#clone trooper corr

[clonememesfrikyeah]

GOOD MORNING GEONOSIS!!! EVERYONE BE SURE TO TAKE THEIR QUAALUDES AND LETS GET THIS BREAD!!!

[celestialswonders]

Favorite underrated clone characters. And I mean all your favorites that either had a few minutes of screen time, fives seconds of screen time, absolutely hated by the fandom, not popular in the fandom, or appeared in the background in one panel in a limited edition comic or something that came out years ago. (This is to name a few but is not limited to.)

I’ll go first, Fox, Glitch, Ganch, Corr, Ghost, Lock, Atin, Neyo, Nova, all of Delta Squad, and Stone.

[trudemaethien]

Glitch/Corr and hear <3

This got a bit graphic and gory😅, so…

HC: Corr sustained some hearing damage from the same event that took his arms, I don’t explicitly mention it here, but

The Force resonates with awe-inspiring vastness, full of sound and wonder, and most of the time Glitch loves to listen to it.

Sometimes it’s like that pesky brother who’s trying to get your attention to discuss his hairbrained theories and antics, for the fourty-third time, after curfew.

Glitch has a headache.

Before he knew what it was he was hearing, he got headaches a lot. He’s used to it. It doesn’t mean he likes it any better now than then.

He’s following, shut UP already!

A hand lands in the middle of his chest, halting him. “No civilians past the cordon,” a clone’s vocoder-leveled but still appreciably bored voice orders.

“I’m not, and I need to go there,” Glitch says, leaning into his words and the restraining hand. “You can let me in, I’m cleared.”

“You can go in…after you suit up. Since you’re cleared.”

The clone gestures to a heavy blast-suit, bulky and cumbersome. Glitch can’t function in that. He shifts his weight in preparation to move.

“He’s not cleared, Jack, what’s wrong with you?” another clone snaps, approaching. “Help me get this on; and you, scram.”

“Yes, Corporal,” Jack says, chastened. Sorry, he mouths at Glitch as the corporal straps on the extra armor.

The urgency is higher now, the Force like a klaxon in his head. Maybe there’s a klaxon out loud too, Glitch realizes, as the corporal hurries up, glancing toward the cordoned-off area.

“Corporal,” Glitch tries, “I need to—”

“To get the kriff out of my AoE and quit distracting me and my team,” the corporal says sharply. “We’re on the clock.”

Jack snaps the last clasp into place and taps twice next to the reinforced face shield like he’s patting the guy’s cheek. “Good to go!” he signs with his other hand in front of his face.

And go he does. Glitch can only watch as the demolitions corporal tramps across the ground to the device, not gracefully in that get-up, but with the ease of familiarity. Jack, he realizes, has a timer he’s gleefully counting off out loud.

“Corr’s a machine; fucker beat my time! I’m going to do him one better nex—”

.

…

So that’s what a bomb sounds like, is Glitch’s first dazed thought.

HOT, is his next. Something is crackling in his ears, and he looks around for Jack, for any of the others, and finds the world on fire with no one in sight. That adds up, he thinks nonsensically, and then looks at himself.

Shrapnel and slag are scattered all around him but not on or through his body, like the discolored dry shadow behind a retaining bulkhead hit by a wave. He—the Force—probably did that. He didn’t know he could do that.

Where’s Jack. The Force had probably wanted him to prevent this. The klaxon is still shrieking, or no—that’s too irregular.

Glitch follows the sound. The Corporal is struggling in his heavy suit of armor, trying to escape the burning crater. He can’t climb out for some reason, even though it’s only thigh-deep. Glitch grabs at him and then thinks better of touching the hot surface. He grabs him with the Force instead, and yanks him up and out.

He doesn’t see anyone else as he drags the Corporal to safety. Past the blast radius, he peels away the suit, slicing it with Rennax’s saber when it hardens too much.

He pulls the man free with difficulty. He’s slick with sweat and tears and blood, and not all of him comes free. Glitch almost hurls when he realizes the flexible gloves that allowed dexterity physically couldn’t shield as well as the rest of the get-up, and the meat of his arms up to the elbow is shredded off the equally shattered bones.

Tourniquets from his belt, not thinking about it, just applying them, then he hoists the trooper up, the whole time yelling, “Medic!”

The sole survivor of the blast clings to him with the stumps of his ruined arms and shakes with uncontrollable sobs. Relief and grief entwine with one another. “You. You got me. You heard me, you came,” he slurs. Accusation and gratitude are also inextricably bound in his tone.

Glitch wishes he could have done better, listened more carefully to the Force, actually prevented this from happening at all, but all he says is, “Yeah, I got you.” His own voice is hoarse and thick.

Neither of them let go until a medic takes the injured trooper to evac. Glitch watches him get loaded up, then regretfully turns away to follow the call of the Force once again.

