I know it's because she's an attempt at a main series Sunset Shimmer and because they eventually have her be Twilight's student, but man I don't quite see the point in having Starlight Glimmer be a Twilight Sparkle parallel

thinking about my inkyyyy today. velari! (prev. delwyn but i finally separated them into two distinct characters lmao sry for the inevitable confusion....)

very important thing that has carried over with her character design even after the change: she's an elf and the ends of her ears fold down a little bit ;u;

ALSO bc this is taking forever to write and i've been wanting to share the line about her combat style that's nested in a smutfic, here's the combat stuff alone:

She was strong, too, more than able to hold her own in a battle without even using magic, relying on her staff as a weapon. He'd been surprised when he'd seen her transition to close combat the first time, one of the Templars they'd fought in the Hinterlands rushing her. He'd tried to cast a spell but she'd already struck a narrow, precise blow with the blade on the end of her staff. The Templar had fallen and Solas had realized then that he didn't need to worry about her.

He thought about that pinpoint precision now, distantly guilty about the direction his mind was going while he was filled with desire, but… she was so dextrous on the field, so confident and powerful. She was practical, too, keeping back with him and casting magic from a distance. He'd thought it a practicality rooted in caution, at first: later, he realized it was at least as much one rooted in subterfuge. No one expected the elven mage to know how to use her staff as a weapon, as a blade. No one expected her to get their blood on her hands, her face. They thought they'd won when they closed the distance, but they'd just lined themselves up for the slaughter.

I'm not here to debate you as people are entitled to their own opinions. However, I do want to at least understand your point of view, seriously.

From my relatively new understanding, since I'm new to all of this, society has conditioned women to be insecure of their natural faces and presented makeup to them, convincing them that they'll be more likeable with it. My own [religious] mother was a victim of this and told me multiple times to avoid makeup because it damaged her skin, along with other beauty products. She constantly tells me that I don't need to do my nails, makeup and other things because God already made me beautiful and I get the sense that she is trying to protect me. My mother faced the risk of ostracization for choosing to stop wearing makeup and my father would ❝subtly❞ suggest she put on makeup because she was ❝embarrassing❞ him.

I'm questioning about just how ❝empowering❞ it is to reclaim makeup, given that you're playing right into the hands of the patriarchy. If makeup was as good as it has been claimed to be, why do we have woman like my mother telling me that I should stay away from it? Why does my father feel embarrassed when my mother is willing to go to church with her bare face?

Can you tell me what makes makeup empowering?

Going to give you the absolute benefit of the doubt here bc you seem very young. I want to start off by clarifying that I am not a terf and I think radfems participate in a hate movement. I’ve never said makeup is inherently empowering. I don’t believe that of anything.

If you’re referring to my post about like alt/“egirl” makeup styles, I do think that ALTERNATIVE or antifashion makeup styles can be empowering. I think we need to look at antifashion and counterculture through a lens of sociopolitical analysis to understand how it can be empowering, and that’s something that I’m interested in.

So, yes, society has conditioned women to use makeup in CERTAIN WAYS to be more conventionally attractive. Makeup cannot be inherently empowering, thusly. However, there are many ways that makeup, like clothing and hair, can be used as empowering forms of self expression (this is very elementary and a well known idea). Are drag kings “succumbing to the patriarchy” by wearing makeup? What about AFAB drag queens, like Venus Envy and Sigourney Beaver? They’re using it as a kind of elevated performance, to express ideas about society and gender presentation, right?

So, when a drag king or afab queen uses makeup for that empowerment, I think that a parallel can be drawn between that and, say, the makeup styles employed by siouxie sioux in her performances.

This is clearly not making her more “conventionally attractive”— if we compare to the beauty standards of the year this photo is from, we can see a distinct separation from the trends of counterculture and that of the mainstream. Let’s also look at a more recent example of the same kind of counterculture being employed— Lolita fashion styles both in Japan and abroad, and the more “editorial” styles that have been on an uptick recently in online communities that center around makeup and fashion.

I’m not going to go too in depth about both the origins of Lolita subculture and the fashion, because I’d like to focus on makeup styles, but it’s important that you know two pieces of background information. Lolita subculture traces its origin to a feminist counterculture fashion movement that aimed to empower women and girls by embracing a more childlike, less sexualized form of dress (Haenfler). The second is that, generally, makeup goes along with dress in counterculture style movements. Exceptions exist (such as when the counterculture statement is not wearing any; although this is still essentially a makeup choice that reflects the subculture). You can read more about Lolita (and other countercultures) from a sociological lens in the article I linked below. I highly, highly recommend you take a look at not just the Lolita section, but the research about other subcultures as well.

