#My own thoughts on his philosophy is a whole other beast to tackle

[scarlettjskipper]

2.2 HSR Spoilers!

You know, there's something about Sunday's idea of a paradise in Penacony that I don't see anyone talking about.

Putting aside his perspective and philosophy, and all discussions of whether it's correct or not, it seems pretty clear that he does not intend to seal the Stellaron. If anything, he intends to and does indeed use it construct his paradise.

Gallagher states the Planet of Festivities itself is a Stellaron disaster, and that the cost of that dream is the lives of others.

Now, Sunday intends to stay awake, alone to manage the dream forever.

(This line honestly broke me, but this post is not about that.)

The problem, though: Sunday makes no indication that he will seal the Stellaron. And he doesn't. The Grand Theater is still there. The Planet of Festivities is still there.

Which kind of goes to prove that the paradise he's making is faulty in and of itself! Even if this is a perfect dream where everyone's wishes come true, even if he alone stays awake to maintain it, the Stellaron is STILL there! And for the maintenance of the dream, it will kill people! Fragmentum will appear, and Fragmentum corrosion will still occur. All the destructive aspects of a Stellaron will still come into play.

So yeah. The idea of the Sweet Dream is doomed from its conception itself. For Penacony to move forward in any true way, it needs to seal the Stellaron.

[mollyraesly]

Time with Wolves--Chapter 15

A/N: Sorry for the long wait!!

Once her midterms were finished, all Sansa wanted to do was leave campus as soon as she could. She boarded her train with such eagerness that the ticket collector seemed a bit concerned. “Are you alright, miss?” the old man had asked, not unkindly. “Yes,” she said with a polite smile. “Just eager to get home.”

“Where’s that?” “Winterfell,” she replied. “Ah, a Northern girl. What’s a lass like you doing so far South?” Sansa let out a sigh, but was saved from having to give an answer by a question from the next customer. She waved goodbye to the man and hurried to find a decent window seat. Throughout the train ride, she tried but failed to distract herself by answering neglected emails on her phone and flipping through the fashion magazines she’d bought; the latest couture couldn’t ease her antsy fidgeting and neither could boring administrative emails. So instead she turned to the window to watch the landscape pass by, her heart beating just a bit faster the further north the train went. When she finally stepped onto the station at Wintertown, the chill in the November air made her shiver. But she was grinning as she watched her breath form small clouds of white and gray wisps. The air felt crisp, like air ought to.  She rolled her suitcase through the crowd, searching for the exit. When she spotted her father waiting for her by one of the brick columns, tears welled in her eyes. Beaming, she hurried toward him. “Father!” Ned swooped Sansa into a strong hug, and in his arms she felt like a young girl again. “I’ve missed you,” Sansa told him, her voice cracking. “I’ve missed you too, little one. It’s not been the same without the whole pack together. But now you’re home, everything is just as it should be.” He kissed the top of her head and took her bags for her, and Sansa was reminded that the world still had true knights. She filled him in on how the travel had gone and on what she thought about her performance on her exams.

Ned did not seem overly concerned about Sansa’s academic performance, for no one put more pressure on her than Sansa did herself to do well in school. “You’ve always been so motivated, Sansa,” Ned said with pride. “I wish that would have passed on to Rickon.”

“Still having trouble?”

“Your mother and I are at Winterfell Middle School every other week,” Ned told her. “To be honest, I think they should give us a parking spot, considering how many kids we’ve sent through.”

By the time they got into his truck, the conversation had turned to the situation back at home. Sansa peppered him with questions so she’d be ready for what awaited her. Arya had already slept off her jet-lag, so she wouldn’t be a complete ghoul. Bran was still tinkering with his wheels to make them work better on snow—so she needed to watch out for puddles everywhere. Rickon was still grounded for setting Mr. Luwin’s pumpkins on fire on Halloween, and Robb had been dodging everyone’s questions phone calls of late so was expected to have some bad news he did not want to share. “And how’s Mom dealing with Thanksgiving prep so far?” Ned gave her a secretive smile. “That bad?” “You are as much needed as you are wanted, daughter mine.” When they arrived home, she heard her siblings before she saw them. The house smelled like dinner—beef stew with peas and onions—and the warmth of the heat engulfed her after the brisk walk from the driveway. “Look who’s here!” Ned called. “Sansa!” “Sansa!” “Sansa!” She was nearly tackled to the ground by Rickon. “You’re home!” Rickon screeched. “I’m home!” Sansa replied with equal enthusiasm. She planted kisses on his face, which made him scowl and her laugh. She then reached out to Bran and all but knocked his wheelchair over. “My genius brother!” she sang. “Oi! What does that make me?” Sansa turned around to find Robb. “My older brother!”  He, too, groaned as she kissed his cheek. “Where’s Arya?” But as she asked, her little sister appeared down the stairs, stomping in bulky combat boots. “Arya!” Sansa sang and threw her arms around her. “Look at you! You cut your hair!” Arya had cut her hair into a short choppy bob that fell just beneath her eyes. “Do you like it?” “I love it,” Sansa replied. She spotted some ink behind Arya’s ear. “Gods, did you get a new tattoo?” “Do you like it?” “I love it!” They all began to speak at once, until Cat called them into the kitchen. Sansa found her mother behind the counter with a somewhat frantic look.  “Sansa!” she exclaimed. “Thank the Gods you’re here.” She forced a meat thermometer into Sansa’s hand. “Here, I need you to check to the roast for me.”

