So hi, GW2 Tumblr. See this shrub here:

This is Keiranon. He is a warm-hearted, smirky, hot-headed super-Dreamer without a guild to call home. Had some conflicts come up over the last year or so of my time in my last guild, and ultimately had to leave it and I’ve had a hell of a time trying to find someplace comfortable to call home ever since. I’ve put up ads and hopped through a few guilds already to no avail, and was hoping the power of TUMBLR might be able to connect me with somewhere amazing. I’m looking for a guild! I’m looking for a guild on Tarnished Coast that’s preferrably on the medium-small side and close-knit-- no more than 15 or 20 active players max (more than that and I tend to find it easy to become overwhelmed and be unable to reach out for roleplay!), with an ooc-friendly guild chat and a focus on narrative storytelling and collaborative writing scenes, as opposed to using RP to flavor PvE experiences. My time zone is EST

Sleep is in such short supply. Since finding the sapling with Vhan, I feel it always. The claustrophobic press of wooden walls around me. Daylight brings focus to other things, but in the night I’m vulnerable. Memories come back through the passage of sleep, memories that feel as real as they were when they happened. They’re memories that hurt now.

I wake screaming and afraid. Scared to close my eyes again and unable to calm enough to return to sleep. Elzy has become used to it. She no longer startles at my cries.

I go back to Revilion for respite. When it’s too much, I have to. I try to find other ways, others who might let me be quietened by their presence in the night, but there’s a trade required. So few are amenable to the prospect of someone in their bed who won’t allow sexual intimacy. I’m not so moral that I won’t give that, either. But a woman gets a reputation when she seeks too many partners—and my sense of attachment to those I’ve been with makes it difficult to accept when they are done with me. I am not done with them. I can never be done with them.

That’s not how it works for me.

I tried to explain as much to Gin. That on some level I loved him deeply and always would, though the love was not romantic in nature. Nor is it sexual. It’s far more basic, more primal. A driving desire to protect and be near him, as I feel for Keiranon and Scamall and Revilion as well. As I feel for Vhan and Lyn, despite their rejection of me. I tried to explain to him that it was possible for me to occupy his bed and not fall deeper for him, for there is no deeper level. It isn’t romantic. It never will be.

I was looking for an answer. I was willing to trade my body for comfort. Like Lyn and Vhan, he rejected that. And with that, Revilion became the last one to whom I could turn.

Leif walked at a lazy pace, heading east from Mrot Buru towards the Source. The sun was setting and the skies were stained in vibrate pinks and golds. Lanterns were lit in the distance as night fell over the land, and the lanky thief was visiting home for the first time in weeks. He had been working on hunting basilisks for an asuran lab, and was returning home for a good night's sleep before he would venture off towards Divinity's Reach to spend his well earned coin. 

As usual, the Source buzzed with activity, but he was tired and decided to avoid interactions for the evening. He quietly slipped into the Source and stealthy vanished into the apartment building. Up three flights of stairs, fourth door on the right. Home sweet home awaited. 

An envelope was stuffed between the door and the frame, sticking out just enough for one to know what it was. Leif grinned a bit to himself, assuming someone had left a letter for him. Maybe Keir, or Vilathara. Maybe Astairre? He was constantly being told he needed to visit more. His grin widened at the thought of it's contents, predicting who would have written what. He plucked the envelope from it's spot, studying the handwriting as he entered the apartment. 

Swirly, female-ish writing. Definitely not Keiranon. 

The door clicked shut and Leif dumped his pack on the floor immediately so he could open the envelope. A part of him hoped it was something sweet, but he assumed it was most likely from Vila, and would say something crude like "Quit being a jerk and stick around!" 

He opened the letter, and after a quick scan his heart dropped. 

"To my sweetest love, I met a your young friend today, the quiet one with dark eyes and white petals. We went to find you at the old barn where you and I used to meet, but sadly you weren't there. Don't worry though, she'll be waiting for you. Remember, I will always love you. Don't you ever forget that. Sincerly, your beloved dearheart, ~D."

It took a moment to react, and Leif stared at the letter in shock and disbelief. She was here. She was here and she knew which room was his... And she had Astairre. 

Like a bullet he was off. The door slammed hard against the wall and he was gone before he could even hear if it shut. The same happened with the apartment door, and he was racing as if death itself were barreling after him. He threw his arms to gain momentum and stretched his legs as far as the would go as he shot down the path. He had to get to the barn.

"Leif?" 

He had no idea who said it. Lock? Maybe Skoryy? Someone small and colorful but ended up being a blur in his peripheral vision. He shoved a guard out of his way, skidded in the gravel and dirt and bolted away through the way point. 

~~~

Gendarren was already cloaked in the darkness of nightfall, and Leif snatched a latern from a seraph as he blew past. They're confused shouts only lasted a moment, for the dark red and grey sylvari was too far down the path to try and catch up with. 

The barn was a mile or so off the main road, and he bounded and lept through the wheat like a frightened deer, that latern flickering and swaying irratically as it was yanked and tossed around by his running movements. The old barn appeared before him, lumbering like a demonic minion of Grenth and dead memories.  He slammed into the door, sending it flying as he entered the darkness that was the barn. 

And there was Astairre. Her white leaves glowing in the presence of the lantern's light, making the brown hay and grey beams seem dark and distant. She was on her side, splayed out like a cat would bathe in the sun. He dropped to her side, carelessly setting the lantern down besides him as he reached out for his friend.

"Astairre! Astairre I'm--"

She was cold. Her body lay limp in his arms and he froze in horror. She wasn't moving. She wasn't even breathing. Leif's limbs began to shake, as he reached to roll her over so that her front faced him. A gold liquid stained her chest, leaving small dried rivers that trickled down her ribs, arm, and neck from a long thin wound in the dead center of her chest. Sap. Her mouth hung open ever so slightly, and her black eyes were half open, as if she were tired and falling asleep. 

"N-no... No this.. No no. No no no." Leif whimpered, placing his hand on the side of her face and staring into her lifeless eyes. She was gone. Astairre was dead. 

A choked sob erupted from his throat, so much so that his body shook. It was followed by another sob, another shake, another shudder. Leif pulled Astairre close, holding her in the tightest embrace and cradling her head as he cried. 

His best friend was gone. The sapling he had found so many years ago, the young woman that once followed him around the Source curiously, studying him with a bored expression and openly judging him when he did something odd. The white flower that he had grown so very fond off, that he worried about more than anyone else. His friend. His dearest friend, was gone. 

"I never said goodbye." He whimpered. "I never got to tell you... I never should have left...  I'm so sorry... It's all my fault and I'm sorry..."

As he cried, all he could think about, is how he never told her how he truly felt. He never said he loved her. 

9. Describe your perfect mate

Dwayna’s tits, that’s a complicated question. I feel ridiculously shallow even considering possible answers, so let me preface it with this: this is in an ideal perfect world and it’s going to sound horrendously shallow. There are some features I appreciate that I wouldn’t be sad weren’t there for the right person. I suppose that’s the most important point, the right person changes everything.But here we go. We’ll start with arms. I really like arms. Strong, muscular arms, and I love companions who are taller than me. A little softness around the belly is endearing and comfortable, and again—firm, muscular legs. I don’t find weight unattractive, but I adore the feeling of a person who works hard to keep themselves fit and combat-ready. I love strength. I love the potential power coiled within those limbs, and we’ll get to that again later.Facial features aren’t important, with the exception of chin-twigs and beards on males. They just annoy me. On humans I love hair. The longer the better, I love the feel of it, I love playing with it. It’s more of something I wish I had myself, but if I can find that in a mate that allows me to play with it, I suppose that’s close enough. Personality, though, this is what I truly want. I want someone who isn’t afraid to challenge me, and fight me if they have to. I want someone I can’t control, but who operates on a code of honour that I can respect. I want someone who believes in never giving up, doesn’t excuse the things I’ve done (but loves me anyway), someone who gives and receives affection freely but doesn’t crave it at all times. I need someone independent, but who loves to cuddle while sleeping. I need someone who can call me out when I’m being ridiculous, tell me when I’ve fucked up, and reason with me. I need someone who can show me logic when I’m being irrational. I need someone who knows what they want and who isn’t afraid to walk away if I’ve really screwed up.I need someone who watches and learns, someone who will know how to make me smile on the worst days. Someone who can find the secret to calming me. Someone who will help me, but also let me help them. Someone who will share their life with me and let me be their partner. Someone who can be everything to me, and I can be everything for. I want someone I can stand on the field with an feel safe, I want someone who will run with me until we’re both out of breath and laughing. I want to fall asleep with my head on their chest and listen to them breathe, and know they are there. And it certainly doesn’t hurt if they’re able to throw me around a bit. I want someone I know I can’t break. I’m very attracted to strength.

