#gw2 oc prompt

[neverloseguy]

[cait-sith]

October 2023, Day 11: Growth

Sutyari's probably my most fleshed out GW2 OC. He was a Pale Reaver who participated in the first assault on Mordremoth and was stranded in the jungle when his ship crashed. There, he was caught and put into a blighting pod and implanted with a Mawdrey seed. While he was eventually saved, the seed had already integrated, and he continued to hear Mordremoths voice even after the dragon's defeat.

[i-mybrunettelady]

also, stealing this community prompt for sure, bc it's so neat but.

gw2 community prompt: what is your commander's defining feature? their stature, their fashion sense, their physical appearance, their scars, freckles? what is their signature sign, in terms of physical appearance?

[shadowrunner8236]

@everyone

Tell me your commanders lore in the tags i wanna read

As there are no restrictions for this im gonna warn minors to consider all possible content warnings before reading the tags!

PLEASSEE go crazy pick one to three of your commanders and info dump to me about it all i want to see you guys writing and ik most of you are waiting for some one to ask so heres some propmts to help you out if you need!

Prompts

What drives them?

Whats their personal goal?

How does their culture (wherever they are from in your lore) affect them? [Ie do they go to festivals, miss home, have a grudge with a clan, person, or collage? Etc]

Do they have anyone they love?

Did any of their loves perish, who and why?

Do they have a major regret or loss?

U can make this a therapy sesh for them its ok

A dream they clung to, a hope or goal (if any) that kept them going through it all, or alternatively drove them to their end~

Go crazy go off the cuff! I wanna read so this may get reblogged a few times on my main!

[wyldblunt]

okay really niche OC chat prompt today but. you know that common trope where a character is transported into an illusory world that shallowly fulfills all their wishes/removes all current conflicts ("oh my god, i'm back home in my warm bed, none of the horrible Plot Events actually happened, my dead loved one is alive and says 'what are you talking about, silly? are you feeling okay? i made breakfast! ^^'", etc), usually as a way to delay them from finding + defeating whoever is making the illusion or whatever

say your commander (or anyone) gets trapped in one of those. how long does it take them to figure out something's wrong (alternately if u have multiple ocs u wanna answer for, rank them from "immediately sniffs it out" to "would blissfully waste away there forever"). extra credit: what's everybody's insidious wish-fulfillment illusion world

[just-norn-things]

Thinking about them again.

Thinking about what idiots they are.

Thinking about how everyone can see it.

Thinking about how even when they realise, they can't fathom that the other person might feel the same, so they just bury their heads in the sand as if every waking moment isn't filled with yearning.

Yeah, just thinking about them.

[lyhil]

OC-tober Palette Week - 02

Quietly, Lyhil moved his fingers closer until they were sliding in between Harukehn's, gently interlocking in the damp sand. For a moment, he didn't say anything, content to just watch the water ripple under the gentle breeze.

"You're the first Sylvari," he finally spoke, "and the first person not drowned in drunkenness, who has looked at me - what I have done to myself - and not returned with some form of discomfort or disgust." He fell quiet. The sunset light was starting to fade to the dark purple hues of dusk, faint glimmering stars eagerly pushing through the remaining light. "So I'd like to do my best, no matter how hard it might be," he murmured. Harukehn - @harukehn

Prompt

[hawkepockets]

pepa lore ‼️

even though it’s theoretically valuable, pepa carries his favorite find from rata x with him—a pre-primordus asuran mancala game recovered with a few of its game pieces, small polished glass “stones” that had been treated with a glow-in-the-dark polish, and a couple tiny used-up household appliance power crystals that had apparently been subbed in for lost stone pieces, also with a faint residual glow. pepa has supplemented his own pieces to make a complete playable set.

& he’s FASCINATED by the old pieces bc asura have great dark vision, and presumably it would’ve been even better before the migration to the surface, so why make the pieces glow ? just bc it’s pretty ? was there an artificial day/night cycle in the ratas where night was so dark even asura couldn’t see small objects ? was it for the benefit of some other race with worse dark vision that the asura used to be friendly with, enough to play games together ? skritt maybe ? which would imply their interspecies relations used to be completely different ? or is it one-of-a-kind, designed for an individual asura with limited sight? who crafted this game? who did they play with? who did they love?

there’s no way to research any of these questions without going back underground so it’s a total mind boggler. and calming to play, and grounding to touch the ancient pieces from a version of his own culture that is completely extinct now thanks to destroyers, and remember why he has to stay in the dragon war.

[commanderhorncleaver]

Gaius's thoughts on Smodur? (@ratasum)

Gaius, for an extended period, rather idolized Smodur? This tapered off long before Icebrood Saga, but the most notable point for it during the run of the game is the early part of LW1, when the player is allowed to investigate/meet with the refugees in the Citadel, as well as dick around and see what the defense Quorum is up to before meeting with Rytlock. Apparently, the guards aren't supposed to let people through, but the commander's got special privileges, and you can talk to Smodur there--though I imagine the interaction is brief, as it is in-game, Gaius comes away from it all but preening.

Smodur, for all intents and purposes, was the epitome of what it meant to be Iron Legion, so Gaius had an inextricable desire to impress him. And then Gaius' viewpoint continues to grow and develop, on account of being the commander and most notably, while dead, he meets the ghost of a charr who died in a skirmish with Flame, and he suddenly recognizes how it all sucks.

IBS comes along and he's... not in a much happier spot. Smodur totes him around, and where just years ago he'd have reveled in it, he recognizes just how shitty it is. Then of course, killing Cinder.

Overall, his feelings towards Smodur are complicated--as someone who was also very much part of the War Machine of legion life, someone who lived and aspired to be part of the propaganda, he understands where Smodur is at, especially because not only is he a part of it, he is in charge--Smodur has very real responsibility, and in the face of that, it's hard to face change.

Gaius doesn't agree with most of the things of his relevance during IBS, or even political things we aren't necessarily privy too, but he also knows that Smodur was pretty progressive in a lot of ways, too, and appreciates that.

[fregion-bond-breaker]

It is being brought to my attention that i did not have the link in my last post. How emberessing....but here it is!

[a-grey-area]

I want people to tell me about their ocs.

I love seeing everyones passion, intricate details of their characters' trauma and lifestory

Tell me everything!

[neverloseguy]

[champion-of-aurene]

Twilight wouldn't post often but when she does it would be the most insane thing you'd see, only for there to be weeks of no posts before and after. Like no posts for months then suddenly posts a selfie with Balthazar in the distance captioned "boutta go fight god brb".

Nyx would run a leftist anarchist blog on Tumblr, full of propaganda (affectionate), leftist memes, and tips/info about protesting and fighting the system/rich that barely avoids bans. She would also have an anonymous Reddit account where she mostly comments and shares memes on leftist subreddits.

Tavii would run a pastel/positivity aesthetic blog and maybe Instagram account, with trans positive/affirmation posts scattered throughout.

Akko would have a fairly basic Instagram account posting her with her friends and her adventures and inventions.

Juniper would post on a few platforms solely images of her pets along with the occasional nature picture. She has tons of followers because her pets are adorable c:

Alessia would have a Facebook or something where she only occasionally posts, sharing news about happenings in the Crystal Desert and the Sunspears.

Celestia would post the typical stuff you'd think Norn would post about, such as boasting about her hunts and treasures she finds, along with pictures of her at moots and the like.

And I feel like Vesta wouldn't really use social media much at all. Mostly just lurking on occasion to see the things her friends share.

Bonus (the characters I've yet to formally introduce on here):

Bunhild would post the cute bunnies and other critters she befriends, along with happenings in the Shiverpeaks, and anti-poaching and animal rights posts.

Elenia would have Tumblr, Instagram, and/or Facebook accounts where she occasionally posts scenic pictures of Sandswept Isles and the Olmakhan village, along with the occasional cool and notable fish she catches (think the stereotypical fishing social media post but instead it's a cute short Olmakhan charr looking very happy/excited).

Alya would have a Facebook and Instagram account where she posts generic and kinda cheesy (but generally positive) Dwayna-focused religious stuff, and also posts about opportunities to help the less fortunate.

If your gw2 OCs had access to social media, what kind of account would they run and(/or) on what platform?

Maelgwyn would absolutely have a thirst trap insta/tiktok account he’d enjoy the attention and think the reaction he got was funny as hell.

Louis & Pyrs would run one of those sickeningly genuinely sweet couples’ accounts on youtube/insta.

Sugyn would lurk on twitch or smthin.

Belial has one of those obscure youtube accounts that posts absolute nonsense and every once in awhile you get recommended a cursed video from them. they absolutely also have a cursed tiktok (and they keep terrorizing trahearne with their accounts)

[i-mybrunettelady]

Gw2 community question:

How did your commander/oc learn their elite? Who trained them? Are they self-taught? Do they mix and match with other elites of their class or another class altogether? Are they good at every elite or just one or two? Tell me all your your commander and their elite spec!

[alexdreamart]

I'm so curious! Let me know :D

[redwayfarers]

house of grief and sunlight

fandom: wayfarer ship: cassander/aisanne characters: cassander inteus, aisanne bjornsdottir rating: gen words: 1625 note: this is my entry for @idrellegames' three year anniversary event! prompt i'd chosen is paramour - expected of me, i know - but i've hardly written about cass' bisexuality and i felt like it needed to be written about! excuse the ya-sounding title lmao i could not resist also, aisanne is a gw2 oc that i've ported to wayfarer. she lives over on @i-mybrunettelady most of the time :) divider credit

I am tired of grief.  I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s sake, I’m so tired of it. It’s summer, though, and a part of me feels like the sun will chase it away, if only for a day or two. Our house needs the sun right now. Grief hangs over it like a veil, and we don’t speak of it, but maybe the rays that come through our window each morning help. 

Or so I hope. Hope’s a stupid thing by and large, because every time I hope something happens it decidedly doesn’t, as if the gods above or whoever sits and watches this farce of an existence keeps laughing at me and says, “Add more!” But I can’t help but wish, in my heart of hearts, that sometimes, maybe one day in this lifespan that’s entirely too long for one guy, I don’t feel like a tossed out, crapped on kitten on the streets. 

It’s summer. That feels important to repeat to self. I am feeling a little less grief. The room around me is loud and messy and sounds jump from one place to another like rabbits, in a cacophony ruled over by the harmonious noise of music. Sanne’s the one behind the harp, golden under the candlelight, and if she was a different woman, she’d be singing in a Meissandic temple. 

She cares little for the traditional rites, though. She cares little for the chants I’d attended once or twice when I was a kid. She looked at me all confused when I told her how courtly, Vestran services happen, and said, in a strange tone, “I don’t understand how people like that.” I don’t understand either, and thank fuck I’m not a Vestran aristocrat anymore. 

Her place is telling stories of heroes and events long gone, to be a musical wayfarer. She’s doing that tonight. I was drunk when we first met here and she had to hold my hair while I was throwing up, apparently. Can’t say I remember that attractive trait about myself. I’m not drunk right now, however, sitting near the small wooden stage, taking small sips of my cider. The drink is irrelevant; she captures my attention more than any alcohol could. 

She’s radiant and shiny, half covered in shadows, which makes her golden crest stand out. The bright sheen of her golden hair disappears and reappears after the movements of her head. I can’t see her freckles clearly from here, but I can see the ink on her neck, the roundness of her full lips, an occasional yellow in the blues of her eyes when the candlelight reflects off them. I’m not blind to beauty, but there’s beauty in a way a finely made building is beautiful, and a way a person is beautiful. 

You don’t wanna fuck buildings, do you? And if you do, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?

Others are looking at her too. That doesn’t matter, because it’s my bed who she comes to tonight. Or is it me coming to hers? Not fucking important. 

These feelings are new. For most of my life, interest like this fell to men. Part of me wonders if I’m just that desperate for any kind of tenderness in my life that my head would start making up attraction; but the way this feels can’t be anything but a solid fucking reality. Women were always beautiful the way buildings were, but now they’re flesh and bone and soul and personality and there’s something so weirdly appealing about that that it catches me off guard. 

Not all women are your mother, you dumb fuck. 

I know, but women have never been.. This. I think about Sanne when she’s away. I watch her practice for the performances, mesmerized. There’s peace and blood rushing to my face when we’re laughing in bed, or making lunch, or eating, or just existing in the same space. My insides get all twisted up, like I’m a kid again crushing on older Wayfarers. It’s like Senna again, and I simply forgot how it feels like to be crushing on someone this bad. 

Nothing will ever happen between us, however. It would be so crappy to prey on a widow’s feelings. She rarely speaks of her dead husband, but he’s not even that cold as far as dead people go; maybe a little more than us Wayfarers, but not by much. Our living together is a result of loneliness, desperation, not a desire to find a partner again. But I was dumb enough to pretend I didn't see it. 

She’s cooking, some days after her performance. Sun is shining through the window, leaving her figure in semi-shadows and catching on the ends of her shiny, metallic hair. She’s not as glamorous as she was at the show; right here is a Sanne that’s more down to earth, more solid, dressed comfortably, not worried about how she’s perceived. I’m folding clothes nearby and doing a half-assed job of it, too. It’s hard to concentrate some days over the deafening noise of all this fucking attraction confusion business. 

Every so often she turns back to look at me with a strange smile on her face. “That’s what I wore to Kiaran’s funeral,” she says suddenly. I jerk and drop my gaze to the dress in my hands. Sunlight washes away its dark color in places. There are little holes in it that I want to sew shut, but I don’t have her consent to. She’s weirdly sentimental about it. 

My Spire didn’t have a funeral, and us survivors only have ashes as funerary garb. 

“What’s this stain again?” I ask, raising the dress and jerking my head in the direction of the big, grayish blob on the skirt. “I keep forgetting!” 

She sighs and throws a full, peeled onion at me. It hits me right in the forehead and the poor plant, already under threat, pricks my eyes. “You’re horrible,” I say in mock offense. “You don’t want your dress to stink, do you?” 

“I’m not burying anyone anytime soon,” she says lowly, in a tone that implies I’m hitting a boundary. I wince and put the dress down, careful of the location of the onion. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I approach, gently placing the vegetable on the table. She gives me a hard look. “I shouldn’t have joked about the dress. It means a lot to you and I tend to joke around, right, about the things that I’m sensitive about so people don’t attack me for it first? Offense is the best defense kinda thing? And I forget that sometimes - a lot of the time - people don’t function the way my fucked up head does?”

Shut up, Cassander. You’re making it worse.

Something tightens my throat, like hands choking me from the inside out. I grip the table and swallow thickly. My stomach twists up, and the smell and feel of onion fills the kitchen and I can only focus on the dents in the dark wood beneath my fingers and the uneven pattern freckles of my hand. 

“Cassander,” Sanne says. Her tone is too much for me to analyze right now, try as I might. “Cass.” 

“What?” 

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” 

“Picking at your scar. Stop it.” 

I lower my hand from my face and grip the edges of my tunic. The edges of my braid - I need to take care of those ugly fucking ends one of these days - tickles my hand. You’re scaring people. Enjoy your lifetime of solitude, whether you’re actually into women or not. Who would want someone as shaky and deranged as you are? 

Vestra should’ve killed you, if you were so determined to go back. 

“I’m sorry,” I murmur to my feet. 

“I’m not angry. If you pushed, I would’ve been, greatly so. But you didn’t. Stop shaking like a leaf.” There’s something in her tone that feels like cold water to the face. I breathe out and blink away a small selection of tears. Saltiest one always drops first! I’m imagining a little tear race now, little tear spectators cheering the racers on, tear savants testing the levels of salt in each one. The thought makes me giggle and I bury my head in my hands as I laugh. 

“I’m not angry with you,” she repeats, gentler than before. Her voice is still as steely, though. “Go finish the laundry while I make lunch.”

Without a word, I retreat to my location at the corner of the room, where still wet clothes wait to be sorted and hung to dry. I put the dress to the side and continue sorting through the clothes; sometimes, I look at her, her back turned to me, and the shaking of my hands grows for a split second. 

I try my best not to cry. Better save that energy for the worst of the shitshow that I know is yet to come.

I’ve forgotten that this is a house of grief and no sunlight can fix it. And I’ve walked over her grief in the same way I would walk over my own, but where I’m used to it, she isn’t. And even when we go to the same bed that night, seemingly forgetting what happened, and even when the sun rises the morning after, this is still a place where two grieving people decided to seek comfort because being broken together is somehow better than being broken alone. 

No summer nor new kinds of sex can fix the holes in your heart. 

I am tired of grief.  I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s everloving and everlasting sake, I’m so tired of it.