A minute later, Sansa had washed her hands and was wearing one of the aprons she’d soon herself back in high school that had pumpkins and apples patterned all over it. As she was throwing a loaf of bread into the oven to get it nice and warm before serving, Cat scooped her into a hug.

“You grow more beautiful every day,” her mother said.

“You’re just saying that because I’m the only one who helps.” Most of her siblings subscribed to the philosophy of don’t be good at something you don’t want to do.

Cat sighed. “At least the only one who I can trust to help and do the job well. Do you remember when Bran volunteered to bake a cake two years ago?”

Remembering that catastrophe, and Bran’s disbelief that he could understand high-level physics but not how to crack an egg properly, they both broke into giggles that only faded when the fire alarm went off from all the rising steam coming off the oven. Dinner that night was loud and happy, as was Thanksgiving. Sansa peeled potatoes and diced onions till she thought her hands might go numb, but they managed to feed over 25 people—even more than usual, as Gendry and his mother had come, as well as Theon and his sister Yara. And Robb had unexpectedly brought his new and apparently serious girlfriend Jeyne Westerling, about whom none of them had heard anything. “Do you think she’s pregnant?” Arya had asked Sansa when they were sent into the linen closet to grab more napkins. “Arya!” “Her shirt looks a bit roomy. Did you see that puffy part at the belly?” “People dress casual for Thanksgiving,” said Sansa, trying to be nice and set a good example. “It is a holiday about eating.” She looked pointedly at Arya’s too-big leggings ensemble. “But c’mon, didn’t you see that bulge?” Arya goaded. “Old Nan saw that bulge, and she’s past her eighties!” Sansa hissed and then clasped her hand over her mouth in horror at what she’d just said. Arya cackled. “Why would Robb be so stupid to introduce her to everyone on Thanksgiving?” “Maybe he thought it’d be a good buffer? I mean, we can’t exactly ask him, in front of the turkey, can we?” “He’s a moron,” said Arya, looking very much like her birthday had come early. “This will be so fun.” “Oh, Arya, please don’t do anything to Jeyne.” “What about Robb?” “After Jeyne leaves, he’s fair game,” Sansa proclaimed. “But if that girl is knocked up with Robb’s baby, she’s suffered enough.” Arya feigned gagging. “What a Thanksgiving,” she observed with glee. “What a Thanksgiving,” Sansa agreed with a sigh. They didn’t tease Robb too much with Jeyne around, but the teasing was merciless as soon as she left—only stopping when Ned asked to have a private chat with his eldest. “Is Robb gonna get grounded?” Rickon asked. “Worse,” Bran said sagely. “I suspect he’s about to be forced to finally become an adult.” “That sucks,” Rickon observed. “Indeed.” Sansa did the dishes with her mother, who seemed to be taking out her frustrations on the good china. “Watch it, Mom. You’ll break the plate.” Catelyn turned to her oldest daughter. “Sansa, promise me you’ll be smarter than Robb.” Sansa grinned. “Aren’t I always?” She decided to let things cool down at the Stark household and went out the next morning for some Black Friday shopping. Retail therapy had always been Sansa’s preferred method of cheering herself up, pampering herself, or really just spending a Tuesday. She bought a pair of classy drop earrings, a beautiful suit and skirt combination at an upscale designer shop for a fraction of the cost, a gorgeous chess set for Bran, a new pair of mile-high combat boots for Arya that were electric blue and absolutely ridiculous, and some sweet infant onesies with ducks and baby elephants on them—just in case she’d be attending a baby shower in the near future.  Armed with lemonade and a cinnamon sugar pretzel, she left the mall and went to the wolf preservation. Combing her fingers through Ghost’s fur and feeling the warm heavy weight of him against her was exactly what she needed. “You are such a good boy,” she cooed while rubbing behind Ghost’s ears. “You’ll spoil him if you continue on like that,” Mr. Mormont warned. “He could use some spoiling. I don’t see him enough.” “You almost done with the South? When you coming home for good?” Sansa paused a moment before answering. “I’ve applied to law programs all around Westeros. I’m not sure where I’ll be next year.” “You know, Winterfell U has a good law program. No reason to travel the country when you can get a good education in your own backyard.” “Yeah,” she replied, thinking it over. She smiled at Mr. Mormont. “But just think how spoiled Ghost would be then.”

Mr. Mormont rolled his eyes. “You’d think he was a dog they way you treat that beast.” Her time with Ghost lasted for another hour before she needed to head home to help with dinner. She kissed his face, and Ghost silently purred.  “I hate leaving you,” she told him. “You think after a few years I’d be better at it. But no. I still cry every time.” Ghost gave her such a sympathetic look that Sansa felt like he’d really understood her. “Winterfell U does have a good law program,” she murmured under her breath. After dinner, Sansa was losing spectacularly to Rickon and Bran in a game of Mario Party — she always played Princess Peach, Rickon Wario, Bran Yoshi— when Arya barged in. “Wow, Sansa, you still massively suck at this game.” “Oh, quiet!” she hissed. “I’m doing my best.” “And your best is losing to the computer Waluigi.” Sansa pressed pause. “What is it?” “Do you want to go to The Bear and the Maiden Fair with me and Gendry in a bit?” Sansa sighed.  “What?” “Well, I just woke up so early today—“ “Your choice.” “And I’m still tired from last night.” “Your fault for being so helpful.” “And I don’t know if I can stay up that late.” “We’ll get you some caffeine.” “But—“ “Oh, c’mon, Sans. You’re leaving soon, and I won’t see you for months. Come out with us. Just a few drinks.” Sansa bit her lip. “Don’t they card at The Bear and the Maiden Fair?” “Yeah, so?” “Well, last I checked, you were still only 19.” Arya rolled her eyes. “Gendry knows a guy. C’mon, it’ll be fun. There’s going to be dancing.” “I do like dancing,” Sansa mused.

“And you can have an excuse to get dressed up.”

“I do like doing that.”

“And wear your new earrings,” Arya pressed.

“Oh, those are so cute,” Sansa sighed. “And I already told Gendry to pick us up in twenty.” “Minutes?” “No, decades.” Sansa gave her younger sister a frosty look she’d learned from her mother. “Gods, yes, minutes.” Sansa inspected her ensemble of warm gray sweatpants and Robb’s old sweater from high school. “I need to change.” Arya grinned impishly and gestured her head toward the paused screen. “I’ll fill in for you. Maybe you’ll finally win a mini game.” Sansa hurled her controller at Arya, who had the audacity to catch it easily.  As she made her way to the stairs, she heard her sister muttering complaints about her character choice. “Princess Peach is a feminist icon, and I will not hear any differently!” Sansa called as she climbed the stairs. “You can still wear dresses and be powerful!” “I know! I know!” Arya shouted back.  “This is the hill I’m prepared to die on!” Sansa sang. She put on a pair of navy tights, a green plaid skirt, and a matching sweater. The light makeup she’d put on earlier had held up, but Sansa swiped on just a bit more mascara and coated her lips with just a hint of lip stain. Old habits died hard, and she snuck into her parents’ room to spritz on her mother’s perfume. She found her father on the stairs. “Going out?” he asked. She nodded. “Arya wants to go to The Bear and the Maiden Fair.” “Don’t they—“ Ned began, but then he sighed. “I’m sure your sister has a way in all worked out.” He kissed Sansa on the top of her head. “Call if you need a ride home.” “We might be our late. I don’t want to drag you out of bed.” “It won’t be me.” Ned’s eyes glimmered. “Robb will be more than happy to come pick up his sisters and learn the importance of staying sober and being a responsible parent.” She and her father shared a look that was interrupted by Arya hollering her name. “Gendry’s here!” she screeched. “Let’s go!” “I’m being summoned.” Ned smiled. “Have fun, Sansa.” “Thanks, I’ll try.” Sansa should not have been surprised that Arya, who looked even younger than she was, was nevertheless right that she’d have no trouble getting into the bar, but she was still impressed when Arya handed her a lemon drop and a ginger ale. “How?” “I told you. Gendry knows a guy.” “But it’s illegal.” Arya shrugged. “Lommy doesn’t care.” “What’s a Lommy?” Arya motioned for Sansa to grab her drink. “Cheers!” She downed nearly half her beer while Sansa sipped daintily from her drink. “Oh, you can do better than that.” Arya observed. Sansa took a larger sip. “There. Happy?” “Not nearly.” Arya looked to the bar. “Lommy! We are going to need some shots.” “How many?” “Eight.” An hour later, Sansa had very much forgotten how tired she was as she, Arya, and Gendry danced to loud pop music. She couldn’t quite remember how many drinks she’d had, but she knew that Arya and Gendry had had more. Gendry was actually a good dancer, which she had not expected, as he was normally a bit stiff and tough. Maybe it was the fact that Arya was so much shorter than him, and so they had to find inventive ways to dance together.

Sansa was quite happy to stand beside them and dance along. She had gotten quite hoarse from shouting along to the lyrics, but she was grinning like a loon anyway. To her welcome surprise, she’d run into Loras, Margaery’s brother, and his new boyfriend Renly. After another round of shots, they’d all gone back to dancing, and Sansa laughed as the couple cooed over how attractive Gendry was. “He’s called the Bull!” Arya informed them. “For a reason!” “You did good, little Stark,” Loras said. “Very good!” “He did better!” Sansa shouted. “Look how beautiful my sister is! And so talented! And just the best. I’m so proud. Arya, you know I love you, right?” “I love you too!” “Let’s move back to Winterfell,” Sansa said. “I’m so tired of being so far away. Let’s come back—and—and we can be roommates!” “YES!” exclaimed Arya, punching the air.  But no further discussion was had, as a new song started playing—“The Dornishman’s Wife (Remix Version)”— and they all started screeching and stamping to the beat. An hour later, the effects of the alcohol, despite its copious amount, had begun to wear off, and Sansa was starting to feel tired. Loras and Renly had gone to the bathroom over twenty minutes ago and had never returned. Sansa, knowing Margaery, suspected they would not come back. “My feet hurt,” she whined to Arya. “Mine too.” Gendry leaned over to let Arya climb into his back. Sansa frowned. “We shouldn’t have drinked—drank—drunk—hah! grammar! Suck it, English! I know my past participles. I’m a fucking Queen!” “Sansa!” “We should get water.” Gendry nodded and started toward the bar. “We should call Robb,” Sansa announced suddenly. “Robb?” Arya asked. “To take us home. Gendry is too drunk to drive.” “S’ too loud. Won’t hear anything.” Sansa tried to respond, but her brain couldn’t think of any response. “I’ll text him,” Arya said as Gendry returned with water and struggled to make his way onto a barstool. She pulled out her phone, and her whole face scrunched in concentration as she typed. “He’s coming!” She declared after a minute. Sansa cheered.  They sipped their water and discussed the food they wanted to eat to sober up. “Pancakes,” Arya said. “Mmm,” Sansa agreed. “And bacon.” “Yes! And eggs.” “Fries,” Gendry volunteered. “And a cheeseburger.”

“Oh my god, yes, but with bacon.”

“Yes, and pancakes too. On the side.” Both Stark girls agreed that was the best option. “We should go to the Ice Shack,” Arya said. “Rob will take us.” “They have the best milkshakes,” Sansa sighed dreamily. “I’ve never been there,” Gendry said. The next ten minutes were spent by the two sisters trying to remember and describe everything on the menu to him. At last, Arya’s phone vibrated on the bar counter. “He’s here!” “Fries!” Gendry cheered. Sansa pulled on her coat and did her best to walk evenly out of the bar, Gendry and Arya ambling slowly and laughing behind her. They opened the back seat of Robb’s red Mustang and collapsed inside. Sansa fumbled with the handle, and with some muttering was able to fall with some grace into the front passenger seat. The dazed grin on her lips died when she turned to her left and saw that it was not Robb sitting behind the wheel. “Jon?”

[coteriesrp]

     – THIS IS A SAMPLE APPLICATION FROM GHOST WITH ZAKI!

So, I’m honestly terrible at writing apps because I like... think in abstract shapes and colours and textures only, and trying to put words to that makes me cry on the best of days. My process writing this involved a lot of constant procrastination between bouts of sentences, but I tried to maintain my focus on the essence, the vibe of the character (which I hope comes through in this app). I just tackled whatever I had muse for on a given day, and only wrote as much as would come out, and this is the result, ultimately...

    – PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS IS ONLY AN EXAMPLE & ALSO THAT IT’S NOT TO BE USED AS INSPIRATION OF ANY KIND

out of character info.