So, in Lolita, the makeup facilitates this expression just as much as the dress. This can be seen in the fact that male-presenting Lolitas (more commonly known as Ouji) also wear makeup, including afab lolitas who present as masculine while in Lolita. (Source: Kawamura 2006). These makeup applications also do not flow with the mainstream trends of the Japanese cosmetics industry. Therefore, in the case of Lolita (and other counterculture fashion that considers gender expression, like Decora Kei), makeup use facilitates a subculture expression that goes against the mainstream and aims to allow participants to explore alternate modes of gender expression.

I started to formulate this idea, after seeing a radfem post that e-girl makeup (characteristic of overapplication of blush, enlarged eyes, and highlight on the nose) was ‘disgusting’ because it made the participants “look sick”. She seemed to think that this was a feminist stance to take— but actually, if we use the lens we have applied to previous countercultures on 21st century “alternative” makeup, we can see that in reality what she is reacting to is the fact that the makeup does not make these women conventionally attractive, and is instead inspired by subcultures from countries like Japan. Here I am going to draw a distinction between what I am considering “alternative makeup” in 2020-22, because online trends that fall more along the mainstream have caused some confusion about the term. For visual reference I suggest looking up Jazmin Bean, Rico Nasty, the Afrogoth movement in general but specifically jinxaddie and vladvonkitsch on Instagram.

The mistake to make here would be viewing counterculture makeup through the same rhetorical and analytical lens as you view mainstream makeup, assuming the goal is, essentially, fuckability. When makeup is used as part of a counterculture uniform or ensemble, it is recontextualized and becomes part of the overall statement the counterculture aims to make.

I would also like to emphasize that everything I’ve said about makeup use and counterculture is true of all women, cis and trans— trans women are affected by the mainstream societal attitudes around makeup as well, and actually a larger number of trans women participate in fashion counterculture, and therefore makeup counterculture applications apply to them and are in many instances driven by trans women.

13xReader: Inhibitions

Notes: I’ve been writing a lot more “canon” pieces recently (non-readers, posted on my ao3), but it feels nice to go back to my fandom roots, so to speak, and finish off some requests like this one! Each style has its own challenges to work through, and it’s fun to move between them and keep things interesting. I plan to keep writing for both, so no worries to anyone who prefers one over the other. This is, as always, gender-neutral for the reader, and is also border-line a disaster!reader fic, a loose characterization style created by the incredible @lilaccoats​ that I stole bc she loves me 

Summary: The Doctor takes you and the fam to a trendy bar, promising a night of relaxation and fun. Shenanigans ensue when you maybe-not-so-accidentally get a little too inebriated. 

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, drunkenness, hangovers, mentions of vomit, and attempted assault. It’s more an uncomfortable conversation than anything, and nothing graphic happens, but please be warned!

WC: 7500 please don’t look at me like that I just picked at it to unwind as I worked on my zine piece and it got entirely out of hand honk honk goes the clown mobile 

The decision to go to a bar had been Ryan’s. That alone, that the destination had been picked during his turn, ought to have been enough forewarning; it seemed that whenever a trip went sideways, it almost always fell on Ryan’s turn (or the Doctor’s, but you and the others excluded that data — her choices were always catastrophes and not worth including in the risk analysis amongst yourselves).

But faced with the usual question of “where and when to next?”, Ryan had requested a bar, and the Doctor had delivered. You had landed on an asteroid, which according to the Doctor was the location of a top-notch bar, situated along a very popular intergalactic trading route. It was certainly busy, as you all left the TARDIS in an alley and approached the sleek, shiny building; there was a short queue to get in, but people — aliens and humans both — congregated in clumps around it and as you moved through the line and entered the bar, you even looked up and noticed people on the roof.

“So,” Yaz said, propping a hip against the bar counter and taking in the sights. “This is where the great Ryan Sinclair works his magic.” She let her eyes rove around the noisy crowd, and grinned over at Ryan. “You feeling right at home then?”

