICALLY CREATED FOR IT! WITH A DECADE OF INTENSE TRAINING! LET’S DO THAT, BECAUSE WE’RE ALL KRIFFING STUPID!”

He’s gesturing wildly at the ceiling now, face heating up as his blood boils beneath the surface. “And you know what really gets my lowers in a twist, apart from the preteen commanding officers and blatant kriffing high treason and war profiteering?! Is it the complete lack of recognition? Gratitude? Basic sentient rights?! No, Stone, no, I would take all that in stride if it meant I never had to see Skywalker and Amidala kriffing canoodle right in front of me again, and pretend like it isn’t the galaxy’s worst conflict of interest case in the making!”

“By all levels of Sith-hell, what the kriff is wrong with that woman? You have it all, you could have anyone, and you choose that twatwaffle?! And then they have the gall to lock themselves in a broom closet for twenty minutes straight and have me guard it! ‘Oh yes, Senator, naturally we all go rattling brooms with our good friends! Nothing dodgy happening at all! I definitely believe you were looking for detergent and have used a washing machine before!’ The absolute nerve on those two! And then last week - you’ll never believe this - High General Windu passed by, and I swear he looked like he wanted to throw himself off the roof! I’ve never been less impressed by anyone in my life, and I’m batch-mates with Bly!”

“Speaking of Bly, that little bitchtit - if I have to edit one more, one more kriffing propaganda piece of him staring at General Secura’s bits, I’m going to stab my eye out! And if I have to edit one more of Secura staring at his bits, I’m going to stab the other one out! The only good thing I have to say about them is they’re more subtle than Skywalker and Amidala, which means nothing really. I will never understand that woman - but then she’s worked with Jar Jar Binks for a decade and not had a nervous breakdown, so she either has nerves of steel or is on some good-ass drugs.”

“Girl, your choices. And you know what else is a choice? Kote kriffing roundhouse-kicking heads off droids when he has a perfectly good blaster right there! I don’t know what the Longnecks put in his tube, but I hope to kriff it’s not contagious. I’d say I’m glad he has Kenobi to keep him in check, but that man wouldn’t know common sense if it punched his nose clean off his face. Flirting with General Grievous, ugh. I’d say he can do better, but honestly, they deserve each other.”

“And Wolffe - “, panting, Fox pauses, considering. “Well, Wolffe is an asshole and stupid, and I hate him because he’s stupid and has a stupid face. Also he keeps drunkenly submitting adoption paperwork on General Koon’s behalf - I wish I could say something mean about that, but honestly, his existence is roast enough. Anyways, bitches are trying me today, and by bitches I mean everyone. Commander Fox signing off to go not commit treason, unfortunately.”

Thoroughly powered out, Fox sinks into his hard mattress with a deep sigh. Several seconds of silence reign, and then his comm unit starts blaring in alarm.

Somewhere in the Jedi Temple, Mace Windu is knocked flat on his ass by a gargantuan shatterpoint exploding.

[margindoodles2407]

Margin's 100 Days of Writing

Hey so I decided I need to write more. So I randomly generated 100 words and am going to try to write as often as possible. Here is the first one. Enjoy.

Day One: Survival

The Ten Corrie Commandments

Your brothers are your lifeline. Corries stick together.

Remain calm, polite, and composed at all times. Even when natborns lash out at you. And they will lash out.

If a natborn asks you if you want to do something, it is not a question. It is a command.

Do not speak unless spoken to, and even then, as little as possible.

Do not remove your helmet in the presence of a natborn unless directly ordered to. Replace it as soon as possible.

If, one day, a brother starts answering to a different name and designation, don’t question it. He’s someone else now.

There are very few senators you can trust. Treat them all as if you can’t.

If a senator asks for you personally, do not go to them. Get Commander Fox. He will take care of it.

Do not ask about Commander Fox’s bruises and scars. You don’t want to know what he did to prevent them from being yours.

Stay as far away from the Supreme Chancellor as possible. At all costs.

[margindoodles2407]

@whyoneartheven

Been Sketching this bad boy up the past couple days :) @peggy7447 asked me to draw him so who am i to refuseee tags: @decembermidnight (ty or the support amore <3)

[stealthetrees]

Story time!

Fox was having a shity day, and then he was having a great day.

The usual bullshit, politicians, riots, criminal activity, syndicates after his head. He hadn’t slept in 30 hours. He was out of fucks to give.

Palpatine knocked a pen off his desk and asked Fox to pick it up. Fox went blind with rage and shot him on the spot.

Corrie guards standing outside the room poke their heads in, and see what happened. They congratulate Fox and gently chide him for not giving them more advanced notice as they respectfully arrest him.

Fox is in prison for about 27 minutes while they fake his death via stabbing by inmates he had arrested previously. He gets the CT number and armor of an ARC captain and is sent back to work, as per protocol.

Fox decides that this is an excellent time to take a team and go take out the leader of the Black Sun syndicate because they’ve been a pain in the ass for a while now. So he loads up a slug thrower and goes to kill Maul.

Somehow, news of what happened got around rather quickly and many people came to the marshal commanders office demanding an explanation.

Thorn, newly promoted, was not having a good time.

“Fox has been arrested” he explained patiently “he’s dead now tho so don’t worry about it”

“What does our decommissioned batchmate have to do with this?” Cody and Wolffe demand “we’re here about Fletcher”

Thorn forgot about Fletcher.

Well, he didn’t forget. How could anyone forget Marshal Commander CC-1010 Fletcher- oh wait.

Thorn realizes he has Fucked Up. He does not offer further explanation. He just sits down in the shitty little chair behind the shitty little desk in the shitty little office full of generals and commanders staring at him suspiciously and Thorn banged his head on the desk. Maybe if he knocked himself out he wouldn’t have to deal with this.

The universe decides to mock him further. Fives and Dogma, who are supposed to be dead, stick their heads through the door and somehow miss the huge crowd of people.

“Fox just got back and he gave us Maul’s head before heading up to blackmail a senator after dealing with that riot, what do you want us to do with it?”

[ddeck]

Star Wars: The Clone Wars - Out Foxed

by Rob Valois, 2008

[1-800-crscnt]

more in the vein of "corries try to make leave a pleasant time for GAR troopers and GAR troopers understand the stress they're under", i like to think of some corries being a bit mischievous and tricking them into eating something that tastes super bad or something that's meant to look like an object, like edible paper. and i also like to think of GAR troopers having a small game of seeing who can convince the most corries to join in on the fun they set up for everyone else instead of sitting by and monitoring. for example, wolffe gets fox to join him in playing some sport (that the corries found civilians playing and sorta changed it to be more fun for clones), and this causes thorn to join, so several of fox and thorn's men join, so wolffe is winning. but to him, fox having fun (safely) is sort of its own win

[margindoodles2407]

@whyoneartheven behold. he

give this man a pay raise and a vacation

didn’t know Fox day was a thing so this is a little late but better that the never! Really inspired by @secretly-a-trekkie’s design and Fox doodles!

[cormorant-red]

look at my floats boy

[seepweed]

hey remember when i used to so star wars stuff???

[allanalightwood]

if temuera morrison has dimples. then boba fett has dimples.

If boba fett has dimples, then jango fett has dimples.

IF JANGO FETT HAS DIMPLES. THEN IT'S CANON THAT THE CLONES HAVE DIMPLES.

[margindoodles2407]

@whyoneartheven

there are few things more powerful than the 15+ cups of caf Fox lives on every day

[izzystizzys]

“ - but have you ever considered, I don’t know, not sucking all the time? Just a thought.”

It takes the combined grips of Nuisance and Hound to keep the wriggling, snarling body beneath Fox from throwing him off its back. With three years’ practice of having to fix his own rickety desk chair over and over again, the movement merely ruffles the proverbial fringe on his helmet.

“And I don’t mean that as an insult, necessarily. Well, I do a little bit. But also I have some amount of empathy for the no doubt immense amounts of trauma that had to go into the creation of something so dysfunctional as you, on a very personal level, so have you considered going to the root of that in a way that’s like… useful? Instead of wasting it all on kriffing Kenobi, I mean. Look at the guy. All he does all day is drink tea and commit warcrimes. I bet he knits for fun. Bit of an embarrassing nemesis, don’t you think?”

“I”, says Kenobi, then pauses. The space between his eyebrows is creased with uncertainty, and he looks deeply torn between continuing rocking the shaking Duchess of Mandalore against his chest from his corner of the throne room and re-activating his lightsaber to continue losing his fight against the Darksider Fox is currently sitting on. “I feel like I should object to some part of that, but I’m not entirely clear on what. Or how this happened, again. Isn’t Mandalore a few star systems from your purview, Commander?”

“Probably the warcrimes”, mutters Nuisance underneath his strained breath.

“About as far from my supposed assignment as yours, General”, says Fox a little louder.

Kenobi twitches. Fox cannot claim to know which of them does it. Both, maybe. Probably.

“I will - taste - your - flesh!”, heaves out Darth Maul, snarling and hissing.

“Oooh, kinky!”, calls Grids, from the corner where she’s got her stun-setting aimed at the other Zabrak, currently passed out cold. Fox sighs deeply. He knew he shouldn’t have taken those three - any combination of Grids, Hound and Nuisance in a room together usually spelled chaos.

Unfortunately, it also spelled competence. The Basic alphabet can be funny that way.

The point being: as of some months into the war, one of Fox’s assigned tasks is the surveillance of all GAR-wide communication. All command-class staff theoretically got that memo, but no one seems to have read the fine print where that includes both professional and personal communication, as well as any and all comm devices registered or suspected to be registered to that person. Especially not one Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala.

The point further being, if that sounds both immensely impractical and sort of terrifying in a democratic supposedly non-surveillance state, you’d be bang on the credits, and to Fox’ eternal chagrin the singular person in this whole useless army who’s spent the second of thinking necessary for that conclusion.

