#Man I love my sylvari

[starlightsuncrow]

Elidryas but pretend it was all rendered and stuff, i got impatient

[lady-quen]

Gonna try the thing to see if the WIP gets more likes than the finished product haha. Joking, I simply really like how the sketch looks. :)

Putting some Effort in the lines this time. 'Mordha goes through the grinder in the campaign

[asterroses]

the fuckin plant ever ! !

[i-mybrunettelady]

Dinner of affection

OCKissWeek day 2 is here! The couple in this one is Elion! Haven’t written them in a hot second, but they’re still happily in love. Beware of some residual Elion sensuality <3 Plus corniness. They get to be corny, as a treat. 

prompt: food

“Liv, what in the everloving fuck are you eating?” Liv doesn’t need to look up from his plate to know El’s expression; the cute furrow of his brow (though he’s sure that he’s the only person alive who’d think of Archon Elandrin Aien frowning as cute of all things) and the small sneer, accompanied nicely by the aimed staring at the slow movements of Liv’s fork. 

“Food, bud,” Liv replies, holding back the full breadth of his smile. 

“That’s not food, that’s travesty!” A pointed stab into El’s salad bowl has Liv looking up to catch the sneer fall and for something softer his boyfriend would never admit to to take its place. It’s a familiar game, after all. They can’t have a date night without it. 

“Don’t complain to me when you stay hungry after your meager little salad,” Liv replies, and it’s a practiced line he’s said many times so far. “I’m not buying you anything else - you chose the salad, you now eat it. And remember,” he adds, leaning in over the table, “it’s my treat tonight.” 

El snorts and pours the rest of the honey on the table into the vegetables. “I’m not going hungry tonight,” he says. “You’re one big charr, after all. Five years and I still have something to feast on.”  On cue, he takes a mouthful of his salad and loudly chews. “Delicious!” 

And the patrons of the fine establishment where they decided to dine tonight all get to experience the full corniness of it all. El’s anything but subtle in everything, including his interests; shyly, Liv can admit that having him proclaim his attraction so loudly and unashamedly does soothe his ego. El’s always said Liv’s far too humble for his own good, so in the only way he knows how, he makes sure to raise Liv’s confidence at every chance he gets. 

Is it over the top? Yes. Does Liv mind? Absolutely not. Wouldn’t be El if it wasn’t. 

Even his smile is radiant now, as is the low cut of his shirt. His glow adds a fiery embellishment to the whole ensemble, where there isn’t cloth to cover his bark. Liv wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“You have some honey on your lips,” Liv says quietly. “Let me–” 

El drags Liv’s snout forward and kisses him. “Not anymore,” he replies, “but to make sure..” He kisses him again, one hand lovingly caressing a lower horn. 

When Liv settles back into his seat, his smile is unrestrained. 

[chaoticstrata]

GW2 WIP

Some more WIP for the random Guild Wars 2 fic I'm working on and off on. Spoilers for Path of Fire.

--------------------------------

The pacing stopped again, and Rhetton could see Canach’s jaw working as his fist tightened to the point of shaking. 

“You were dead,” came the soft whisper, his usual smarmy tone replaced by a frustrated one. The strong, steady, and confident warrior Rhetton was used to was nowhere in sight as the other sylvari appeared small and vulnerable in that moment. “There was no life left in you…as you…as you laid there, beaten and broken…and I…I didn’t know how to…” He shook his head, as if trying to shake away a thought. “My apologies, I should be letting you rest.”

By that point, Rhetton’s annoyance had melted away with concern--and a small bit of flattery. The other man was hurting, that much was clear. He was troubled…over Rhetton’s death. The engineer would be lying if that thought didn’t make his heart flutter like petals caught in a light breeze. He always enjoyed the witty back and forth he had with his fellow sylvari. Not to mention the less than subtle flirting. Between that and all the time they spent together in Maguuma, Rhetton eventually found himself caring for Canach--as more than just a friend. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wish for the feelings to be returned, but he never pushed or asked, too afraid to rock the boat. But seeing the state the other man was in now…perhaps he should have.

“Canach,” Rhetton said, hand on the other sylvari’s arm to stop him from leaving. Canach didn’t look at him, eyes glued to the floor as his jaw continued to work. He leaned over a bit to try and capture those violet orbs, but the other man just turned his head. Rhetton sighed, and gently took Canach’s chin in his hand, thumb running over the needles of his goatee. “Canach…hey, look at me. Tell me what’s bothering you…please.”

“I…” the man turned to face him, but stubbornly refused to look him in the eye. “I’m trying to understand why your death left a hole in me…”

Rhetton’s brow furrowed in bemusement. “A hole?”

“Yes. A hole. Right here.” As Canach said this, he touched his hand to his chest.

The engineer felt his heart in his throat at that statement. “Canach,” he murmured, fingers tightening on the other man’s arm. “I--”

“It’s foolish, I know,” the warrior interrupted, “I as I said, I apologies for disturbing your--”

“Would you let me speak!?” Rhetton said with a soft laugh, slowly pulling Canach in closer. The other man’s brow furrowed as he finally looked up at him. The engineer smiled sweetly when their eyes met, reaching up to cup the side of Canach’s face, thumb gently running over his cheekbone. “I don’t think it’s foolish…I’m actually a little flattered…”

“Flattered…” Canach repeated, deadpan.

“I…ok, yes, that does sound a little bad,” the younger sylvari laughed lightly, giving the other man a rueful grin. “I don’t mean I’m flattered that you’re hurting from my death…I’m flattered that you care enough to be upset by my death. I…” he looked away, feeling suddenly bashful as his cheeks felt like they were in the hot Elonian sun, “I would honestly feel the same if the roles were reversed…I truly don’t know what I would do if you died….”