Ryan shot her a scowl, his hands shoved firmly in his pockets. “Ha ha,” he said. “This is not what I had in mind when I suggested drinks.”

“What?” The Doctor asked, looking around at him. “Really? I thought I did all right.” She put her hands on her hips, surveying the crowded, noisy bar.

“Well I think it’s great Doc,” Graham said, already perusing a menu with interest. She beamed at him.

“Thank you, I try my best,” she said. She had her hands in her coat pockets, something that usually indicated she was being (or feeling) cautious. In this case, you thought she was merely trying to avoid knocking into anyone, or any drinks; the bar (if that’s what it was, it did seem more like a sort of club) was packed with people, and it would be all too easy to hook an elbow or bump a precarious drink.

Yaz and Ryan were still bickering, and although you generally enjoyed wading into those sorts of things, a menu caught your eye and you pulled it closer. You could read it, thanks to the TARDIS’ help, but translation could only go so far.

“Are these all alcoholic?” you wondered aloud, frowning at something listed as a Greyhound.

“Are they even all drinks?” Graham added, and you glanced up with a smile, knowing he was hoping for food.

“I think so,” the Doctor answered, moving over to you. She reached over to pull your menu towards her, and her sleeve brushed against your shoulder. “Hmm,” she said, still standing very close. “Sorry Graham, all liquid.” She didn’t actually sound all that sorry, you noted. Graham obviously noticed it as well, because he gave a theatrical sigh.

“Every drink has an inebriation agent of some sort,” the Doctor continued, scrunching her nose. “Different sorts for different races and species, this is a very diverse bar.”

“Are they all safe for us?” Yaz asked, also crowding your shoulder to look at the menu.

“Y-e-s,” the Doctor said slowly, followed by an “actually no,” and an eye-roll from Yaz. “Well, sort of. Depends on what you mean by safe. Humans are common enough here, but some drinks will still have a stronger or weaker effect than they would for their intended consumer. They’re coded, see?” She flattened her (your) drink menu on the counter and pointed. “This is the symbol for human, with standard colour rankings. Green means intended for you, yellow means it will have less effect, and red more.”

“Get in,” Ryan said, and you knew without having to look that he was perusing the red-coded drinks.

“You don’t want to try a Red,” the Doctor said sternly. “It could have any number of effects.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Ryan muttered, and then it was Graham’s turn to bicker with him while you and Yaz  scanned the menu.

“How do you think we order?” you wondered, after deciding to try the Greyhound, which was coded green. Yaz had decided on yellow-coded drink, which cited a lack of alcohol. Its kick came from the flavor combination and carbonation, apparently. Yaz’s particular choice sounded disgusting, and you were very much looking forward to watching her try it.

“Yeah, I don’t see a barkeep,” Graham added, craning over the counter and apparently done with trying to persuade Ryan to make good choices. “Though I suppose you might not be able to pick one out from this mess.” It was true; though you were congregated around a counter, there was no discernible life-form keeping tabs or otherwise running it, and the crushing ebb and flow of the crowd was a confusing riot of clashing voices and species. Over it all thrummed the heavy beat of music, alien but still somehow recognizable as upbeat and catchy. You had the distinct sense that this was a trendy bar, and wondered how the Doctor even knew about it.

“It’s simple,” the Doctor said, and she bent over you to again point at the menu, her arm resting against yours. “You see this bit here? You press it with your finger, then press the box next to the item you want.”

“How’s that work then?” Ryan asked dubiously.

“It’s DNA activated,” the Doctor said calmly, as if that were in any way a normal thing for a drinks menu to be. “We were all scanned when we walked through the doors, didn’t you notice?”

“Did we notice the DNA scanners in an alien bar filled with aliens?” Graham asked. “No, must have slipped my mind Doc, no idea how I missed them. ”

“Well,” the Doctor said loftily, “you were scanned. So order your drink like I said, and it’ll be brought to you.” She bent over her menu, some of her hair brushing against your face. You sat very still, swallowed, then reached for a menu and dragged it towards you (seeing as how your own had been commandeered.)

After some consideration you ordered your Greyhound, and it arrived in an interesting, fluted sort of glass, delivered by a waiter. The drink was a pleasing sanguine colour, complete with a wedge of fruit on the glass rim. The whole effect was quite good, too, which was more than Yaz could say for her yellow-coded drink, which she almost choked on. You didn’t deign to try it after that, but Ryan and the Doctor both made a big show of tasting it and being subsequently horrified. Graham, equable as ever, took the abandoned yellow in hand and sipped it serenely, something the rest of you took in with an impressed sort of horror. The Doctor drifted away shortly after with no drink of her own, which wasn’t too surprising; you rarely saw her ingest anything more than a taste of food or drink before flitting away, like some sort of overgrown and absent-minded hummingbird. Ryan and Graham wandered off too. You lingered at the counter with Yaz for a while, as she ordered a new (and improved) yellow-coded drink. You found your own glass empty, and after some hesitation, shrugged and ordered another Greyhound. It hadn’t been too strong; you simply felt warm, and bright. It was nice. Second drinks in hand, you and Yaz decided to do a circuit, it was dark and loud and you were quickly separated in the swirling crowd. No matter, you thought cheerfully, as you took another sip. You’d catch Yaz up eventually, no doubt. The music was blasting, and you unconsciously matched your footfalls to the beat, feeling it warm and sizzling in your blood along with the drink. You tipped the glass in your mouth at the end of the song, and were surprised to find it empty. “Well that’s rude,” you told the empty glass, which flashed  in your hand in a thoroughly unimpressed manner. You pivoted in the press of bodies around you, trying to find a free table and a menu. You needed replacement drink, seeing as how your current one was clearly faulty. “Must’ve shorted me,” you mumbled to yourself. “Typical. Think I can’t handle my glasses - I mean, hounds. Dogs. Drinks.” You stumbled as you pushed through a group of people, but regained your stride easily enough. You even spotted Ryan in a shadowy corner, chatting with a very lovely alien indeed. She seemed to be trying to entice Ryan to dance; you wished her the best of luck. Ryan was a hilarious dancer. Not bad, but definitely hilarious, and he took some convincing. You reached a table on the edge of the dance floor, and pulled a menu towards yourself. It took you a couple of jabs to correctly order your Greyhound — your finger kept slipping. Or maybe it was the menu, actually. “Faulty drinks, faulty menus,” you complained to the room at large, leaning back against a pillar as you waited. The people swirling around you were difficult to focus on, and you wondered suddenly if the room was tilting — surely the room itself wasn’t faulty! “Have to get the foundations checked,” you informed the alien server who appeared with your drinks. They gave you an odd look and vanished. You reached for your drink, but paused, hand outstretched as you considered the not one but three glasses set before you. Two Greyhounds, and one that was something else, a smaller, opaque glass. The liquid shimmered in a very interesting way indeed, and it was difficult to look away. Well, perhaps they had brought you the extra drinks on the house, in order to make up for all the faults you’d been uncovering left and right. You stumbled as you pondered this, which as far as you were concerned was proof enough of the foundational flaws; you were, after all, standing still, so what other reason would you have to stumble? Unbelievable. You reached for the Greyhound, but your hand paused, then changed course halfway through and grasped the smaller, shimmering cup instead. It was very light in your grip. You tasted it and stumbled again; it had hit your tongue with a wallop, your entire body was fizzing with a bolt of what must be pure electricity, there was no other possible explanation. Everything around you was abruptly brighter, louder, richer. You blinked, fascinated. “Not too many humans can handle their reds,” a voice said next to you, and you set the cup down with a thud, squinting as the alien next to you came slowly into focus. “You usually so squiggly?” you asked him, and he titled his head, dark eyes moving from you to the half-drunk cup, and back again. His smile flashed in the low light, and for a moment it was all you could see, becoming somehow the brightest, sharpest thing in the room. “It’s a curse,” he said, and you nodded sagely, taking another sip. His eyes followed the cup, and his smile sharpened. “Could cut myself on that,” you observed. “Teeth,” you added, when he looked confused. Perhaps he was drunk; it was ridiculous how many people couldn’t hold their liquor! “Want to try?” he asked, and his hand was on your arm. You weren’t sure when it got there. “Excuse me?” you said, loftily, aiming for a bit of the Doctor in your speech. You thought you did quite well, but the alien didn’t look as annoyed as anyone on the receiving end of one of the Doctor’s questions usually did. Rude. “Do I want to try what?” you asked belatedly, and realized that you were being towed towards the dance floor. When had you made that decision? Time seemed to be leaping ahead and then stalling out in great lurches, and everything was fuzzy and dull. You felt the glass taken from your hand, and were vaguely surprised to find that it was empty again. Another faulty glass? Really? You might have to register a complaint. “Not a lot of humans here,” the alien said, and his hands were on your sides, moving you to the music. People pressed all around you, bumping your shoulders and making it difficult to get your bearings. Your shoes squelched on the slightly sticky floor as they moved. You wanted to stop and see if you could get the room to stop spinning so much, but the hands on you kept you in motion. The alien was speaking again, close to your ear so you could hear him over the din. “You come here alone?” he asked, his fingers warm against your side, and tight. You tried to pull back to get a better look at him but he kept you where you were.“No,” you said, blinking as you tried to orient yourself. Your eyes kept sliding in and out of focus. “Came with m’friends.” “And they left you all alone, to drink a red?” he murmured, and his grip tightened. He was pulling you across the dance floor; the light was fading, and you realized all at once, as you moved into a more shadowed section of the room with only the gleaming crescent of his smile visible, that you were actually quite drunk, and didn’t know where any of the others were. “Should - should get back to them,” you tried to articulate, and he laughed, one of his hands sliding lower. “You’re right where you want to be.”  You stiffened, and tried to pull away. “No, I want to find my friends,” you slurred, jerking back. He held your arm, and pulled you into him in a great twirl, and suddenly your back was against a dark, slightly sticky wall. He loomed over you, one hand still vise-like on your arm, the other pressed against the wall by your head. He smiled down at you, except it didn’t really look so much like a smile anymore, but just a lot of very sharp, gleaming teeth. Your face was very cold, and you wished the room would stop spinning enough that you could push him off and find the others. “I could be your friend,” the alien said, his breath fanning across your face, his hand sliding lower again. The hand on the wall touched your hair, curled a lock of it musingly through his fingers. “I just love red-drunk humans, all alone and lost and looking for a friend to help them.” You struggled again in his grip, and this time he let you go. You lurched sideways along the wall, falling against the corner in a heap. You thought you should feel sick, but you only felt annoyed, and cold, and something else, something like confusion that was tipping towards fear. The alien lifted you back up, hands on your arms, then pressed you back against the corner, his weight against you. Annoyance flared and you tried to push him away. “Let go,” you ordered, but he only laughed, touched your face. “You don’t want to be alone right now do you little Red?” he asked. “I’m sure that’s true,” a new voice interrupted. It had a familiar, lilting cadence, but you didn’t recognize the sharpness to it, or the way danger simmered beneath the surface. The alien didn’t glance away from you. “We’re busy,” he said, touching your face again. “Find your own —” but then he was ripped away from you in swirl of grey fabric and flashing eyes. You swayed, then jerked back as hands touched you again, but — “It’s okay,” that voice said, “it’s alright, it’s me,” and you recognized it this time. The Doctor tucked you against her side and you inhaled that familiar scent of tea and vanilla, and it cleared your head a little, enough to let out a shaky breath. “He’s being - rude,” you told the Doctor, your voice muffled as you glared at the alien. “Yes, he is,” she answered. Her voice was still light, and soothing, and you weren’t able to see the way she was looking at him.  He scowled, gaze darting from you to the Doctor and back before making a dismissive sort of hand gesture and melting into the crowd. The Doctor stood very still for a moment, and you all you could hear was the thunder of her hearts. She let out a breath, then turned you. Again you found your back against that wall, only the hands on you were gentle, and cool. The Doctor touched your face as she looked at you, and that was better too. “Are you okay?” she asked, and you wondered at the appearance of that crease in her brow. She looked dangerous, in the half-light, but her hands were still so light. You nodded, and suddenly her grip on you was tight as she kept you from toppling over. “Wouldn’t - leave me alone,” you told her. “Rude.” “You already said that,” she observed, removing one of her hands to fish in a pocket for her sonic. You blinked at her, swaying on your feet as she ran it over you. She read the output and exhaled. “Tell me you didn’t drink a red.” “I didn’t drink a red,” you repeated dutifully, and watched as her entire face scrunched up in exasperation. It was nice.“You’re so pretty,” you informed her. It was important that she knew in that moment how pretty she was, with her face all scrunchy and the flashing lights making a halo of her head. “So pretty. Too pretty.” You stumbled, and again she caught you. “Okay, I think it’s back to the TARDIS with you.” “Says who,” you slurred, even as she steered you away from the wall and towards the exit. “You’re not — you’re not the boss of me.” “I certainly am,” she muttered. “Especially when you’ve gone and had a red, and I explicitly told you it was a bad idea.” Her grip on your arm was firm and cool, and infinitely preferable to the alien’s. The other alien, that was, because obviously she was alien too. So many aliens! “You’re the best alien though,” you mused aloud, and she darted a quick look at you, tongue poking briefly out of her lips. You liked that quite a lot. You wanted her to do it again, in fact, but she had drawn her lips back into a thin line as she watched you. She steered you towards the exit, but the crowd seemed to have doubled in size, and she was forced to shove her way bodily through the dancing, yelling patrons. A much larger person staggered into her and she grunted as she took the blow. “I think I hate bars,” she said, her voice all but inaudible over the din. “That’’s new. Maybe.” Someone else knocked into her, and the force was heavy enough to jar your arms from her grip. She receded from you in a blurry tunnel of light and sound, and then it was just you, pressed between strange bodies on the dance floor while the music thundered through your bones. Huh. Almost everyone was taller than you, and you had no idea which way the exit was, or the Doctor. You didn’t care much about the exit, but it’d be good to find the Doctor; you had felt less…. fuzzy, when her hands had been on your arms, and more like yourself again. And also she was just so pretty. Wandering in a blurry haze of music and voices, you began to wonder if maybe you might locate another drinks menu. You weren’t so sure about another red, but it also didn’t seem like quite as bad of an idea as it had an hour ago. That was interesting. Weaving and stumbling, you tried to push through the press of bodies, and had made a little bit of progress when — — hands, there were hands on you again — You lurched sideways as you tried to bat those hands away, but there was nowhere to go, the wall of people bounced you back, and the lights were flashing and people were shouting and there were hands on you again — “ - alright? Hey?” The hands succeeded at spinning you around, and a person loomed out of the crowd. Two things followed in short order: you recognized Yaz, and you threw out a defensive fist. They didn't happen in the optimal order, however. “Oi!” Yaz cried, dodging your fist and catching it in her own. “It’s me, what the hell?” She was still sliding in and out of focus, but you were aware of the fact that she was quite pretty too. "’M sorry,” you told her, wondering why she was pulling away from you. You hadn’t actually hit her, after all. Had you? “Sorry,” you repeated, swaying.She was peering at you, her hands firm on your arm. Her eyes were very dark, but they reflected the dancing lights all around you and you blinked, fascinated. “Are you okay?” she asked cautiously. “Absolutely corking,” you slurred, proud to remember the phrase you had heard Graham use (and Ryan mock) earlier. You weren’t sure why it made Yaz look so alarmed. “Yaz — oh, good —” The Doctor popped into your view as she squeezed between two dancing aliens who took no notice of her, which was probably good because her expression was quite stormy indeed. She still looked quite pretty. How’d she manage that? It wasn’t fair. “Doctor,” Yaz said, turning, “I think something’s wrong —” “Someone decided that they should have a red,” the Doctor said, grim. “I also had two - three - I had - greens!” you told them both, proud. Yaz’s look of alarm deepened, and it was so comical that you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up. When that did nothing except make her and the Doctor’s brows both snap into synchronized, angry little v shapes, you only giggled harder. “Right, TARDIS,” the Doctor said ominously. “Yaz, can you find Ryan and Graham and let them know?” Yaz nodded and between one blink and another, she had vanished again. “Just like magic,” you told the Doctor, wondering why your lips were numb. She gave you a swift, searching look, her eyebrows still angry little vs and her tongue still poking between her lips. “Come on,” she said, wrapping a cool hand around your wrist. The contact was steadying, and very nice. She kept you close, clearly not wishing to be separated again as she towed you towards the exit. “Don’t want to go,” you told her abruptly, and you couldn’t hear your voice over the crowd and the music. You didn’t even know why you said it; it wasn’t true, strictly. You still felt like you could fit in another drink or two worth of fun, but you didn’t really care where you went, not if the Doctor was with you. Even if she looked so angry as she glanced back over her shoulder. She had heard you, evidently. She had very good hearing; you and Ryan and Yaz had been working on an experiment to test the limits of it, but hadn’t put it in action yet. Someone bumped into the Doctor hard and she grunted, but her grip on you remained iron-clad and she pulled you closer, actually folding you into her arms to protect you from the jostling crowd.