38. Have you ever liked someone you didn’t expect to?All of them? When I first encountered Keiranon I really had no idea what was going on. I’d never felt that drawn to anything that wasn’t cake before, so it was a shock. Revilion was supposed to be one of those flings you have in the city, that more than questionable decision that the people back home would never approve of (and most of them never did). When it first began it was just a bit of dirty fun behind his girlfriend’s back, I don’t think either of us were prepared for how far it would go. The most unexpected though I suppose would be the women. I’m finding myself more drawn to them lately, a few ill-fated flings with women that utterly captivated me kind of had that effect. I suppose the first opened my eyes to what a strong woman could do for me, the second proved it wasn’t a fluke. And it’s much harder to compare them to Revilion, I feel less… awkward? with women than I do men. 

Mangrove roots squeeze in against her pelt, trapping her tail. Ahead, wardens. She dips her head low, cheek to the muddied ground to cover… what? She has no glow in this form. The Fanged Dread hovers above her, the mask both mocking and comforting.

  ‘Escape. Comrades. Together.’ it hums, a stilted lullabye of promises that fill her with warmth. Together. Yes, Together is important. A rustle beside her, a beak. Behind the roots, the faintest outline of elemental construct, the beak dips its approval. Together we are stronger. Always together. She crouches, seeking her opportunity. Reddened water and lame grass sprout before her, her eyes water at the heady copper scent milling around her paws. Together. The Fanged Dread moves first, darting to the next shadow. The beak flickers and is gone, followed by the briefest brush of a thick tail. She is last. A bird calls overhead. Hurry up, hurry up. She steps from the concealing roots. Lights blind her and rip away the last of the protecting shadows. The rest are gone. No sound or smell left, just the shouts of wardens and eager saplings, rocks in hand. She is dangerous. She is wrong. Her shadow is gone--where? How can there be so much light and now shadow? Her paws dig into the soft sand, turning herself about, straining to see. But no dark form attaches itself her feline shape, only light surrounds her. A rock stings her shoulder, another on her hide. The saplings laugh. ‘We’re not afraid. She can’t do anything.’ they jeer. Her wrists feel tight. Clamped. She is chained. Shifted to the shape of herself cross-legged, dodging stones. They heard she broke a warden’s nose, they’ve come to prove their strength while she cannot fight back. Her mind roars, feelings unfamiliar in this new solid body, the connection too close and too invasive. What is her own and what is not? She doesn’t know. Why do they have shadows and she does not?

  ‘Get up.’ a gruff voice. ‘You’re a sylvari. Not a dog.’ She stands on shaking legs, reaches with a hand to push back the hood of the one standing over her. Is it Fanged Dread? Has he come back at last? But it disappears to smoke. The Reach winds out around her, sharp cobblestones beneath bare feet.

  Paws.

  Paws again?

  The tavern is north. She moves for it. That is where shadows are. The Golden Sun shines and casts shadows across Kryta, she has found them here before. Found them. Loved them. Revelled in all that made them different. Hope blooms, but all she finds are corpses. Tree-mounted macabre displays of Gin and Crow. The beach, again. The red sky she’s always known and rivers of sap, oceans of blood. She looks down at her paws, forcing one ahead of the other. She makes them walk until the sand runs to smooth stone. A gathering. Colours and shapes she recognises. Family. Stood above them, a figure in pale green. It speaks. Waves its arms.

  ‘Grom.’ it says. Her paws begin to thump against the stone, racing toward him. ‘Grom is.’

  No!

  She lunges. Knocks the teal one from his perch, silences him. Looks up. There. The shadow lingers on the edge of the group. She pushes her way through. The others notice, grabbing for her ears and tail. Slowing her. Wanting to stop her. She tears through all the same. One of the gathered grabs the Shadow. Her shadow. Squeezes it until the sensation of pain radiates from the shifting form. She yowls from it. Feels it from nose to tail, and only at the realisation of her pain does the other stop. Tosses the Shadow to the side like a rag, lets it fall limp to the ground. She is left with it .The Shadow. It slinks away from her, and she follows. Slowly, not wishing to spook it. She doesn’t notice the black nothing until it’s swallowed the ocean and sand. It tugs at the Shadow, pulls it closer.

  No.

  The nothing creeps closer, the Shadow loses grip on the smooth stone. Slides toward it inch by inch. She claws at the Shadow to hold it in place, but her claws catch nothing but air. She tries again, and again, grabbing for it with desperate paws and teeth.

  No. Don’t let it go to the nothing. Don’t let it be sucked into uncertainty. The space between them widens suddenly, miles of stone appearing between her and the Shadow. She runs. Bounding on four and then two legs, her breath in ragged sobs. She runs to the edge where the Shadow teeters to the nothing, stumbles to her knees and grabs for the Shadow once more.

  No. It’s gone. Absorbed into the void. She stares into the black.

  And she screams. ----------------------

  She makes no sound. Her eyes open, head pressed against a saturated pillow. She reaches for him. The couch is narrow, her hand falls on Spinach’s head. He whines, and Elzy growls in soft warning. The heavy jaguar is sprawled across her legs.Why? That’s what she does to him, not to her. She reaches again. No, he’s gone.