“Rhetton…” Canach rarely called him by his name. Hearing it in that low, gravely voice sent a shiver down his spine. It would seem it was his turn to have his gaze pulled back by his chin. Violet eyes searched lilac as Canach’s thumb ran gently across the engineer’s chin. “How long?”

Rhetton opened his mouth to reply but stopped and bit his lower lip. How long indeed, he thought to himself. Closing his eyes he tried to think back to the moment he started to feel like this towards the other man. But he couldn’t seem to pick out the exact moment.

“I honestly can’t say when,” he admitted, eyes opening again and locking with Canach’s, “I know I realized what those feelings were shortly after Mordremoth’s death, but…”

“But…” the warrior prompted, stepping in closer. Confidence and a small bit of amusement bled back into Canach's gravelly voice as Rhetton watched the uncertainty the other man held fade away.

“But those feelings were there for a long while beforehand,” the engineer admitted softly. 

“I see,” Canach murmured, fingers moving across Rhetton’s skin. The older sylvari seemed entranced as he explored soft blue and purple skin. Rhetton’s eyelids fluttered as the warrior traced the outline of one of the many petals that made up his face. “I suppose I can understand that…I am rather amazing, after all.”

Rhetton let out a soft laugh, and grinned as he caught violet eyes. “You are indeed.”

He had to admit he rather liked the quiet surprise that spread across the older sylvari’s features. In all honesty, Rhetton liked seeing any sort of emotion on Canach’s handsome face…well, almost any. Pain and self-doubt he could do without.

“What? Did you think I would disagree?” the engineer asked, more than a little amused.

“No…not disagree…” Canach admitted, hand moving from Rhetton’s face to the back of his head where it rested at the base, fingers weaving into the thorny vines of his hair. “For the longest time I thought you didn’t like me…”

“Well, there was a point where that would be true…back when I first met you,” Rhetton said, “I didn’t exactly get the best of first impressions.”

“Hmmm, that is true,” the older sylvari mused. 

He could feel a gentle tug downward towards Canach, guiding his head down. Rhetton knew if wanted, he could easily pull away, Canach’s grasp was loose enough to relay that. His heart hammered in his chest loud enough that he could hear it echoing in his ears. Violet eyes searched for permission.

“If you want to kiss me, Canach, then kiss me,” Rhetton murmured, a nervous bundle of excitement. Pale Mother, did he want the other man to kiss him…if only to confirm he wanted this too.

Canach seemed to notice as he huffed out a soft laugh before pulling Rhetton the rest of the way in, capturing his lips. A soft moan escaped the younger of the two. It certainly wasn’t his first kiss, but it still felt new and exciting. He wrapped an arm around Canach’s waist and pulled him in closer. With his free hand he reached up and cupped the warrior’s cheek, thumb gliding across his high cheekbone and the outline of needles.

When Canach moved in and pushed himself onto the balls of his feet, Rhetton could feel and hear him grumble something into the kiss.

Pulling back with a raised brow, the engineer asked, “What was that?”

“I said, ‘Why must you be so obnoxiously tall?’” Canach groused with an exaggerated frown.

Rhetton laughed and kissed his forehead. “Am I tall or are you just-”

“Finish that sentence and you will find yourself on the ground,” the older sylvari interrupted, violet eyes narrowing.

[commanderfloppy]

New Insane Babygirl Just Dropped!

Aureste was born with an incredibly strong connection to the dream, and thus an incredibly strong connection to anyone else connected to the dream. This 'amazing ability' caused him great pain as he was overwhelmed with all the feelings of everyone around him.

To escape the pain Aures soon is recruited into the nightmare court, where he becomes a high ranking courtier who specialized in converting others to nightmare.

Until one day he spots a newly captured soundless sylvari, who he recognizes as someone from his dream, the only tangible and memorable thing from it.

He immediately clings to him, and tries to make him join the nightmare, but strangely this soundless sylvari is immune to the empathetic power he uses for conversions.

Since he couldn't convert him to nightmare, he decides to leave the nightmare. And now this tired soundless tailor has an insane man who won't stop following him.

[mithosis]

Haven't posted in a good while, but seeing other folks enjoy talking and making content about their little blorbos inspired me to draw something i wanted to for a long time as well!

I've had this old man for almost a year, but i've never got to draw his true form as a mordrem aside from vague sketches, so he got kreature-fied. Blasts him with my kreature beam

Glow animation, some silly sketches and lore (warning: there is a lot, like seriously, even in vague terms, i probably should've made a separate post, but fuck it we ball) under the cut!

Tumblr scrunched it up, as always, but the gif was worse...

Even old men need to be silly sometimes. Also reworked his smaller "sylvari" form design a little to match the kreature one better

Onto the lore (which i reworked a little as well since his creation)

I am a sucker for characters that perceive themselves as monsters and learn to love themselves again, whether or not they're are actually a monster/cursed/etc (it does add points for sure), and i wanted a character like that, so this old man came along

As of now, Eamhrys is a mordrem minion, champion from the last Dragonrise 10 thousand years ago, though he remembers almost nothing about it now. He was intended as a specialized unit for highly efficient magic consumption both from the environment, magical items and living beings that it then returned to the Elder Dragon himself, much like Mouths of Zhaitan worked in that regard.

This resulted in a vampire-like physicality and abilities, including a nigh-immortality with extremely fast regeneration as long as the minion had enough magical essence. Shapeshifting into a smaller size to fit through vines and branches and plant manipulation was useful in traversing the jungle fast, so he was imbued with that as well. There probably were less successful versions of the same minion, but this one, charged with a huge amount of Mordremoth's magic, stuck around. Energy around the "tendrils" on his form is, in fact, magic — the swirls dull and disappear with its depletion.

As the dragons consumed all the excess magical energy of the world and returned to slumber, so did the minion, for there was no need for it anymore in the state the world was in, the other races safely concealed by Glint.

It rested for a long time, its memories eroding, until the tail end of the druids' residence in Maguuma as humans, some time before their approximate "disappearance" period of 970-1070 AE. Upon waking up because of the disturbances in the jungle, the minion resumed the task it was given, though the will and voice of the sleeping dragon was significantly more subdued this time.

The minion roamed around and consumed as much energy as it could for a number of years, meeting and snacking on different creatures until a fateful encounter with druids, their human forms now shredded to be one with nature. The champion was both curious and drawn in by the magical essence they exuded, and tried to absorb it, but ended up fighting the spirits — it quickly escalated into numerous hostile encounters with them, their primal essence slowly changing something in the minion over time. To this day Eamhrys doesn't know what happened exactly, as most of his memories that far back were mysteriously wiped out, but from that point onward he slowly started to become more self-aware, able to question and doubt the will of his master.

The minion's first venture out of the jungle didn't happen for at least another 10 years, but during that time it's curiosity with other races started to pique as it encountered centaurs, hylek and even some errant human adventurers who ventured too deep into the forest. Although their fate remained the same as other sources of magic, their presence spurred the champion to explore further — and one day it morphed itself into a smaller form of a centaur scout, whose patrol it recently wiped out in the Silverwoods (currently Silverwastes), though still plant-like. It took a couple unsuccessful tries before the disguise was enhanced first by an extremely uncanny, then — a believable illusion, the rudimentary ability to camouflage the minion possessed. Thankfully, the dragon's will waned the further it got from the jungle.

Thus began centuries of wandering Tyria, changing forms between races and creatures, curious to learn, to see, and starting to slowly recognize the role their existence played in the world. They witnessed many devastating and world-altering events along the way, the Sinking of Orr being one of the first — and it kickstarted the mordrem's understanding of the sheer devastation the dragons' presence brought, including their own. However, they were not very sympathetic at the time.

It was only through the very people they hid among, learned from, that their lack of morality began to develop into their calm, compassionate and kind attitude of today, having witnessed other creature's highs and lows, and horrors of losing someone dear.

Eamhrys lived among humans for the longest time among all other races, both from Central Tyria and as far as Elona, always in a disguise — he learned the craft and knowledge preservation from firebrands of old, but only incorporated their fighting style into his arsenal years later, after Mordremoth's inevitable defeat.

He joined the Durmand Priory a couple decades after it was established, driven by the allure of knowledge and longing for connection. He helped rebuild Lion's Arch, the first major city he visited long before, after it flooded as Orr rose again and Zhaitan awoke. He was first in line to visit the Grove once he heard of a mysterious new race of plant people — though he kept a substantial distance for the few weeks he spent observing the newcomers. He was afraid they were like him at the start of his journey, but was pleasantly surprised once he was proven wrong. Inexplicably different to them, mourning the life he might've had if the circumstances were different, he still abandoned his human visage for his "sylvari" one, and adopted his current name for good.

As a member of the Durmand Priory, though having repeated his enrollment a few times, Eamhrys participated in the Pact efforts to kill the Elder Dragon Zhaitan, both conflicted about and understanding of it — his own nature and eventual fate concerned him a little as well.

When the Call of Mordremoth first resounded across the world, all that effort to belong and understand crumbled as the will of the dragon overrode any miniscule resistance he had. He returned to the jungle as a servant, an enemy of the world again, devastating the populace there and, later, the Pact's forces. He was, indeed, not slain in the assault, and as soon as Mordremoth perished, he was free again, though part of the magical surge after the dragon's death was absorbed by him involuntarily.

Eamhrys remembered everything he did, and was mortified. He tried so hard to understand, to belong in such a fascinating world, and in the end his greatest fear was confirmed — he remained the same monster he always was. At least in his opinion.

He never really forgave himself, for he was not the one to do so, but, maybe compulsory or as a habit, he retreated back to his peaceful and compassionate self, now with an air of quiet grief around him, throwing himself at people that needed any help.

Though it didn't change the fact that he ran as far from the Heart of Maguuma as he could, winding back in Elona and finally remembering the ways of firebrands, lore keepers a tyrant tried to erase. He adapted it to fit his own style, fused his plant magic with righteous flames that purged any, who dared threaten the people of this world, and healed allies with a memory of those who fought for it.

He never came back to Durmand Priory, but eventually he met a team of people in the desert after Kralkatorrik's assault that were members of the Order of Whispers. They were professional and inspiring and in need of help, so he tagged along on their mission, familiar with the area. Perhaps they valued his insight or his help enough, but Eamhrys ended up joining their team and their Order, and carried out tasks with them for the foreseeable future, slowly becoming a part of something again.

Thankfully, after the Cycle ended, he had a good vacation.

Aaaand that's it, woah, this was a lot, sorry, and thank you anyone who read this far haha, i love you

[nerdy-valkyrie]

Don't mind me, just reading through the list of canonical queer npcs in Guild Wars 2

(Some of my favorite bits from the article under the cut)

Tyria said TRANS RIGHTS!

Asura marriages are basically just fancy lab partners and I love that for them

"Of course you can marry another man, but I draw the line at someone shorter than you"

Sylvari, iconic as always, no choice but to stan

afbm - assigned female by myself

Diversity win! This elder dragon's gender presentation is whatever will best seduce victims to their side

The original toxic yuri

Can't believe the aetherblades murdered Logan's gay best friend!

And so of course Logan needs to go ask the lesbians to help solve his gay best friend's murder

[commander-frostfang]

Still learning how to take screenshots goodly, have some of my favorite little man currently, Hyacinth! He's technically my second commander, with universe bloom, and is a sylvari mesmer ( specifically, virtuoso for lore reasons! ) it's canonical that he goes on to wield Caladbolg in his universe, although split into a dagger and sword ( in comparison to zohar, who doesn't keep caladbolg for a reason i've yet to work out :p )

i love this sassy pink bastard

[the-desert-beast]

character inspirations is always a hard question for me since fuck if i know who specifically inspired this idiot i am always starting with an array of archetypes & traits unrelated to any One character

I've actually always hated the, "stoic rogue-like "I'm Fine" gruff man" type i find the way they get written to usually be so a love interest can Appear and Fix Him against his will usually and its tends to be very shallow, uninteresting, and forced to me. maelgwyn ended up in that genre of character due to the bread crumb trail i followed while making him over the past few years.

I needed a character to use the lvl 80 boost included with my expansions on, ranger looked a safe bet, sylvari seemed fun to design. I made Maelgwyyn in like 30 minutes, using colors i already knew i liked to safeguard against getting bored playing him. > I got my ass beat in H.o.T. on one of my charas, didnt understand the profession i was playing so i took a break and leveled a character to 80 instead to get the hang of the game > I went into P.o.F. for the raptor w/ maelgwyn and fell in love with the story of pof + lws4, loved the desert and the designs and EVERYTHING, it's still my favorite expansion set. > i associated the crystal desert with maelgwyn so hard, i knew i had to Put Him There somehow. > slowly but surely "oh he was a lonely character because he was sylvari in this land" he was max height and i kept seeing him be taller than every other character i spotted in game near him so i made it canon, he's 8'3." > "hes older than the pale tree BUT it doesnt mean that much due to all The Horrors" > "what if more sylvari"

so on and so forth until it snowballed into a subspecies and OCs i intend on taking with me far into the future even if i end up "leaving" gw2 behind one day.

[anteaterisland]

[ID: A digital painting, six figures on a green background with orange text declaring VS Art Party, November 2023. Each figure is labeled, and they are all gw2 player characters. Finnegan the Moth has large colorful wings, a red sweater and is holding a tea pot with a paper bag over their head. A friendly face is painted on the paper bag. They are the central figure, and largest, with torso and waist included. The other four main figures are only busts, and are arranged around the center. Kanash Hart is a Norn woman with pale braided hair and a large cowl scarf. Subject O Seven is an Asura wearing a full coverage round helmet. Through the red glass, their scarred face is visible. Ratthew the Vile is a human man with dark eyes and a blood-splattered mouth. Síeun is a sylvari deadeye with a glowing white rifle, white leafy hair, and a cape made of rusted chains. The last figure is much smaller and tucked into the corner. Chlora Phylia is a brightly colored pig emanating mist. She is shown four times, in green, purple, yellow and orange. End ID]

Ratthew the Vile is @twilightdomain

Chlora Phylia is me, @anteaterisland

Finnegan The Moth is @moth-tea-merchant

Kanash Hart, Subject O Seven, and Síeun are all unknown, but if you see a familiar face please let me know and I will tag properly!

‘Twas my first art party and I had a lovely time. I wish I could have drawn everyone but alas, there is only one of me.

[lady-quen]

[Edit: Already an outdated artstyle for him X) my scribbly anime style does not work as well here.]

Got back into Guild Wars 2, specifically into my Commander of 9 years - *coughs* did somebody order YET another severely unwell tree man for the gw2 community? I got y'all covered. Presenting my Harbinger-Reaper, (I swap) Maelmordha. I can't draw sylvari for shite, but slowly getting there.

Gonna get a bit rambley about his design under readmore, I have moots who aren't that far in the story yet so spoilers for Heart of Thorns and Path of Fire down below. Bonus: ingame screenshot spam because I love him very much.

A thirdborn of the Cycle of Dawn and born diplomat, it was quite unusual for the kind Maelmordha to be awakened with a talent for necromancy and curiosity for all things morbid, but that would only come in handy with the initial parts of his Wyld Hunt. There's very little canon-divergency up until PoF here.

If you're wondering where the monster hand comes from, that'd have to be the last mission of HoT - resisting Mordremoth took its toll, leaving Mael with a mutated Vinetooth left arm - stronger, but less dexterous, and occasionally covered with Kas' mesmer magic.

Now the ill-fated duel with Balthazar is where things really went wrong, even compared to canon. Having been cornered and killed - in a deliberately humiliating and painful fashion - The Commander, filled with anger and fear for Aurene's life, sought to come back to finish the job. He slew and took the Eater of Souls' life force for his own, forever replacing his red glow with a ghastly cyan. Subsequently, he was not really alive anymore; Closest to a lich than anything else and capable of surviving most otherwise lethal injuries. Unfortunately, the act of rising from the dead rendered him Soundless.

Being killed is also, ironically, how he acquired his Harbinger talents, having learned to utilize the energy of negative emotion (both his own and of those around him) to empower his necromantic magic. As such, he's at his most fearsome - and least stable - during large-scale battles, relying on his allies to not be overwhelmed by channeling vast amounts of pain and death. While still kind where it matters, he has since developed an outwardly cold and sassy personality.

Maelmordha's hand cannon, Thorn from Destiny the Bellringer, was also forged from the Eater of Souls.

(I'm currently up to LWS4 Long Live the Lich in my story playthrough and would appreciate if spoilers for anything further could be avoided 🫡 anyway say hiiii if you're a sylvari main too 💜)

Bonus pre-PoF pic :)

[graymarketblackdiamond]

a very quick doodle of my main charr, Taistel the Unforgiving, which got me thinking about her and her frozen heart, and how delighted i was to discover the frost legion for the first time

some ramblings underway (its a bit long. whoops!)...

taistel was the second character i ever made on gw2, and was my gateway into the charr themselves. she's a blood legion order of whispers combo, so she's a bloodthirsty warrior with the open nature of a stuck glue jar. i didn't dabble with the idea of her being ice themed until way later, but it seemed to fit her pretty well. the idea of her being like ice, cold and frigid and certainly deadly when you aren't careful around it. the cold is often described as fierce, and blizzards are unruly and unforgiving (much like her name!). it all tied in so well with her.

(an old image. i loved taking pictures of her in frostgorge)

the juxtaposition of her being a guardian sat very well in my head. guardians of course have means to protect, but she isn't protecting others by any means. her selfish, guarded and frankly quite nasty nature shined through all these little tidbits of storytelling that really just told themselves as i played the game. something clearly happened to her that really was so unforgiving that it twisted her deeply, her mentality driven to this state of being constantly on the attack (or in this case, on the defense. haha).

then HoT dropped, and i classed her into a DH, which i still can't quite let go of (im sure firebrand is better in some respects, but boy do i love smacking buttons and doing instant damage)

dragonhunter has a bit of a ring to it. in her story i had so far, she was friends with my main commander and his funny rat-tag group of friends in their in-canon guild known as Vagabond's Trek. now my commander is a sylvari dude, chipper guy who's a bit goofy. Taistel herself isn't easy to win over, but when faced with an idiot who dives into danger head first and comes back with trauma and a funny quip to go with it, it's hard not to want to see him a little safe. my hardened characters can have a soft spot as a treat.

so when the threat of mordremoth comes about... becoming a dragonhunter feels like a direct threat toward the threat itself. its like a command, a promise, a sworn seal of vengeance for corrupting (or, attemtping to corrupt) a friend. ice burns arent common, i dont think, but boy would she burn the jungle to its knees if it came to it. kill the pest and torch its house, so what if the pest is a dragon?

PoF brought its own issues and problems, of course, but man. the icebrood saga. mordremoth and kralk were easy to mash like mincemeat

but jormag would have been a real problem for her.

(i wish i had this permanent infusion in the game ): its so cool)

whipsers and promises of power and glory must be like gold candy for charr. whispers of protection for people you care for would have been exactly what taistel would have wanted to hear. nevermind that her friend had already nearly fallen to corruption, this was different, you see. for her whole life she knew that slithers of ice could cut the skin and make you bleed out, chunks of ice could bludgeon you and leave you concussed...

but jormag's ice could fortify and could protect. what a wonderful change of pace that would be, to go from this ferocious, deadly weapon to the protector she always could have been. an actual, true guardian, one that could live up to the name of the class she picked up as a young cub. well, it would have been perfect! it would have been the perfect path for her to follow. her vision of ideal couldn't have been colder, couldn't have been more perfect. the dragons claws were at her shoulders...

but of course, we all know how that eventually turns out for the other charr, like the unfortunate ryland. its a good job she had people to fall back on when it all fell apart. so much shame she would have felt after that. so many allies she had slain in the process, too. (the cache champs being charr you met along the way still pulls at my heart tbh...)

... but anyway, i just love how some of the stories in this game tell themselves. its easily why ive been playing it for so damn long.

[wilsons-journey]

Alternate!Valefor does this one smell better than the regular stinky old man? And on a serious note, he's had such a drastically different life path, what friends has Alternate!Valefor made along the way, relationships too! Tell me ALL about that romantic history thanks!

Smell? Why Smell? - Anyway.

Friends I made? Oh and you want to know about my relationships, too? What a curious thing you are! Hah!

Well let's start with the Relationships. Do one night stands count? Otherwise I had none so far. But I'm working on something - sadly that man is a tough one. But he is actually very cute. Managed to make him smile once - now I determined to crack that guy. Not sure if this will result in a relationship, but lets see eh? If you want to know about my one night stands,… I rather keep them to myself. But there were plenty. Some were fine - some freaky... some were a bit ... weird. That one guy had a thing with feet... I,... no. Not go into detail there. It was gross. So fucking gross.

About Friends,… well you can say I know at least one person in each big city! But I also know a lot here and there. Like that guy with his cows. Damn he loves his cows,… ate the best cheese there. Or this Asura guy - crazy little bugger. Always fun to talk with him. Or that group of Sylvari - bumping into them from time to time - they always on the move like me. They have the best booze! And let me tell you, they know how to party! There is also that cute little girl with her strawberry patch. Pure little thing - I sometimes bring her some candy from other city. Or these other kids from Queensdale. Group of Orphans. Every time one of them sees me they scream though the whole city and force me into a song or two. But's its fine. They always so happy when they hear me sing. There is also that old Lady [...] or that dude from [...] have I told you about [... countless names later ...] well,... I guess that's it.

Wait,... no there is also... uh. You still there? I might got carried away - whoopsie.

(Alternative!Valefor? -> I talked about that in this post)

[enchantrum]

the only extra little thing I wish GW2 would do is give the commander some optional love interests as a possibility even though that's so not in the spirit of an mmo and everyone but me would hate it :)

but especially for a Sylvari Commander, I just want so badly for them to have a comfort from somewhere T_T they lost Trahearne, they basically lost the Pale Tree, they at least still have Caithe and got to co-parent a dragon together but bro my man desperately needs an emotional safety net for when everything goes to shit again

all his emotional safety nets are dead or unresponsive rgsiuepghy

tho I have been lowkey shipping my Sylvari with Braham ever since -

what did he mean by this...

for the unintiated: he says this drunk and unprompted. you are having a conversation and there's a pause and he just says this. you don't even respond that's just the end of the conversation!!

[teejaystumbles]

Your Love Is Sunlight

A Guild Wars 2 Dreamling fanfiction

(I wrote the Guild Wars AU I desperately wanted because I think Dream is absolutely made to be Sylvari - born from the Dream, connected to his race via their shared subconscious - it just screamed Dream to me and therefore I made two new characters in GW2 and wrote them a tiny story LOL. This is spoiler-free for Guild Wars, I tried to keep it in the early personal story and not mention major things. You don't need to know anything about Guild Wars to enjoy this, a lot of Sylvari things are actually mentioned and explained in this, anything else is not really important.)

It's a simple escort job through the Gendaran Fields to Lion's Arch but the caravan is big and a few adventurers have been hired as guards. Dream would normally not waste time with something like this, but he is expected in Lion's Arch and therefore joining the caravan is no hassle. He would be faster alone, but something about the colourful wagons and the cheerful atmosphere draws him in and he decides to tag along. The caravan is made up of a troupe of entertainers, actors and musicians, dancers and jugglers. Dream watches them laugh and tease each other with fascination. They are a mixed group, Human, Asura, Norn and even Charr, and despite their different races they seem to be getting along well. There are no Sylvari among the group and Dream is both relieved and disappointed. He had hoped to ask a sibling after their experience with these people, had hoped for new stories. But he doubts his questions would have been welcome. He looks like a member of the Nightmare Court, after all.

The group is setting up a camp for the night when Dream, lost in thought, trips over a root and stumbles into the back of a nearby human. The huge dog at the man's side immediately growls at him and Dream stumbles back as the ranger turns.

"I apologise…" Dream says and keeps a careful eye on the dog, but it goes quiet after only a click of the tongue of its master.

The man, who has a bow and sword strapped to his back, stares at Dream with a wide grin and bright eyes and eagerly takes Dream's hands into his own. "No matter! It is an honour to meet a child of the Pale Tree! Well met, friend!"

Continue reading on AO3 or below the cut!

Dream pulls his hands free and takes a hasty step back. The human's dog sniffs at his leg and he shifts uneasily. 

"Friend…?" Memories of dreams of so-called friends betraying each other fill his mind. 

Smiles and supper shared. Then stabbing him into the back when he turns.

He frowns and shakes his head to disperse them, forcing himself to speak. 

"I don't know you. We are not friends. Trust. Has to be earned."

The human stops smiling and looks at him with an almost pained expression. He brushes his shoulder-length dark hair out of his face and tugs on his earlobe. "You are right. Forgive my haste. My name is Hob Gadling. Just Hob is fine. It's a pleasure to meet you…?"

"...Dream."

The bright smile is back in an instant. "What a wonderful name! Dream. Beautiful, just like you!"

Dream feels himself glow and shrink in on himself, his petals shivering. There is no heart in his body but he feels a heat inside his chest that makes him feel like there should be. No one has called him beautiful before. He is too pale, too dark, too broken by nightmares. His sisters and brothers shy away from him, sensing the turmoil of his dreams, the negative emotions that shaped him. If this human knew him like they know him, would he still smile at Dream in such a way?

He does not dare find out and quickly turns away, leaving the human standing with a hastily mumbled apology. He flees to the far side of the camp and lays out his bedroll. The human had looked taken aback but had not followed him. Dream is - again - both relieved and disappointed at that. He lies down and closes his eyes, willing himself to rest and sleep.

~

He wakes from nightmares in the middle of the night, as usual, and silently slips out of the camp towards the nearby river to watch the moon and the glowing insects until the sun rises and the first people begin to stir.

The next day is uneventful. Except for a few huge glowflies attacking them when they pass through a swampy area, nothing happens that the hired adventurers can’t handle. Dream watches the human from last night  - Hob Gadling - masterfully use both bow and sword to swiftly deal with any aggressive wildlife. Their eyes meet a few times and Hob gives him a friendly smile every time. When they make camp for the night again Dream finds himself close to the man again but feels at a loss for words. Fortunately, Hob does not seem to have any qualms to initiate another conversation.

"Have you been to Lion's Arch before, Dream?"

Dream looks up from inspecting his daggers and sees that the human is busying himself with his pack and quiver, and giving his dog a few strips of dried meat. Dream watches him scratch the dog and coo at it quietly before he finds his voice.

"Yes."

Hob looks back at him. "And how did you find it? I think it's too big for me. I got lost the first few times. Ended up in a cave with a dead pirate playing hide and seek, I almost died - stupid old bastard." He laughs loudly and Dream can only stare in fascination. This human is so. Happy. While telling of a life-threatening situation. It is. Confusing. And fascinating.

Hob has set down his weapons and pack and sits on a log, watching Dream with clear, amber eyes. His smile shows no sign of diminishing.

"Won't you sit with me, Dream? I've always wanted to ask a Sylvari about those dogs some of you are keeping as companions."

Dream slowly and carefully perches on the other end of the log and says: "You mean Sylvan Hounds?"

"Yes! Those!" Hob pats his dog happily and looks at Dream full of anticipation, his eyes bright and friendly. The man seems genuinely nice. Dream will stay alert but simply talking to this human…is probably not that dangerous.

Gaining someone’s trust is the first step to a successful betrayal , a well-known voice in his mind whispers. Dream has always had the suspicion that it is the voice of Cadeyrn, taunting him from the Nightmare…

"They are born just like we are. From the Pale Tree, but they're not…sapient, like us."

"They're like dogs." Hob grins and pat's his hound again. Dream nods. "Yes."

"But they're plants."

"All Sylvari are plants."

"I know, it's fascinating, isn't it? And to imagine that the eldest of you are only, what, about 30 years old?" Hob laughs and shakes his head in wonder. Dream frowns. He does not like that his race is often compared to children. Sylvari have much to learn, that is true, but they are not simple . They are simply new to this world, their history short.

"Is it true that no one knows how old you can actually get?"

Dream lifts his eyes from the forest floor and stares at Hob in bafflement. He can't help a sneer and shifts subtly away from the human.

"It is. Why does that ‘ fascinate’ you? Because we are so young to have so far never died of natural causes? Because this world kills us rather than let us live our life to the fullest?"

Dream feels himself shivering with fury. He doesn't know why he is angry. Hob's question was innocuous enough, something anyone might ask a Sylvari. Death as such is not something the Sylvari view as a terrible fate, they find it interesting and do not share the same fear of it as the other races. His elder sister is constantly researching the topic. Yet Dream feels only rage at the reminder of how many of his siblings have died for Tyria, for the fight against the Elder Dragons. He thinks of his closest siblings, born with him and shortly after him. Destiny, as close to their mother as only the Firstborn are, rarely emerging from her grove. Death, named after what fascinates her most, always wandering, never in one place for long. Despair, dead. Desire, her twin, lost to the Nightmare Court. Delirium, who sleeps and stays inside the Dream rather than face the real world. Destruction, who chose to become soundless. Himself, always courted by the Nightmare, constantly fighting against his dark side.