Reverberating 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51595036

[imrowanartist]

For the expression challenge: how about Corr in E4?

From marbledpolecat :D

Hi, Marrrr!

Here’s Corr for you! In his commando armor, because he deserves that ^^

[engagemythrusters]

CORR <3

[mandalorianbrainweasel]

Corr gets cornered by some members of his old battalion who are very, very unhappy with his new position.

(warnings for canon typical violence, dehumanization)

It comes out of nowhere.

Corr gets body checked into the alley wall, his head bouncing on the stone and his vision swimming with white and familiar paint. The colour, anyways. None of the markings are familiar. All of the familiar markings are dead and gone, after all.

“This is gonna suck,” he mutters to himself and he thrashes as he’s surrounded. Get out, get away.

“Think you’re too good for us now, huh?” familiar voices jeer. “Hanging out with the karking commandos, now, eh?”

He feels the familiar tug of his prosthetic arms being dragged behind his back and he kicks out, getting one of these idiots in the cod’ hard enough he hears the duraplast crack under his boot. His arms are released, but he can’t bring them forward again, and can’t even pull them apart very far. “The kark did you dumbasses do?” he snarls.

“Well you’re part clanker now anyway, we figured we might as well use something more familiar,” one particularly nasty one says. He vaguely recognizes the shapes of his paint, now that he thinks about it. That guy was already nasty to Corr’s squad before.

“Wired them together,” a more laconic brother drawls.

Well. That’s going to be annoying as hell later.

Then one of them socks him in the stomach.

He doubles over, groaning and winded and wanting to puke. The karking hell.

“Do you really think some idiot like you is going to last in the commandos?” the nasty one asks. “You got three good men killed. They’re just using you.”

“No shit,” Corr wheezes. “Better than rotting away at a desk job though.”

“You should have, for what you did,” another brother half-squeaks. Young, armour still mostly white.

They dragged a shiny into this with them.

Corr rolls his eyes and grunts as another fist lands against his skin.

Someone clears their throat and the CTs go quiet and still, but Corr is just swaying and dizzy. “I don’t think you kids would want me calling one of the Jedi over here, now would you?” a heavily accented voice says. Familiar accent, Corr thinks, but he can’t quite place it except that it’s somewhere near the commandos’ Mandos. “I know High General Zey is only about a block away.”

“Who the hell are you?” the nasty one snarls, spinning around. He sounds scared.

Corr leans back against the brick of the alley. His shoulders hurt from being pulled back.

“A contractor.” There’s a very distinct pause. “Get out of here.”

They run, a thundering noise that shakes Corr up, and when he looks up it’s gold paint. For one long, terrifying moment, he thinks it’s Skirata, but there’s no limp as the Mando comes toward him and the hands on his shoulders are gentle.

“Turn around, let me get you free,” the Mando says, then he curses—unfamiliar words but a familiar tone—when Corr obliges. “Seriously? Wire?”

There’s a rustling, a clicking, then a sharp snap and the tension holding Corr’s arms together is gone. He brings them back around and grimaces, there’s still wire all through the insides of the metal skeleton of his bare prosthetic arms. It’ll take ages to get it all out to prevent it from gumming up the circuitry.

“Come on, ad’ika,” the Mando says, taking him by the shoulders. “Let me get you somewhere safe to check those hits.”

He ends up back in the old safe house, sat on a couch with the Mando taking off his helmet and revealing pale ginger hair and a freckled face, younger than Sergeant Skirata and Vau but older than General Tur-Mukan and Commander Jusik. This Mando’s apparently a medic, or maybe even a doctor, from the bag of tricks he has on him. Eventually, all the wire is gone and bruises and abrasions are treated. No broken bones, thank kark.

The Mando hums as he finishes up, patting his shoulder. “You can rest now,” he says, almost gently, and Corr listens. He falls asleep on the couch and doesn’t wake up until hours later, when a frantic Mereel finally shows up for him.

[kungfuslipper]

Six Sentence Sunday

Besany had tried.

But Ordo fired off subtlety like appropriated juggernaut shells, and she really didn’t appreciate the explosions in her chest.

Her father’s voice resounded; so many arguments that left her cratered for years afterwards. She’d had reasons to leave Uscru District and everything she knew behind.

Ordo had taken her on a date—mostly under Kal’s pressure, she suspected—and the experience was a strange dance of wits and egos. She couldn’t imagine living with him. He’d be better off with somebody who needed straightening—

not someone like her, who would resist—with vigor—his every attempt at rearrangement.

[clonememesfrikyeah]

Fordo, Alpha-17, Colt, Blitz, Howzer, Thire, Doom, Rex, Cody, Bly, Wolffe, Bacara, Neyo, Boss, Gregor, Fives, Echo, O’niner, Mereel, Corr, Ordo, exc exc: *Is giving orders*

Me: