I'll be glad to draw your original character, including from your favorite games - Hogwarts Legacy, Dragon Age, Baldur's Gate 3, World of Warcraft and so on.
I also draw illustrations for books, fanfiction, and your stories. You can view the portfolio on my page!
I'm also ready to draw concept art of your characters for you, I am especially open to fantasy characters!
I also draw characters from a wide variety of fandoms, including Arcane, Baldur's Gate 3, Lord of the Rings, Wicked, but you can suggest characters from your favorite fandoms, including your favorite ships.
so crazy to see my following decimated (not that i’m shocked). had 1k when i was still posting actively and engaging in fan content and then my focus shifted… left the site, joined different interests… only to return back to exactly where i started
Day 3: Secondary drowning, Compartment syndrome, “Please don’t leave me!”
Shout out to @ailesswhumptober for hosting this.
divider by @strangergraphics
Words: 936
Characters: Echo & Omega
Tags/Warnings: More bittersweet than whump?, Echo & Fives (mention), Citadel (mention), death (mention), sad
Summary: Echo wakes up from a nightmare just a few weeks after he leaves the Batch. Omega's at the forefront of his mind.
A/N: i adore the FUCK out of omega and echo and just generally the bad batch being a co-op of parents for omega. also this is incredibly rushed and i almost turned this into fluff, and now i don't wanna edit it so enjoy unedited content.
Please don’t leave me.
Nightmares were plentiful even in the Clone Underground. Maybe moreso in the Clone Underground. Echo extracted himself from the coarse blanket that had somehow managed to tie itself around his legs, the damp fabric a chilling reminder of exactly what he was doing up. He placed his feet onto the ground, the stone floors of one of the smaller caverns they’d put the dorms, grounding. It was quiet excluding the snores of his brothers and he allowed himself a moment to simply close his eyes.
Omega stood in front of him, her eyes watering as she stared up at him. A million things that clearly wanted to be said on her lips, but nothing ever slipping out. A sight that made his stomach churn. Please don’t leave me, she had said.
Despite it being weeks since Coruscant, the kid’s last words to him were still ringing in his ears. Haunting him since the moment she’d thrown her arms around his neck and whispered them under her breathe like a fervent prayer. It’d taken him everything to not march right back onto the Marauder right there and then. So he’d settled for hesitantly bringing his own arms around her.
She’d clung onto him desperately, as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling apart. And for a moment, he had felt like it. Had felt like he was that pillar of strength for her as her body shuddered against him, silent sobs that he knew she was strong enough to not release in front of him. Had felt like he could ignore the screaming in the back of his mind in order to comfort the girl in front of him. And he had been for her, his little soldier.
It’d been only a few months, barely a few, but just like any other clone, he’d grown attached to her. They all had. Tech had given up plenty of his personal research time to ensure she had an education, while Wrecker made it a point to take better care of what he said and did around her. Hunter, perhaps, more than the rest of them had really taken to her being one of their own, always keeping an eye on her, eerily aware of her every movement, and adjusting everything they did to allow for Omega to be there.
All of them doting on the girl, protecting her, listening to her. Growing with her.
Maybe him, more than the others. He had taught her how to work with droids, on droids. Gonky had eventually proven too simple for her to practice on and shockingly, he had offered up his own scomp, inciting some surprise from both the others and himself. His cybernetics weren’t something he normally allowed others to touch, let alone work on. It hadn’t mattered the level of skills; his cybernetics were his own burden to carry.
Except, with Omega, it wasn’t a penance that he had to uphold. With Omega, it was something she took seriously, with no pity or fear. Simply a part of who he was and that this was his body. It had helped that she had picked up on on how it worked so quickly. The trust came easily after that and within time, she became the one to help him when things got dicey with his cybernetics or if he were incapable of repairing it in some way. Her small hands and fingers allowed her to get to crevices that even he couldn’t reach.
Those same fingers that had gently, delicately dug through his wiring to fix fried circuits had dug into the back of his neck, clumsily. As if she couldn’t get her hands on him fast enough. She’d buried her face into the side of his neck, fighting back tears, and it was then he had heard her. It’d been her softest plead, the one not even Rex had heard standing barely a few meters away. Perhaps not even one meant for him, but he had heard it all the same.
It’d been the one to stick with him the longest. The one that played in his head at night when he finally managed to grab some sleep in between the operations to save and infiltrate. The one that kept him going when all hope was seemingly lost and everything was on fire. The one that reminded him why he needed to keep fighting, scrape by scrape.
He could only lie to himself for so long.
Because it was the same one that had replaced the line in his dreams of fire, explosions, and pain so visceral he woke up in a cold sweat, clutching his scomp. Instead of Fives crying out his name as Echo’s helmet was torn from his head, it was Omega crying out to him — and running towards him and not away. Instead of Echo dying at the Citadel, diving in front of a shuttle that had been their way out, it was Omega, getting shot down by droids.
Fear had fueled his every movement, decision, since. Had this been how Rex had felt for General Tano back after the war? The sense of leaving a piece of him behind when he left her behind? The sense that he had to keep fighting to keep her safe?
He just had to make sure he returned to them. To her.
Please don’t leave me.
Fives watching him get knocked back by the explosion, his blaster hanging uselessly at his side as he watched Echo die. Omega watching him. A shudder escaped him.
Day 2: Amputation, Gunshot, "It's not worth your life!"
Shout out to @ailesswhumptober for hosting this.
divider by @strangergraphics
Words: 1,502
Characters: Tech x Ex-Jedi!Mercenary!OC, Bad Batch mention
Tags/Warnings: Character injury, whump, very much pre-romance these guys are coping, hints of passive suicidal ideation she just wants to protect them.
Summary: Zoemai takes a blaster shot while rescuing the Batch out of a less than ideal situation. Tech isn't happy with how it's dealt with.
A/N: this took me way too long and u can kinda see where i was like fuck it, but uh yeah. meet my baby of a jedi oc!!!!! (her fic is a wip, i might post it eventually if i ever finish it...) also i'm totally not a day late.
Zoemai’s back burned.
Yet Tech kept going, painstakingly methodical in how he delicately peeled away each piece of fabric that clung to her blaster wound. His hands were gentle and cool, a balm to her irritated and more than likely infected blaster wound if his reaction to when she’d taken off her shirt with her back to him had been of any hint. As the next piece was eased away from her skin, her fingers dug into the back of the cockpit’s chair, her nails bending against the metal as she inhaled shakily.
A blaster wound from a mission gone wrong. A stupid mission. It should have been an easy retrieval. Get into an Imperial building, steal some data, get out. Something that should have been a solo mission, one that would have never been known to the Batch in the first place. That had been before the Empire had abruptly updated security protocols. Security protocols that required distractions and decryptions that she could never hopes to achieve on her own; a one-man mission had turned into six.
And like most things with this particular squad of clones, things had started swimmingly. Breaking in had been one of the easiest ops she’d ever been apart of in her life. They trusted her just as she trusted them, and that had allowed them to easily navigate throughout the building without getting caught. A feeling of accomplishment that she hadn’t felt since… well. That’s when, of course, where one thing had turned into another...
Through clenched teeth, a whimper escaped her as Tech’s fingers brushed against a more tender part of her wound and she leaned her damp forehead against the headrest. Her cloak was barely thick enough to block the cold of the seat from her chest. There was a mumble, most likely an apology, but Zoemai couldn’t find the energy to even acknowledge it. Instead, she turned her attention elsewhere, away from the pain.
The Marauder was silent save for the thrum of hyperspace and the occasional snore from the bunks behind. Wrecker the loudest of them all, though if she concentrated hard enough, she could hear Omega’s soft breaths beneath it all. Safe. The streaks of stars that tore past them lit up the cockpit, stretching and tearing shadows apart with a consistency she both adored and envied. And there, in the reflection of one of the panels, she could make out Tech’s expression of pure concentration as he leaned forward.
Nothing, could however, distract her from what felt like someone ripping the very skin off her back. The yelp from her was involuntary but in the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care as she collapsed forward into the back of the chair. Her strength had long since been sapped and her normally endless reserves of bitterness that had used to fuel her in times like these had found their limits faster the longer she’d been with the batch.
Breathing hard, she pressed her cheek against the headrest, the metal soothing, as she waited for his hands to return. One minute turned into two, and two nearly had her eyes fluttering shut if not for the sudden pressure in her mind from the Force. Her eyes shot back open and she glanced over at the panel that she’d been using to sneak glances at him.
Uncharacteristically still, he sat there as if suspended, looking at her. Not at her back, her wound, or even the tweezers and bacta in hand, but at her. Eyebrows pinched together, shoulders hunched, an expression on his face that would do better on a battlefield or an operation rather him pulling fabric from a blaster wound on her back.
“Just say it.”
Regret filled her as soon as she spoke. She sounded, small, defeated. Vulnerable.
“I have nothing to say.”
Bitterness dripped from every word, each one a new stab, a new wound she’d made herself. She watched that abhorrent mask of disengagement return to his face and she felt her restraint begin to crack. Because this had been the path she had chosen. She had chose to do that to Tech. To them.
Silence. Again. Except it was oppressive. Suffocating. She could practically feel the walls of the Marauder closing in on her again, the dulcet sounds of hyperspace now caging her mind. An echo chamber of thoughts best left in the Dark began to rattle their way around in her mind. She needed to leave.
“Kriff.” It was barely loud enough for her to hear, but enough to dislodge her from the hole she had been digging. “Zoemai, you need to take better care of yourself.”
This time, her legs moved before her mind did. She turned to face him, leaning her head against the side of the headrest now. What was he talking about?
“The blaster wound was avoidable,” he continued exasperated. “We had a plan in place and — “
“I got us out, didn’t I?” Despite her best effort to pack it away, her irritation was clear to see.
Tech sat up, his hands falling to his lap. “And our plan would have gotten us out without having you dive in front of a blaster.”
“It’s part of the job, Tech.”
He snorted and turned to his left where he had left the first aid kit on the seat behind him. “If you knew what the average rate of injury for mercenaries was, you would not be saying this.”
“What.” She pulled herself closer to the back of the seat, forcing herself as upright as she could with her injury and without her cloak slipping down the front of her. “What are you talking about Tech? You guys get injured all the time.”
“Our squad’s occasional injury is accounted for by our line of work’s average.” He paused as he finished putting the supplies away. Then he turned to her, lips pressed together. “You, however, are a statistical anomaly.”
She swallowed. “What do you mean by that?”
That had been the wrong thing to say apparently, because Tech’s expression pulled into something that she couldn’t quite decipher. “You throw yourself into danger at any possible given moment, putting you at a forty-five percent chance to get injured during every mission. A number that seems to go up when you are assisting with the Batch’s missions when it logically should be going down, just as our own chances fall with your presence.”
They get injured less. She looked away, out towards the stars. Away from everything that made her uncomfortable. Upset. Unreasonable. Emotions that drove her to protect and shield everyone she loved and cared about. Decisions she made that had put her on this path in the first place, to love and then lose. And lose and lose and lose. She couldn’t stay here. She’d been wrong to come back.
“Have you considered the fact that you lot get yourself into messes often?”
“Zoemai.” The way he said her name sent a dangerous chill down her spine and she turned back to him. “We can take care of ourselves.”
Angry, but not at her. For her. Caring. Worried. Concerned. He’s looking at her in a way that’s making her stomach do weird things. It’d be so easy —
“Clearly not,” she huffed, choking down the confusing mess of feelings. “You and Hunter were tied up up, Wrecker was busy fighting some giant bug again, Omega had a blaster pointed to her head, and Echo’s nowhere to be found. Let’s not forget that the pirates had Imperials tracking them down so you were on a time crunch and you’re telling me that you had it in hand?”
“It’s not just on missions like this.” His words were soft, not rising to the bait. “Time and time again, you have shown little to no care for yourself even in the most unimportant of missions. You have risked your life for items, replaceable things. It does not make sense."
She felt exposed. Air brushed against her back and she shivered, though the temperature of the Marauder had little to do with it. Her leg twitched and her eyes darted over towards the back of the ship, towards the door that was surely locked up tight right then.
“Zoemai, it is not worth your life. You do not need to die for these things.”
There were a billion different things going on her head, which is the only sensible reason she can come up with later as to why these words fall out of her mouth: “Well, I certainly don’t have to live for it.”
She watched as her own horror at her involuntary admittance was reflected onto his face and panic surged from within her. He’d reply with horror, pity maybe. That’s what they’d all done. Always. But when she looked up at him, all she found was fear.
“Do not say that.” Her eyes widened as the man hastily readjusted his goggles, twisting them but even she could see the way his hands shook. “Do not ever say that again.”
Day 1: Collapsed Lung, Contusion, “Well, that shouldn’t have happened.”
Shout out to @ailesswhumptober for hosting this.
divider by @strangergraphics
Words: 1,067
Tags/Warnings: Character injury, whump, I LOVE ME SIBLINGS, not romantic in the least, angst? i think?, vague ending, maybe character death?, idk is he?
A/N: shaking off writing dust so this is literally just a drabble help.
“Stay down.”
It was a visceral growl, one that Fives could have probably felt in his bones if not for the sudden sharp pain in his chest as a hand gently pushed him back down onto the cold, metal ground. Pain took the forefront of his mind as he wheezed out a breath at the movement, his ribs seemingly squeezing around him. His chest, heart, brain burned for air and he choked in another shallow breath, only for stars to dance around the edges of the dark that beckoned to him. Still, words fought towards the surface.
“Don’t…” He gasped for air, begging for it to come inside. “Tell me — “
“What to do,” Echo finished for him, his words shaky despite his best attempts at a more carefree tone as their brothers shifted uncomfortably around them in the drop ship. “Yeah, heard that one before, right before your karking ass nearly met the Maker.”
It took him a second, maybe two, for Fives to pinpoint exactly what made his brain stutter over the jab. And, oh, Echo was swearing. In public. On the job. Maybe not mid-mission, but definitely during the operation. The mental discomfort of it and what it could mean stroked a desire to turn his head away from his brother. He’d barely turned an inch before his anxiety was replace by yet another stabbing sensation in his chest. His vision flickered and he sunk.
By the time he’d stabilized with a slow return, Echo had returned him to his original position, head facing upwards where he could see the occasional concerned or maybe curious glance from a fellow brother. Causalities were normal, but the clones had always had a bit of a morbid streak. Maybe not the best of signs though if they were sneaking looks. Neither was the fact that Echo’s face remained within the periphery of his eyesight, his vigilance unmoving from him.
That couldn’t be a good sign either.
The ship tilted, just slightly. Not enough for his brothers to have noticed but enough for him to grit his teeth as he did his best to swallow down the noises that were unwillingly clawing their way out of his throat. His chest was beginning to throb in time with his heartbeat and for lack of distraction, his mind went back to what they had been taught in ARC Trooper training.
Pain in the chest was never good. Neither were constricting ribs nor shortness of breathe. Something about internal injuries played in the background of his mind and just as he was grasping onto it, he breathed in — and found himself unable to inhale more. His skin was damp, cold, goosebumps erupting along his arms and he tried to breathe in deeper, more.
But more wouldn’t come. It couldn’t come. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. His chest heaved as he tried again. His body was cold, freezing practically even with all of his gear on. Or was his gear on? He didn’t know. Breathe. Air. Please.
His eyes darted over to Echo, the datapad in his hands and the panic was gone as soon as it had descended. A serenity seemed to fill his mind, warming him from the inside out. Because they’d finished the mission. They’d followed orders. His brother was alive, singed, but alive. And the mission was finished. So everyone should have been happy. Thrilled.
Echo just looked… exhausted. His vod had finally turned his eyes away from him, yet the tension was as clear as day in Fives’ eyes. His shoulders were stiff, his eyes unfocused, and his hands were clenched around the datapad as if it were the only thing stopping him from shattering. He looked fragile.
“I told…” Talking was hard, but when Echo’s eyes focused and landed on him, he found the strength to continue. “You that…”
Echo stared at him. Fives’ words faltered.
“Well, that shouldn’t have happened.”
It was a simple statement, blunt, emotionless. He closed his eyes. It’s anything but. Because it shouldn’t have happened. None of this should have happened. Not the speeder exploding, not the detonator being planted, not the fact that Fives had found himself in a middle of an op gone so terribly wrong of his own making.
“And I know it’s damn well not my fault!” His irate tone commanded the attention of everyone around them and even as Fives’ ears began to ring, the coughs were loud. “If you had just listened — “
A sudden intake of breath and even without looking, he could practically see Echo reeling himself back in. The others had turned deathly quiet, a striking contrast from the barely muted blare of sirens and explosions that thundered outside. Fives forced himself to look back at his brother, his chest screaming at the movement and his heart pounded in time with it. A ticking clock.
Where he expected to see composure, Fives saw a glare. One that spoke of layers of vexation so deep that he winced. Another mistake as his chest seemed to contract into itself and he breathed in as deep as he could, his brain scrambling for extra air that he desperately needed.
“Can’t be… that bad…” His words slipped from him just as his vision did, darkness pulling him under.
It’s quiet. It’s calm. It’s lonely. It’s nauseating. It’s nauseating how much it feels like what he thinks drowning would feel like.
He doesn’t want to drown.
Pain hauled him back up to the surface and then another strike confirmed the shape of a hand. His eyelids were the equivalent of steel, the effort to peel them open an excruciating demand. But a third strike had followed and the first thing his eyes focused on was a distressed Echo. Alarm briskly fell to relief, before it returned to that normal stoic expression of concentration.
An expression that Fives was beginning to appreciate. Or maybe despise. It was a difficult thing to determine when his chest felt as if it were about to concave into itself. Breathing had turned into a thankless chore.
“Eyes open, soldier.” His brother glanced over his shoulder and Fives eyes followed, recognizing the ceiling of the drop ship. A nearby explosion rocked the ship. Right. Operation, argument with Echo, explosion, pain. Lots of pain. “We’re nearly there.”
Almost. Almost.
The allure of exhaustion was strong at the promise of almost. His eyes slid shut.
omega was such a focal point for the squad and i refuse to believe otherwise. crossposting this from my twitter.
posted originally on x here
divider by @strangergraphics
crosshair
just by being the way she is, he's forced to face the fact he DOES care bc she cares so deeply & so much, it gets her into trouble & yet, he's there without fail. just... there.
just like with his unit, always keeping an eye on her & huffs & puffs about her poor decision making, but he's THERE.
the moment she copies his toothpick habit (which replaced his smoking habit), those things went straight into the trash. he's not about to have omega pick up HIS bad habits.
her first blaster was a gift from him actually & only after months of extensive testing to ensure it was a GOOD blaster. he's never put so much care into another weapon other than his own rifle.
teaches omega how to snipe with his rifle & feels such an immense sense of pride every time she hits a target.
more overprotective than hunter because there is no way he can deal with NOT seeing omega for more than a few rotations a time anymore. will never admit it out loud.
gets incredibly cranky when she's out on a mission without him.
the others don't mind it.
crosshair cares just as much as omega does, he just thought he had buried that feeling a long time ago. too bad she's just as talented at getting into trouble as she is in digging up those feelings.
wrecker
wrecker learning to be more careful with his strength and size for omega.
so used to just bumping into the others that he first time he sends her flying, he's confused then on the brink of tears at the thought of hurting her.
holodramas are his relaxation time with omega and they play those LOUD much to the chagrin of the rest of the unit.
not super used to kids but with the help of omega introducing him as her brother, discovers he loves them because they don't care if he's big or about his blind and scarred eye.
is the first to volunteer when omega discovers makeup.
goes hiking with omega even though he hates heights because he's more afraid of seeing her fall.
forgets about his injuries often because he's so focused on moving forward to the point where omega completely loses her shit one day on him.
he learns to take better care of himself because he never wants to make her cry like that again and wow does he feel better for it.
wrecker has always been so incredibly blunt with himself so lying isn't an option, but he's never taken a month to just think. especially about the future (or the past for that matter) and about himself. and omega is that moment for him. he thinks about everything and stops running.
tech
the world has always been data & numbers. good & bad has always been dictated by those things for him until omega. if the numbers were good, he was good. UNTIL OMEGA.
whenever they screw up a mission, he finds himself less upset with it whenever he sees omega laughing about whoever fumbled the bag (as long as they’re not hurt).
his natural instinct when someone is feeling bad is to bring up the logical reasonings as to why but this slowly changes over time with omega bc that upsets her. telling her what he thinks is the truth and what it should be upsets her.
he doesn’t like that. at all.
he realizes that logic just makes her feel worse sometimes so like any logical person, he tries other things & learns.
whenever they go somewhere new, he finds omega always staring around them with such enjoyment that he’s curious enough to copy her & finally starts to realize he’s not living in the moment.
this gets him off his datapad enough for him to realize
that phee is flirting btw
shoutout to omega
pieces together that ppl don’t need logic for them to decide to do something and that’s OKAY. (the latter part is the most important and pushes him towards phee BTTTTTTWWW, she might be a pirate but uhhhhhh)
tech learns he can appreciate the world around him without the data and numbers just as much as he does w/ them.
hunter
his life has always been the mission. the his brothers. he thought that was it, this was it. it’d always be war. there would always be a war.
then it was his brothers AND omega. running for their lives, trying to bunker down, ensure they had food and water, FUEL.
but now there are OPTIONS.
whereas his first thoughts were “are they safe?” & how to better protect themselves, her first time and time again, she asks WHY.
and he fumbles for the answer until he realizes she’s right.
they can do what they want.
safety is an illusion (but not really).
they can do more than just be soldiers.
hunter dreams of the future for the first time.
he wants to be her DAD, he realizes. or maybe not her dad, he's not sure, but he does know that he wants to protect her from the entire world.
wants everything for her. would do anything for her.
might have to fight crosshair on the protection piece as it turns out.
moves from strategizing every move & looking for every exit in a building to "oh wait that’d be cute for omega".
hunter being taught there are other lives he can live is just so important. he’s more than a soldier, more than what he’s done during the war.
echo
she reminds him of fives.
bravery, his empathy, the unending drive to do more for those in need.
maybe that’s why he’s quick to want to move her out of danger.
she reminds him of when he also wanted to do more, of why he became an arc trooper so he does.
she becomes his motivation to join up with rex again & fight for his brothers. but when she sobs, tugging at his armor, the resolve almost breaks down right there and then.
she also is his reminder that the batch is his brothers too.
an anchor.
it’s too dangerous to comm but he always brings her back gifts all the time.
her hands are the only ones small enough to work on some of his cybernetics so he teaches her (reluctantly) especially on pieces he can’t do himself.
she learns how to deal with droids and their machinery from him
also learn binary from him.
omega is a reminder to echo that’s a two-sided blade: what they have accomplished AND and what they didn’t. she drives him to be better, his replacement for the war really and it’s bittersweet.
I'm in awe of how we ran historical revisionism on the civil rights movement so bad that people truly believe it was quiet self-sacrifcial non-disruptive christ-like activism that forced progress and not — like — the incredible economic pressure of boycotts and outbreaks of illegal civil disobedience
Yapping to the choir but eughhh it burns me up girl effective protests have to be loud and inconvenient for change to happen because silent cries die in the dark that's the entire pointtt
Also, a lot of the so called harmless examples used for peaceful protests were specifically supposed to be disruptive as all hell. Like, take sit-ins, for example. What you were probably told is that black people just refused to leave white only establishments to make a point.
But how they actually worked was manipulating racist policies to cause as much of a delay as possible. They'd sit down at the bar to order (that's how those restaurants worked, you had to sit down to order and there weren't many tables) and when the waiter said they couldn't serve them, they'd respond that they would wait until they could be served. And then all their friends who they organized this with would do the same, and they would sit there at every seat until they're holding up the whole line. Then nobody could order and the restaurant was forced to either close, serve them, or try and fail to work around them. It wasn't just to make a point, it was to cost them money and time.
Even what was framed as "quiet peaceful protest" was actually very disruptive both socially and economically.
And the struggle didn't stop after formal integration, once the Civil Rights act had passed. Because even when they are legally required to serve you, they can make you really fucking uncomfortable and threaten you and the cops probably will take their side.
For one example, there was a cafe that would serve Black people, but would then publicly break the dishes so that no white customer would ever have to eat off a dish a Black person had eaten off of. This was done publicly, right as the Black diner was done eating. The waitress takes the plate and smashes it. This is a signal both to the white diners "see, we hate them just as much as you do, you're safe here" and also a threat of violence to the Black diners. "If you're not careful we'll smash you just like we did this plate."
But at the same time, if Black people go there and eat every day ... how long before the cafe can't afford to do that? How long before they have broken so many dishes that it's eating into their profits? How long before the white diners start getting used to eating alongside Black people and simply don't care as much any longer, or start getting annoyed at the noise and fuss and mess?
Black people eating in white establishments was loud, inconvenient, and disruptive. Because that's the nature of challenging the status quo.