He thinks of them and feels sadness, and rage. How dare the other races judge them? How dare this human ask him how old a Sylvari can get, when from the moment they are born they have to struggle for survival, for sanity, for recognition as sentient beings, for the simple right to exist?

They will never treat us as anything but expendable curiosities. We have to show them what we are capable of , Cadeyrn whispers in his mind. Dream drops his head into his hands and pulls at his sapphire blue leaves. 

Shut up! Get out of my head!

Hob beside him grows tense and leans forward. When a gentle hand lands on his shoulder, Dream flinches violently and looks up with wide eyes. Hob lets go immediately when he sees his face.

"Hey," the man says, his voice quiet and careful, "are you alright? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried. It's just," he shakes his head and pulls again at his earlobe, "I've always wanted to meet one of your kind and you looked lonely. And I thought you'd like someone to talk to."

Dream stares at him, momentarily lost for words, anger still rolling inside him. Then he jumps up from the log and snarls: “Lonely?! I am connected to the subconscious of my entire race and our mother. I am never alone . You dare make assumptions when you know nothing of my kin and I.”

He grabs his pack and stalks away, ignoring Hob’s soft plea to wait.

~

That night he dreams again of Despair’s death, of Desire’s subsequent descent into madness. How he begged them to stay, how they still turned from him and joined the Nightmare Court. How when he last met them, they had wrapped him in thorny vines and cooed at him to join them, licking the sap running from his throat where the thorns made him bleed.

‘Just let go, sweet Dream. Embrace your deeper urges, your violent tendencies, your love of the night. Come with me, brother. It will finally make you happy…’

Dream surges awake with a gasp and a cry, startling a nearby Asura, who looks at him first with worry, then with typical scientific curiosity. He makes haste to grab his bedroll and pack and leave their vicinity, before he becomes the subject of an Asuran study into Sylvari dreams. He finds himself drifting closer to Hob again during the day. When night falls they make camp for the last time on their journey. They will reach Lion’s Arch tomorrow and Dream will have to meet with Caithe and the other heroes of old to discuss the ongoing threat to Tyria. He might not see any of these people again, and it is that thought that lets him stay when he sees Hob coming towards him and gingerly set down his pack beside him.

Dream is no longer angry. He knows Hob is right in his assessment that Dream is lonely, despite anything he said last night. His connection to other Sylvari through the Dream is tenuous and constantly strained by nightmares, which others can sense when they meet him. He has thought about becoming soundless, like his brother Destruction, but has shied away from taking such a radical step to remove himself from the Dream. He cherishes the sense of love he gets from their mother, even if it is faint. He doesn’t think he could bear to lose it.

Hob approaches him cautiously and sits down on a tree root. He says: “I apologise for yesterday, Dream. I did not mean to offend.”

He smiles gently. "We’ll soon reach Lion’s Arch, and honestly, I could use the company, because…I realised that it is actually me who’s lonely,” he chuckles and tugs again at his earlobe.  Dream’s eyes widen at the man’s words, said softly and with a hint of sadness, but ringing true. 

“How about you ask me questions? I'd love to tell you anything you might want to know."

Dream licks his lips and blinks a few times to clear his mind. Hob's smile is making that warm place in his chest feel tender and mellow again. This human is truly...

"Weird."

"Huh?"

"You are the weirdest human I have ever met." Dream says, his voice rough. His throat is as dry as old bark. Hob laughs. "You're not the first to say that! Although I really don't understand why being friendly gets you called weird in this world."

He grows solemn, the corners of his mouth turning down. "Makes you think, doesn't it?" he muses and looks down at his dog, which is happily lying beside him, head on Hob's feet. Dream watches him closely, intrigued, and takes in more details. Hob is not particularly tall or particularly broad for a human, but he is still a lot broader than Dream. The muscles of his arms and legs are well defined by his shirt and leather trousers. This man is a fighter, his fingers callused by arrows and sword, the backs of his hands littered with scars, but his face is gentle and his whole demeanour one of kindness. Dream catalogues his colours the only way Sylvari can - by comparing them to plants. Hob's hair is as dark as ebony, his skin the colour of an unpeeled almond, and his eyes are like dark apricot tree sap. He has a strong nose and a chin with a cleft and the shadow of a beard that Dream finds fascinating. Hob is handsome, for a human.

"It seems you like animals better than your fellow men." Dream states rather than asks and Hob looks back up at him quickly and gives a small chuckle.

"Well, you're not wrong. I mean, I like people, I do, but animals - they're just easier, you know? A dog will not mind if you love it too much. It will give you its life and loyalty and love and never question yours if you treat it right."

Dream cocks his head and frowns. "Do humans not...like to be loved?" *By you*, he does not say but wonders as he watches Hob pet his dog. Anyone this man loves must be the luckiest person in the world, he thinks and is glad that his skin does not blush and the encroaching darkness of the night makes his stronger glow seem like a natural occurrence. Hob absently scratches his chin and huffs a laugh. "Of course they do. I'm just... too much, it seems. For some." He clears his throat and then adds with a grin: "So please, ask away. I will annoy you long before you can annoy me."

Dream frowns again. "You... are not annoying. You are curious, but kind. I find myself grateful... for your company. Hob." 

The smile Hob levels at him is nearly blinding and Dream feels himself glow even brighter. Hob's eyes twinkle and his delight is plain on his face. "You're glowing! Is that because it's getting dark? Do you only glow at night or also when it's bright? Do you all glow in different colours?"

Dream can't help but duck his head shyly and mumble: "It's...I..."

Hob sharply sucks in a breath and lifts his hands in an apologetic gesture. "Sorry, sorry, here I go again, asking about personal things. You don't have to answer that. I just," he falters and rubs his neck again, a blush rising on his cheeks. "It looks...very beautiful."

Dream feels his glow brighten even more and this time he can see that Hob has caught it. He leans closer and looks at Dream more closely. “It got stronger. Are you…are you blushing ? Is it like a human blush, when your glow-”

“Yes!” Dream blurts out and grips the bark of the root he’s sitting on tightly, his posture growing more and more rigid. Hob stares at him with his mouth open and his eyes wide in wonder. Then he smiles again and Dream knows if he wasn’t wrapped in a cloak he would be lighting up their small corner of the camp like a torch.

“Please stop,” he begs and wraps his arms around himself, “calling me beautiful.”

Hob scoots closer to him and waits until Dream meets his eyes again.

“Why?” he asks softly, “It’s the truth. You are gorgeous, Dream. Has no one ever told you that?”

Dream feels himself start to shiver. “No,” he whispers, “I am. Not used to compliments.” He is used to frightened glances, to suspicious glares, to whispers behind his back. ’He feels off.’ ‘His eyes are like tar pits.’ ‘He’s going to join the Nightmare Court, I’m sure of it.’ ‘Look at that one, are you sure he’s no courtier? Let’s better not get too close.’

Hob puts a hand on Dream’s shaking shoulder and this time Dream doesn’t flinch away. The touch grounds him and he feels himself lean into it. Hob’s hand is warm where it touches him and suddenly Dream craves warmth. He does not need sunlight and prefers the nighttime, having been born of the Cycle of Night, but he does not enjoy being cold. Hob’s touch makes him feel like he has only ever been cold. He can’t remember when someone last touched him with kindness either.

Hob must sense how Dream relaxes because after only a moment he gently coaxes him to lean more firmly against Hob’s shoulder. Dream wants to melt into his arms and feels instantly ashamed of his reaction.

You don’t know anything about this man. Humans are violent creatures of the flesh, always hungry, don’t mistake their intentions.

Dream would give an arm and a leg if it meant being rid of that voice inside his head. He closes his eyes and whispers: “You see me like no one before has. Sometimes I think too many nightmares made their way into my being…that I am tainted beyond help. Does not my appearance prove it? There is no light in my eyes, like in those lost to the Nightmare Court…and my siblings fear me.” The words spill forth almost without his consent.

Hob hums and wraps his arm tighter around Dream’s shoulders. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think they are fools. It is clear to me that you are not evil, Dream, and I find you more than beautiful. Your eyes are like the rarest black pearls,” 

Dream feels a gentle touch on his cheek and opens his eyes to stare into Hob’s warm amber ones, 

“and you’re the most magical thing I have ever seen,” Hob murmurs softly and brushes his fingertips reverently under Dream’s eyes. Dream inhales deeply and feels his gaze drawn to Hob’s mouth. Hob notices and quirks his lips but doesn’t say anything. Dream swallows and decides to take a leap of faith.

“Earlier…I wondered. How anyone could find you…too much. I thought…I would be so lucky. To be loved by someone like you.”

Hob’s nostrils flare and his eyes widen a bit before another one of his brilliant smiles lights up his face. He leans closer and says, lips almost touching Dream’s: “You’re in luck, then. You should know…I fall in love ridiculously easily. And I can tell that loving you,” Dream feels Hob’s breath on his lips and lets his eyes drop closed again, “will be no hardship at all. My Dream.”

Their lips meet and Dream sighs happily into the kiss, feeling Hob’s warmth radiate from his mouth and hands on his shoulders. Hob pulls back after only a moment but strokes Dream’s cheeks gently and gives him another smile that makes Dream feel like the sun has risen again. Still, he cannot help but give voice to his insecurities:

“Please. Hob. Be honest. Do you…fall out of love just as easily?”

Hob lets out a startled laugh and brushes a sapphire leaf out of Dream’s face. “Didn’t I tell you? I usually am told that I’m too much. Once I latch onto someone, it’s hard to get rid of me.”

He brushes his mouth against Dream’s glowing cheek and adds, more softly: “I’m like a dog, Dream. Treat me kindly and let me love you…and I will stay with you forever.”

Dream gasps and turns his face towards Hob’s. His hands come up to touch his cleft chin in awe and feel his stubble, trace the contours of his face and feel the silky texture of his hair. “You are a wonder, Hob Gadling.”

Hob blushes and laughs again and leans in to kiss him again, something Dream is only too happy to grant. He pulls Hob closer and down onto the mossy forest floor, so he can finally have Hob’s warm body cover his lengthwise. They trade kisses and gentle touches, marvelling at the other in the glow of Dream’s bioluminescence. After a while Hob suddenly hums in thought and a tiny frown appears on his forehead as he seems to contemplate something.

"Dreams and nightmares…I’ve heard your mother only puts special memories into the Dream, right? Significant ones?"

Dream nods and shuffles closer into Hob’s embrace.

"Ones with impact, that create significant feelings, good or bad, have a higher chance to resonate with her, and thus within the Dream, yes."

Hob grins and caresses Dream’s back and sides with his broad palms. Dream relishes the heat coming off his hands and body and sighs again happily. He wants to feel them against his skin, but there will be time for that later, he hopes. 

Hob says: "Let me give you a memory to stick, then. Let me give you a thousand . Your mother shall know my love for you and feel proud. I want her to know the depth of my gratitude for having given life to you, my Dream."

Dream pulls back to properly look into Hob’s face. He feels himself smile in what feels like the first time since his sister died.

"Very well. May my memories of you shine so brightly that they vanquish a thousand nightmares the Court has created, Hob Gadling. May your radiant smile live in the Dream as eternal inspiration and delight for our mother and all unborn Sylvari."