ALIAS › Ghost

PRONOUNS › he / him

AGE › 30

TIMEZONE › gmt+1 (or +2, depending on daylight saving idk)

LINES › incest, child abuse, graphic sexual violence/assault, paedophilia, animal cruelty

VEILS › physical/emotional abuse, racism, homophobia, transphobia

in character info.

CHARACTER › Zaki

GENDER & PRONOUNS › cis man & he / him

APPARENT AGE › late 20s

DISCIPLINE › Fortitude

DEMEANOUR ›

If Zaki had a choice, he wouldn’t be perceived at all. His entire being blurs the lines between nature and nurture; was he always wild eyed and violent, or is it a defence mechanism constructed from a life that threatens to swallow him whole every night? If you ask him, he’d tell you that he doesn’t know. And frankly, he doesn’t care. As long as people stay at arm’s length, he’s… well, not happy, but less on edge. What others see as standoffish, Zaki sees as a healthy and warranted dose of suspicion and mistrust. Even those who see his kind as the ultimate expression of freedom — clanless — have something to hide. He doesn’t know what, but he’s not about to wait to find out and get burnt. It’s better to kill than be killed, right? And he’s quite good at killing.

JOINING THE COTERIE ›

As much as Zaki wants to go about eternity alone, it’s just not safe. He knows survival is easier when you have people watching your back, and besides… he owed the local Anarchs a favour. Fuck knows what they would’ve asked for if he said no to this.

(UN)LIFE’S PHILOSOPHY ›

Life as a mortal was similar to life as a vampire, except that he has more power now, and no one to tell him that ripping out throats is illegal, or whatever. Sure, the Camarilla tried to tell him so much, but… that’s why he’s not a Cammie, right? His philosophy for life — or the lack of it, whatever technicalities you wanna go with — is simple: kick before you’re kicked, survive by any and all means necessary. If anything, Zaki’s incredibly adaptable to a variety of situations. And one way to stay on top of the food chain is to identify the biggest, baddest motherfucker in a given area and draining them dry.

THOUGHTS ON HUMANITY ›

Zaki tries to steel himself from the plights of others — Kindred or kine — as much as he can. Just bury his humanity deep where most nights even he won’t be able to find or recognise it, and it’ll get him through his lack of life. Of course, not as easy it sounds. He’s naturally in tune with those in situations similar to himself, and perhaps it’s his humanity rebelling against the Beast, but it’s just as loud and insistent sometimes as the urges of Blood and Beast.

LIFE EVENTS ›

— He’s twenty-nine when his life comes to an end. Not because some supernatural being saw fit to suck his blood from his body and replace it with just a drop of their own – no, that comes later. Twenty-nine and bleeding out in an alley in Banha, slow, painful, the bullet lodged in his stomach enough to seal his fate, but unfortunate enough in its placement that it would take at least a few hours. It’s the dead of night when, through sweat and the haze of pain, a figure moves closer from the mouth of the alley. They watch, stand there for a long moment. His eyes close to darkness, accepting of the end. When he wakes several hours later, it’s to a hunger he’s never felt in all his years on the street and an instinctual terror bubbling in his unharmed stomach, telling him to hide, hide, hide.

— The Blood struggles as much as the Camarilla vampire in his grip, twisting to free themself to no avail; Zaki's fangs sink deeper still and the thick Blood – thicker still than that of kine – fills his mouth. He swallows, mind bursting, finding his senses still and focus. Every gulp brings him closer to what he can only presume is a peace of some kind; the cold body turns yet colder and without the Blood to animate, the elder vampire turns to ashes as if in slow-motion. Just as the ash threatens to engulf his mouth, Zaki pulls his head back and drops what's left of the true corpse crumbling in his hands. For the first time in his miserable deathly existence, the Hunger is sated. He takes a deep breath.

EXPANDING CONNECTIONS ›

– JAZIRI - Although he doesn’t precisely understand or like it, there’s something in Jaziri that Zaki feels drawn to. Perhaps it’s the lamb to the slaughter idea they seem to inhabit, or perhaps it’s because in another life, he could’ve easily fit into their shoes. He doesn’t exactly know how to deal with this, but it makes him softer towards them than towards others.

– PEACH - Zaki suffers peach for their usefulness, as their skill in and understanding of tagging and graffiti is one of the main ways the coterie can safely communicate with other Anarchs. That said, Peach is far too loud for his liking, and he doesn’t trust it one bit.

miscellaneous info.

EXTRAS ›

Here’s a playlist, and a character blog, and a pinterest, kids!

LAST WORD ›

Hello, I see you reading this, I sure hope you have a wonderful day. (: