#long hair wanderer long hair wanderer

[quesadilla-day]

an archon and her shadow's day off 🌱🐈‍⬛ (alt color under the cut)

[vallis-cineris---wanderer]

[sysig]

“My streamer” voice: My doctorrrrrr (Patreon)

[fentennyson]

Anybody else miss when crossover groups were popular?

[amdvinci]

Tangled AU for them just writes itself 🤩

[tatter-demalion]

Little hairstyle meme with Lucerne!

[maulfucker]

time for clones

[nikkodikko]

High braid jon!!!

[violntfemme]

Divinity lams AU?

Alex is some divine, etheral being and John is just a pathetic and lost fallen angel who swears his devotion to this 'otherworldly being' for the privilege of following him around and being with him for eternity because it gives him a purpose. And at first, Alex just sees him as this sad soul whos's lost and doesnt know what to do and genuinely takes pity on him; but eventually it goes from a 'worshiped and worshiper' relationship to a relationship in which Alex see's him as an equal despite being nothing but.

And even before this, John had been searching for guidance through other people because he never fully trusted his instincts and yet this had only led him to be distrusting because the very reason he had 'fallen' was because he had followed anothers lead. In turn, he turned to etheral 'gods' who he knows cant do him wrong because they'll always view themselves as above him, and with pledging his devotion, they cant turn on him because he will forever be their faithful subject.

Unfortunately for John his devotion borders more on obsession. He loves looking up to see someone so majestic staring back down at him with such a soft smile in contrast to piercing eyes and to know Alex would be looking at him makes his heart flutter and insides melt and skin on In fire(figuratively..) and makes him just want to cut off his wings and give them to Alex as a sign of his true adoration he holds for him. And obviously this concerns Alex. I mean, his poor devotee is willing to do anything for him but theres a line, right? Alex still cares for him of course, what kind of being would he be if he allowed someone to sacrifice their own peace for him?

Cue emotional outburst number one! John would be rambling softly about how if he had the strength he would just rip out his wings and alex has to lean down and gently rest his palm on John's cheek to tell him not to ruin his beautiful wings and that being with him is devotion enough for him and that physical pain in his name would only cause harm. And then tears, of course, in natural angst fashion.

Oh, and John has an immense fear of corrupting Alex the entire time due to the fact hes a 'sinner' (by his own standards) and being in the presence of such divinity as a 'corrupted being' puts Alex at risk to fall from his stance of power. But even despite his fear he can't leave not only due to this eternal soul-binding agreement, but because being in his presence makes him feel alive and as though he can feel love again even after he had failed in doing so for so many years. But in the end Alex doesnt see himself as higher or with more power but as an equal.

John would have 'given up' his ability to feel love for another in order to be fully devoted to Alex, and yet he was convinced he didnt have it in the first place so he decided he wouldnt be giving it up if he never had it. But in turn he discovered that he did have the ability to love, but it had to be discovered through giving up the ability to love anyone other than Alex, and in a way hes happier with that.

But even so, John doesnt think hes worthy enough to be so close to someone so much better than he is, and he does view it as a privilege to be there until Alex tells him to stand up in which he physically has to look down at alex(he would stand at other points, of course, but he would never physically look down. If alex would speak to him he would physically attempt to lower his height to keep Alex above him by his own personal will.) But that is the point where he would cup johns face and then tell him that he's wonderful and the most faithful devotee hes had the 'honor' of being with and then tears. so many tears. so many pent up tears form years john has been telling himself that he cant feel love and to even be in the vicinity of Alex is a privilege that he doesnt deserve just to be told to his face that this divine being loves him and appreciates everything hes done and he doesnt want John to be hurt for him.