The final point being, when one frantic General’s mad dash across the Galaxy to rescue his teenage sweetheart from the spectre of his supposedly dead nemesis crosses his desk on its way to the Chancellor’s inbox, it doesn’t take much time for him to block any and all trace of it across the digital space of the GAR commboard and take matters into his own hands.

“ - which is why I told Thorn to suck it up and be in charge for a few days, and also why you’re still alive, your Highness, very welcome, was no trouble at all”, he concludes, drily. The Duchess stares the wide-eyed look of someone attempting to reconcile clones with ‘sentience’ or perhaps ‘personality’ in her head, but won’t say it outright.

Or the look of someone who’s just been violently overthrown and nearly murdered, perhaps, Fox allows.

“Um -“, Kenobi hedges, blinking rapidly.

“And the reason you’re still alive, probably. You’re welcome for that too, by the way”, Grids calls from the back of the throne room, cheekily.

“Alright”, says Kenobi, loudly. There’s color back in his deathly-pale cheeks, Fox notes, even if that color is a lot of red. It doesn’t fade very gracefully into his beard. “Opinions on whether or not I had everything under control notwithstanding -“

“You really didn’t”, Hound supplies helpfully.

“ - opinions notwithstanding, I am admittedly still lost on why you’re now sitting on Darth Maul and attempting to, to - jeer at him, Marshall Commander!”

“We’re not jeering, we’re trying to create a safe space and lay the groundwork for more open communication”, Fox says, primly.

Maul screams into the ground, attempting for the umpteenth time to rear up and visit great violence upon Fox, which admittedly has him rattling in his crosslegged seat atop his back.

Kenobi raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Safe space?”

“He’s restrained and not stabbing anyone, I personally feel much safer than before”, Grids muses. “Watch the teeth though, Hound. Little biter.”

Indeed. Fox’s right greave will have to be replaced posthaste.

“And anyways, the point isn’t to jeer at him, it’s to make clear that he’s focusing his energy in the wrong places and could be doing much better things with his admittedly not-great life”, Fox adds, shifting to cast a pointed look down at Maul. The Sith is panting open-mouthed into the durasteel floor, sharp teeth gnashing wildly as his piercing yellow eyes shine with barely restrained rage. “I’m just saying - aim higher. You aren’t seeing the forest for the Kenobis, Maul. Can I call you Maul?”

“I will feed you your own entrails”, yowls Maul.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Right now, I’m an easy target to focus all that built-up rage on, but is killing me really going to help you achieve any of your goals? No! Think about it - when it all comes down to it, who sent you on that mission to Naboo in the first place? Who made sure the Jedi and, by extension, Kenobi would be there to kill you? Who used you as a dejarik piece and then cast you aside the second you outlived your usefulness?”

Beneath him, Maul slowly stills in his struggle, still panting heavily. Hound and Nuisance don’t let it deter them in their vigilance, because they’re damn good vod’e and possess an ounce of common sense.

“And, look, I get it. I could spend the rest of my life punching every civilian who spits on me in the streets and it would even be satisfying. I could hit back the Senators who think of clones as easy targets. Or - I can aim my sights at who’s on top. And I think you know who I mean, because you know as well as I do the same damn man has ruined both our lives.”

Kenobi makes an alarmed noise, and Maul an interested one - not that Fox is going to let him walk out of this place awake. Still, he tilts his head in a way he hopes conveys his helmeted grin successfully to non-vod, as well as the bloodlust behind it. “You’re also welcome for the fact that the Chancellor won’t have heard of your spontaneous resurrection yet, by the way. You’ll retain your element of surprise instead of gambling it away on petty revenge on Kenobi.”

“He cut me in half!”

“He killed my master!”

Fox waves their protests away.

“Also, that’s treason!”, Kenobi adds, sputtering. Fox grins. Kenobi purses his lips, and continues. petulantly, “…do you have any proof?”

“So. Much. Proof”, says Nuisance, dreamily. “Like, do you want it alphabetically or by date?”

Which is when the Duchess, of all people, bursts out into barking, crazed laughter.

“You - you’ve certainly given yourself an edge in that fight, Marshall Commander”, she wheezes, brushing tears from her eyes. Fox raises his eyebrows at her, which she somehow seems to be able to tell, because she gestures at the clunky handle dangling from his belt.

“What, this old thing?” He unclasps the black rectangle from its hook, holding it up in the air. Maul stills strangely beneath him, and Kenobi goes ghostly pale again. Fox is starting to get a bad feeling.

“I took it off Viszla and beat him over the head with it. I figured he’d taken it off a Jedi cadet or something. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

[margindoodles2407]

*to the tune of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ by Jerry Lee Lewis* Fox: ♪♫♬I’m sleep-deprived and I’m always in pain!♪♫♬ Thorn: *plays piano riff* Fox: ♪♫♬How will I ever learn to be sane?♪♫♬ Thorn: *plays piano riff* Fox: Are you for real?! Fox: (where’s the advil?) Fox: ♪♫♬GOODNESS GRACIOUS I NEED A NAP♪♫♬