#alpha clone spar

[mandalorianbrainweasel]

May the 4th be with you!

[mandalorianbrainweasel]

Quick and rough baby Alphas sketch for @wyvernsrus

[mandalorianbrainweasel]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Jango Fett & Alpha-Ø2 | Spar, Alpha-Ø2 | Spar & Original Mandalorian Characters, Alpha-Ø2 | Spar & Pre Vizsla, Boba Fett & Alpha-Ø2 | Spar, Alpha-Ø2 | Spar, Fenn Shysa, Pre Vizsla, Original Mandalorian Characters, Gar Saxon, Parja Bralor, Boba Fett, and a brief Dooku cameo, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, Religious Themes, Family, Mandalorian Culture & Customs (Star Wars), Mandalorian Civil Wars, Politics, War, Invasion, Planet Serenno (Star Wars)

Jango Fett is dead.

Akaani “Spar” Fett, formerly known as Alpha-02, knows it before anyone on Mandalore, but he only has until the rest of the Mando’ade know to make his decisions and plans. With the old Mand’alor dead, a new one will have to be elected. Despite what he might want, Spar is the preferred candidate for the traditionalist clans who elected Jango. The location link to Jango’s beskar’gam moving offers a faint hope at delaying the election and the resulting conflict with the Death Watch clans.

If Spar can convince both sides to prioritise the reclamation of Jango’s belongings and son, he can at least have his last shred of family with him for whatever comes next.

Language: English

Words: 22,663

Chapters: 6/6

[mandalorianbrainweasel]

Still trying to figure out the JLAS style…

[mandalorianbrainweasel]

[mandalorianbrainweasel]

For your winter break prompts!

Snow for Spar/Mij?

Glossary:

Br'alor - commander (alor) of a hill fort (bral)

Baar'ur - doctor or medic

The ground under Mij’s boots crunches as he steps down out of the fort commander’s office and he surveys the preternaturally quiet surroundings. It’s still early, even for a Mandalorian training base. Well, the base has had plenty of oddities for him—it’s supposed to be a rest day today, so no wonder no one has woken to start handling the inches of snow that have already built up on the walkways and fields, the roofs and porches.

And yet, the fort commander has vanished.

He sighs, aggravated that he’s the one sent out after the wayward Taung hybrid. Being integrated into their household is already its own issue, packing many more duties on top of his work with the other doctors on base and his continued training among the Mandalorians.

He spots faint bootprints in the snow and begins his slog through the base’s buildings. The bootprints become more clear uncomfortably quickly, considering their initial faintness. The commander must not be going very fast, which could mean they’re just meandering or could mean they’re once again not feeling well. The longer they’re outside in this weather, the more likely it will become the latter.

The cold air recently has already been wearing away at the commander’s health in a way he finds baffling on a scientific level. The idea that a being could be so fragile as to have their body’s homeostasis unbalanced by a change in weather and yet be able to pull out feats of strength that even a Jedi finds awe inspiring is discomforting.

And yet their little fort commander remains, as the Mandalore of all people put it, a bomb resting on the side of a blaster fight.

He turns a corner and finds himself on the edges of one of the practice fields on the outskirts of the base, just on the edge of the hill, and finds a figure swathed in furs waiting for him, staring up into the overcast sky and the flakes of ice falling gently from it.

As Mij approaches, the commander turns to look at him. They’re well bundled, at least, but their hair is windswept and the tips of their ears and their cheeks have roughed with cold, their green-brown skin dark and a little warmer in colour. There’s a pleased smile on their face, one that makes Mij’s heart beat harder. Not even the markings on their face, which can so often make them look like a predator, can stoke the usual noise in the back of his head that the fort commander is not his friend.

They aren’t his anything, except maybe his boss, but something about how they look standing in the falling snow—ice clinging to their hair and eyelashes—covered in furs and genuinely glad to see him makes him wonder if being a Mandalorian wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe he could stay with them and it would be worth leaving Stewjon and the Republic. The Republic is already on his shit list as it is, it’s not a large jump for him to stay here.

To stay with them.

“You need to come back inside, Br’alor,” Mij says, but he lets himself reach out to wrap the furs tighter around their shoulders.

“It’s a rest day, you can call me by name,” the commander tells him slyly.

Mij raises an eyebrow, but only gets a cheeky grin in response. He sighs again, his fingers drifting far too close to their face. “Akaani,” he gives in.

The commander darts close to him, beaming up. “Let’s go back in. I want shig.”

He wants to hug them, but that’s not happening. So instead he nods. “I’ll need to give you a once over, considering this little escapade.”

“Of course, Baar'ur.” They laugh; for once it’s a little sheepish. “I thought I could be back before you woke up and got going.”

He gives them a look that shows them what he thinks about that.

They laugh again. “Let’s get back in.”

[mandalorianbrainweasel]

I’m on top of the world because of you…

A Mand’alor Spar for y’all.

If you love this and would be interested in something similar, check out the information below! I’m raising money for surgery.

Commissions!

For something like this piece, pricing would be approximately $400 USD–let’s break it down.

Initial sketch - $75 (a more involved pose than you’d expect! My typical would be $50)

Background sketch - $25

Background render and basic lines - $75

Art Nouveau Lining - $100 (requires being super thoughtful about line placement, non-art nouveau for a figure like this would run $50-$75)

Art Nouveau Rendering - $100 (another case of having to be very thoughtful of choosing and placement of color

Final Touches - $25 (this includes things like lineart color, color balancing, and the holo effect! Your typical art would be black lines and no special effects, so it’s particularly to a big piece like this)

Is all I get the art? No! Not only do you get poster printing quality PNGs, after your commission price passes $200 you get to choose either a private livestream of me working on your piece for two hours where you can ask questions and make comments OR a timelapse of the process of the creation of your piece!

Further details on commission pricing forthcoming. I’ve got a goal of $12000 in one year. If you’re interested, please DM me for details.

[mandalorianbrainweasel]

I'd like to inflict Jaing upon Spar please and thank you and good luck!

xoxoxo Possum~

@posstrophe

(warning for dehumanising language, Kal Skirata brand opinions, and violence)

Jaing prides himself in knowing everything that’s going on with the GAR, just a little something on the side while he’s trawling through the Separatists’ systems. It keeps him fresh and it keeps an eye on just what Fett is doing. 

He has a lot of weird feelings about Fett—Buir’s never been one to shy away from criticising the man he named Jaing after—but he figures if Buir doesn’t trust him then Jaing shouldn’t either.

So his attention is piqued when all of a sudden a new dismissal form propagates into the system—medical discharge. It comes up right on the tail end of the adjustments being made to all the Navy discharge forms—Buir wasn’t happy to hear they were doing those at all, just like how he talks about how working with the locals on equal footing is a slight to the clones’ honour—so he nearly misses it. He would have entirely if there weren’t an immediate usage case, unlike all the others.

Jaing leans back in his seat and stares for a long, long moment at the file.

He remembers a whole karking mess, two years before the war. Buir and Vau got in some big near knock-down fight and Doc Gilamar had sided with Vau for once. Jaing was on Buir’s side—that feral Alpha being put down, or whatever story they were going with, should have happened back when he beat Mereel half to death.

All the trainers had talked about it in hushed tones.

But here the bastard was, number and designation on some file being backdated as Jaing stares at it. 

What the kark. 

What the actual kark.

No, maybe it’s a cover-up, to keep someone from finding out they really did put the bastard down. 

If anyone’s gonna know, it’ll be A-26, though. 

Jaing hops up and winds his way away from the office he’s been given, aiming for where 26 is headquartered. He is reaping all the benefits of his trainer becoming the head of the GAR and it chafes more than it probably should. Jango Fett is still Mand’alor and Jaing should probably respect that. Still, he’s not really happy about the preferential treatment Fett’s giving his Alphas.

He knocks performatively before slicing the door open and steps in.

26 gives him an unhappy look. So, he finds, does the clone sitting in 26’s chair, and the one lying across both of 26’s guest chairs.

The one in the guest chairs is definitely A-66, who has a datapad on his lap. 

The one in 26’s chair is…different. Younger, with way longer hair than any of Jaing’s brothers could get away with. The scar on his cheek makes Jaing’s brain wriggle uncomfortably, like he should recognise it. 

“Eww,” the younger clone says.

“I won’t tell anyone if you decide to get your rifle out,” 26 says.

“I will but only to sing your praises,” 66 adds. 

Jaing stares at all of them. “Rude,” he finally says hesitantly. “What’s with the, what, sniper?” he asks, gesturing to the younger clone.

They all blink in sync.

Karking Alphas and their karking tutees, he figures, and shuts the door behind him. “So something weird showed up in the system,” he says, trying to ignore how awkward he feels in this moment, in this room. “Someone’s claiming Alpha-Null-Two is still alive.”

There’s a moment of quiet disbelief, and then all three burst into laughter. 

“You weren’t kidding,” the younger one says, still laughing, while looking at 26. “You really weren’t kidding!”

“Why would I lie about them?” 26 asks almost hysterically. 

“He’s got a point,” 66 says, snorting. “Do you want us to—?”

“No, no,” the younger clone says, standing up. “I’ll do it.”

Jaing frowns to find the younger clone is wearing beskar painted dark green. Then he can’t do much of anything because he’s being pinned to a wall by a karking kid. 

“Listen, Null’ika,” the younger clone croons, fingers tight on Jaing’s neck. “You’re going to swear to pretend you never saw any mention at all about Alpha-Null-Two still being alive unless someone else asks about it, or I really will finally kill one of you bastards, and then I really won’t have an excuse to kill the rest of you!” They smile cheerily at him. “I’m sick and tired of you nosy bastards deciding you know better than everyone else just because Kal Skirata deludes himself that he thinks the sun shines out of your asses. I have been for years.” The fingers on his neck tighten further and he struggles to wheeze in air. “You are not in the need to know—so I’m Akaanik’sha Fett to you.”

Jaing hits the ground hard when the brat lets go of him. He rubs his neck and stares up at him in disbelief.

Right. He should have remembered that scar, especially combined with that feral, deranged expression. Something in his chest clenches against his will, something like fear, or maybe even—Ka’ra forbid—attraction. 

“You karking bitch,” he snarls, only to find himself flat against the floor with a boot on his sore neck. 

“Or,” ‘Akaanik’sha’ says thoughtfully, “I can tell Jan’i that you were snooping. I wonder what kind of fancy new discharge you’d get before we start calling in favours from bounty hunters?”

“Dishonourable,” 26 drawls.

Jaing grits his teeth. “I won’t tell anyone,” he wheezes out painfully.

‘Akaanik’sha’ smiles beatifically down at him. “Good boy,” he croons and takes his boot off Jaing’s neck. “Now kark off.”

Jaing scrambles out of the office like a strill with its tail between its legs. 

(I am not currently accepting clones to subject to Spar.)