[wyriwyg]

so i wrote and posted this on my main half asleep og art @wolflyndraws here

he's got so many physical after effects with scars and skin damages but also mental: he's wild and completely feral. he lose himself, living outdoors. he hasn't had any contact with living, breathing being in a long, long time. even animals avoid him, leaving as soon as they see him. seeing him would scare anyone shitless, especially at first when the scars hasn't yet started to heal and the cuts on his face are gruesome and bloody. his body is one massive wound, it never stops hurting, driving him to madness. after a while, he slowly start to get better. his body starts to heal. his mind is still fissured but he gets more and more time as his old self. not totally back to himself, far from it, but he get more cognisant of what's happening around him and what he's doing. there's a point where he has to go back to a village to trade stuff. he doesn't trust anything not to hurt him and dislike the idea of letting anyone get close to him. needs must though, and after weighting up the pros and the cons, he goes to one nearby. he's not careful the first time around and the few people that saw his face expressed shock and disgust. they could not look at him without horror in their eyes and repugnance etched on their face. he honestly didn't think about what he would look like to others. he's been alone for so long at that point, and he avoid every reflective surface he has genuinely no idea what the torture left behind. but even without knowing, seeing other people reaction he can guess. ashamed, he runs away. but he can't stay hidden away forever, he still needs to trade. so he goes back, to another village. further away. clocked under a heavy, deep hooded, capelet. he's got no skin showing at all. and this time, interactions are easier. his voice is gruff, his vocal cords damaged. he hasn't spoken for a long time and the first few words he needs to utter are rough. he doesn't stay for long. he can't. so he makes the trips more often than he'd like too, just so he can spend as little time in here as he can at once. longer interactions makes him hyper aware and he nearly slip from the precarious balance that's his mental health. words goes around that one weird adventurer comes by, sometimes. taciturn and withdrawn, and in need of lots of personal space. and it attracts curiosity. everyone is eager to know who he is, where he's from and what he looks like. but Dream can't answer neither of those questions without people turning on him.

[sysig]

Happy Pride, gay therapists (Patreon)

[sunshowersanddandelionwine]

My mom said she liked the length of my hair

Time to cut it all off 🥰

[haledamage]

Past, Present, Future

I was planning to write something a little more seasonally-appropriate, but stumbled across a WIP that my brain decided to latch onto instead. So, uh… Happy Life Day?

@queen-scribbles gave me this prompt in a conversation we had well over a year ago, and I’ve finally finished it 😅 the specific request was something along the lines of “LET THEM SMOOCH ALREADY DAMMIT” for Qora/Arcann, and the prompts were:

“don’t leave, illusion, too loud, or harsh whisper”

I’m not sure where exactly this fits on the timeline, but definitely later on in-game. probably post-Echoes of Vengeance, but I… haven’t actually finished that questline yet, so there should be little to no spoilers 😆 ~2.5k words, trigger warning for abuse/violence against children, because this is Qora and Arcann we’re talking about

---

“Again.”

The overseer’s stern voice echoed through the chamber, seeming to come from everywhere at once.

The training room was dark beyond the platform Qora stood in the center of, giving her the illusion that she was alone. But she wasn’t. She knew she had an audience, but who they were or how many, she had no idea. The whole Academy could’ve been watching, and she wouldn’t know the difference.

The sweet-metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, along with the acrid odor of sweat and the ever-present ozone tang of lightning.

There was blood in her mouth, too. Her lip was bleeding sluggishly, split by a lucky blow… five fights ago? Six? She’d lost count.

Four acolytes stepped out of the shadows to join her on the platform. They were all older than her - most of the other acolytes were - and they were all armed.

Qora tightened the grip on her own practice blades, the handles digging into her palms. Her combat stance was steady, even if the rest of her didn’t feel it.

“Begin.”

The first acolyte lunged too quickly, too eager for the kill, and didn’t have the safety of numbers to protect him. One hard strike to the jaw, and he was on the floor before the others had even started moving.

The second and third were smart enough to attack together, both rushing her in tandem. Their swords were a blur of motion, almost too fast to follow, but she managed to keep them at bay. When the larger of the two raised his blade for what was meant to be an incapacitating blow, Qora reached out with the Force and dragged the smaller one between them. The blow took her opponent out instead. After that, the other one was dispatched easily.

The fourth snuck up behind her as soon as Two and Three were down. The pommel of his sword slammed into the back of her skull.

Her vision went white. She lashed out on instinct, swinging her blade in the direction the blow had come from.

She heard her opponent hit the mat, and followed right after him.

It was over almost as soon as it began.

“Again.”

The overseer’s voice sounded farther away, hard to hear over her own too loud heartbeat. Static hissed at the edges of Qora’s vision, and her eyes refused to focus. She could feel her consciousness slipping, and clung to it with everything she had.

“Again.”

The repeated order was a threat. A concussion would be the least of her worries if she didn’t stand up soon, but her legs refused to obey her orders.

A hand appeared in what remained of her field of vision, and Qora snapped her head up. Forcing herself to focus past the pain, she followed the arm up to… a boy. 

A boy she knew--though she wasn’t sure how she knew him. 

He looked to be around twelve or thirteen, the same age as her, with the same buzzed hair that she and all the other younger acolytes had, and gentle, pale blue eyes. The fine white robes he wore were much different than the grays and blacks the rest of them had, and contrasted so sharply against their dark surroundings that he almost seemed to glow.

“On your feet, Qora,” he said in a soft, raspy voice, his words firm but not demanding. “The next wave won’t wait for you to recover.”

“They never do,” she replied dryly. Her own voice sounded unfamiliar to her ears, a Corellian drawl instead of the crisp edges of Dromund Kaas. Like someone had filed all the corners off of her accent. She hadn't sounded like that in a long time.

She shook off the thought and took the offered hand, letting him help her to her feet. He didn’t flinch away from the cold metal of her prosthetic, or from the way she stumbled as her bruised and battered limbs protested the change in position. He just held on and let her take her time steadying herself.

He only let her go once he was sure she could stand on her own. “Are you alright?”

Part of her wanted to laugh at the question, no matter how sincere it was, but she bit it back. Instead, she said, “You shouldn’t have come here, Arcann. It’s not--not safe to be around me. Especially not here.”

“Just try and stop me.” Despite her warning and his challenge in response, Arcann carefully cupped the back of her head. The pain eased immediately in a warm yellow glow and a muted hum of the Force. “Unless you’d rather face them on your own?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“...No.” Qora felt guilty as soon as the word was out. It was stupid and selfish and Arcann was going to get hurt because of her, but it was too late to take it back. “Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“Never.” His hand slid from the back of her head along her jaw, until his thumb brushed her bottom lip. Another whisper of Force healing, and there was no evidence of the split lip besides the blood in her mouth. “There is nowhere I would rather be than by your side.”

There was a sound of boots scuffing against stone as someone else approached, and Qora and Arcann turned in tandem, shifting until they stood back to back. Blindly, she reached back and pressed one of her swords into his hand.

He squeezed her hand before taking the offered weapon. “You know this is a dream, right?” he murmured, as six new acolytes stepped into the light with them.

“Yes.” She knew it the same way she knew Arcann’s name, knew the difference in her own accent. “Doesn’t make it less real.”

Further conversation was halted as the overseer’s voice snapped “Begin,” and the acolytes closed in.

Qora and Arcann moved as one, staying back to back in the center of the platform. When one of their assailants rushed toward Arcann’s left, Qora spun to intercept, knowing his vision was limited on that side--or would be, someday, in a future far from this place--and caught the oncoming vibrosword with her own before it could make contact. She took that one down with a sharp elbow strike to the jaw.

A second acolyte took advantage of her momentary distraction and threw their sword, sending it in a Force-aimed arc toward her now-unguarded side.

Arcann snatched it out of the air without even looking, still holding back another two opponents with his other hand. He presented Qora the hilt with a small, playful flourish. “Your weapon, my lord.”

She laughed, exultant and a touch manic, as she swept the sword out in front of her, sending another opponent scrambling backwards to avoid it. It was the first time the Academy walls had ever heard her laughter, even in dreams.

The remaining assailants didn’t stand a chance. They were on the floor before they had time to react.

“How many more are there?” Arcann asked, when they were alone again. He hadn’t even broken a sweat yet, that first round barely enough to make him breathe faster.

“However many it takes.”

“Again,” the overseer called out, but neither of them heeded the implied threat this time. Qora was no longer afraid, now that Arcann was by her side.

“Takes for what?”

“For me to learn my lesson.” She stepped away from him toward the edge of the platform. From there, she could just barely see past the heavy darkness to the dozens of faceless, nameless acolytes that still waited for their turn. Far more of them than there’d ever been while she was a student (a prisoner, a gladiator, a slave) at the Academy.

She felt when Arcann stepped up beside her, though his footsteps made no sound. “Is this training, or a punishment?”

She laughed again, empty, humorless, bitter. “You’d be surprised how often the two coincide.”

“No. I would not.” The anger in his voice was a distant thing, an echo of past rage rather than something fresh. His hand gently covered hers, easing the white-knuckled grip she still had on the vibroblade. “This isn’t your life anymore, Qora. You don’t have to keep fighting.”

The sword fell from her hand, and she reached out to cling to him instead. “This is who I am. What I was made for.”

“Not anymore.” He tugged on her hand, coaxing her to turn around. When she did, his other hand settled over her cheek, the warmth of his touch comforting in the chill of the training arena. “It’s time to wake up.”

Qora awoke with a gasp to find herself in the familiar confines of her quarters on Odessen. The blankets were hopelessly tangled around her legs. The cluttered shelves and tables nearest the bed were in disarray from the Force reacting to her emotions, some of their contents spilling onto the floor.

Arcann’s arm tightened around her waist, and just his presence was enough to clear her mind and slow the panicked flurry of her heart. Without a word, she rolled over and pressed her face into his shoulder.

His hand traveled up and down the length of her spine, gentle and soothing but firm enough to anchor her. With every caress, the Academy fell farther away.

Eventually, she felt calm enough to pull back, if only just far enough to see his face. The look she found there was patient and understanding, embers of anger shining in his eyes but very clearly not directed at her.

“Sometimes it feels like no matter how far I travel, part of me will always be twelve years old, alone in that pit,” she confessed quietly. Arcann’s anger flared a little brighter, but he didn’t interrupt. “It was supposed to break me. So they could reforge me into something more useful. I guess in some ways, it did.”

She certainly didn’t bear any resemblance to the child she’d been before the Sith took her, that little girl who crawled through Corellian junkyards for scraps she could turn into art. Sweet little Qora, who could fix anything you brought her, be it a speeder or a teddy bear or a broken arm. She liked to think that girl might have become a healer, if she’d been able to join the Jedi like she was meant to.

Qora let her hands wander, fingertips tracing the lines of scars on Arcann’s shoulder and chest, following the edge of where warm skin and firm muscle gave way to the cool metal of his cybernetics.

“This happened on Korriban, too, didn’t it? Not long before we met.” It wasn’t really a question, and she didn’t really expect an answer, but she got one anyway.

“Yes.” He caught her hand and stopped its further exploration, pressing it flat over his heart. “And they paid dearly for it. My brother and I made sure of that.”

“Good. I hope you burned it all down,” she said in a harsh whisper. She hoped Arcann and Thexan had reduced the entire planet to ash, every tomb, every temple, every overseer, every blasted k’lor’slug crushed under the might of the Eternal Empire. “Not even the memory of that place deserves to be left standing.”

Rage burned so hot in her chest that it hurt to breathe, and she shook with the effort to push it down. Tears blurred her vision and stung the corners of her eyes, but Qora refused to let them fall. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of her tears, even when they weren’t here to see it.

Arcann didn't reply, but instead rolled them over so that she was on her back, his body caging her in and pressing her down into the mattress. It grounded her, forcing her out of the past and back into her own body, driving away all thoughts of Korriban and the Academy and the shadows of the training room.

He kissed her then, slow and deep, demanding her attention to be on him and him alone. That was a command she was more than happy to follow. The fire in her chest receded, replaced by a much more pleasant warmth that built and spread through her under his skillful guidance, and the tremor in her hands abated when she cupped his face between them.

It was only when the mood started to shift from comfort to desire, kisses turning heated and hands starting to roam, that Arcann broke away. He was breathing harder just from kissing her than he had been at any point in the nightmare they’d just escaped.

“They will never touch you again. I swear it,” he vowed, deep voice solemn and utterly sincere.

“I believe you.” She exhaled a long breath, releasing the last lingering tension with it, and drew him back down enough for their foreheads to touch. “Thank you, Arcann. I needed to hear that.”

No matter what the Sith Council thought, or the machinations of whoever they’d decided to blindly follow this week, she was beyond their reach now. She had no doubt that if they tried to subjugate her again, they would learn their lesson the hard way. And Arcann would be among the first in line to teach it to them.

She was grateful that he was so willing to remind her of that, when she needed it.

Qora let out another sigh and slid her hands up to the back of his neck, playing idly with the hair at his nape. It was only barely long enough to run her fingers through, but she adored it. Both for what it represented for Arcann’s healing and growth and because it was just… pretty. His hair was silky soft to the touch, and the warm caramel color made his eyes appear an even brighter blue. It warmed her heart every time she looked at him, to see this visible proof of how far they’d come.

They should probably talk about what had just happened, she knew that, but she wasn’t in any hurry to broach the subject and reopen those wounds for the second time in one night. It’s not like this was their first time sharing dreams, anyway, even if none of the others had been quite so… authentic. Dwelling on it wouldn’t solve anything.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” There wouldn’t be any more rest for her tonight, but that didn’t mean Arcann had to suffer on her account. “There are still a few hours until--”

“No.” How he could put so much intention into a single syllable, she’d never know, but when combined with the heated look he gave her, it was enough to make her shiver. 

“Oh?” she said in feigned innocence, even as she lightly scraped her nails against his scalp. It earned her a low rumble that she felt more than heard, something between a warning growl and a contented purr. “Did you have something else in mind?”

His smile was soft, and so was the kiss that followed it; neither did anything to dim the desire burning in his eyes.

“The past will always haunt us, in one form or another.” He took one of her hands in his and slowly led it down from his neck and over his shoulder, his chest, his ribs, lingering on a scar there.

It was one Qora knew very well. And she should--after all, she’d put it there herself. During their last fight, when she’d “defeated” him. She brushed her thumb over the thin, raised line; such a small souvenir from something that had been so important.

Arcann only let her linger for a few seconds before moving on, guiding her deliberately lower. His lips grazed her cheek before finding firmer purchase on the sensitive spot under her ear. “There is no need for us to give it more power than it already has. I would rather… appreciate what��s right in front of me.”

“By all means. Appreciate away.” Her breath hitched when he kissed the hollow of her throat, ruining any attempt at keeping her tone light and teasing. She gave it up as a lost cause, and surrendered completely to him, and to whatever came next.

[silverymusings]

also I told myself I wouldn't, but long hair got mentioned and I wanted to scienceeeee-

[suenden-hund]

friend

[0-mapledaze-0]

🪷Afterimage of the Lightning’s Glow🪷

A scara design i made based on the wanderer outfit and ei’s outfit. Perhaps this is a scara who lived with ei instead of being abandoned? Or perhaps a scara that reconciled with his mother? I’m not sure but i hope you all enjoy regardless 🩵