“This is not what I had in mind,” she muttered, her lips very close to your ears as she spoke. It was nice, and extraordinarily distracting. “Do people actually enjoy these places?” “Ryan does apparently,” you said, remembering him chatting up that pretty alien. “This was his idea wasn’t it?” the Doctor mused, moving again and pulling you with her. You were still very close. “I don’t suppose we’ll be letting him choose the next adventure. Ah. That’s better,” she added as she stepped out of the bar and into the night, towing you with her.  A blast of cool, humid air hit you, wrapping around your body and cooling your cheeks. Even though the bar itself had been fairly dark, your eyes still relaxed as the flashing lights fell away.The Doctor let go, and the sobering effect of the night seemed to pull back, a little, as if you’d lost your anchor. The world tilted around you, the stars overhead wheeling and dancing. It made you feel a little bit sick, but it was also beautiful. The Doctor was talking, and you struggled to focus.“Think we parked just over there, yeah, must’ve. Let’s go — where are you going?” The last was delivered with an air of extreme exasperation as she turned in time to witness you bolting away. “I want to be colder,” you told her as you stumbled through the night. You were on pavement (alien pavement, anyways) but in the distance you could see the shadow of what had to be trees (alien trees) and maybe some grass (alien grass). You wanted nothing so much as to lay down on that grass. The Doctor’s protests followed you as you reached the tree and hurled yourself down at the cool earth. Well, not earth. Whatever passed for earth here. What was dirt on an asteroid called? A shadow fell over you, blocking the stars, and you turned your cheek in the grass to look up at the silhouette of the Doctor, hands on her hips, stray hairs blowing in the wind.“You’re sick, you need to get back to the TARDIS,” she said. “You’re sick, you need to get back to the TARDIS,” you replied cheerfully, and even though you couldn’t see her expression very well in the darkness and swirling stars, you could feel the scrunched-up scowl she leveled at you. “Come on,” she said, and her voice was exasperated but her hands were gentle as they lifted you off the ground. Gentle again, as they caught you when you stumbled sideways. “Careful, now. Come on.” “Don’t feel - so good -” you told her, and it was true; the fuzzy, warm glow was fading and the whirling of the stars wasn’t so much aesthetically pleasing as it was now sickening. “I expect not,” the Doctor muttered. “What could have possibly possessed you to drink so much? To drink a red?” “I didn’t mean t’ order it,” you defended yourself. “It was just - just there.” “And you drank it? Something you hadn’t ordered?” the Doctor demanded. “Surely you know not to do that!” “Just trying to have fun,” you mumbled, guilt rising up in you alongside the nausea. “Just wanted —  didn’t mean to — I wasn’t —” “Okay, it’s okay, I know,” the Doctor said, her voice softening. She shifted you against her as she spoke, and you realized she was fumbling for the TARDIS key. The blue box was humming at an almost inaudible frequency, but you could feel it moving through you bones, cooling your blood, steadying you. “Thanks,” you said weakly, patting a hand on the wood as the Doctor steered you through. The interior slights dimmed as you came in,  and it was a soothing balm on your eyes and raw nerves. “She’s spoiling you lot,” the Doctor muttered, but you could hear the fondness threading through her voice. “She likes us,” you thought, or maybe said. The Doctor made a soft sound, not quite a word, and you weren’t sure if she’d heard you. Weren’t sure if you’d spoken. “Okay, try and eat this,” the Doctor said a few moments later. Or maybe hours, you still weren’t entirely sure how time was progressing. Her fingers brushed your lips as she placed a fizzing sort of tablet on your tongue, and you realized all at once that your lips weren’t numb anymore, but blazing with sensation. “Swallow it, it’ll help,” she added. You blinked, looking into her face, so close to yours. There was still that furrow by her eyebrow but she didn’t seem angry, anymore. Not like she had with she’d stared down that rude alien. Her eyes were bright, glittering like the star field outside of the bar. “Too pretty,” you complained, then promptly choked on the tablet you had forgotten on your tongue. “Swallow,” she repeated, placing two fingers on your mouth. Your breath hitched, which did not help the choking one bit. You did, at least, in the midst of the resulting coughing fit, manage to swallow the tablet,  but it burned and your eyes streamed as you blinked at the Doctor. “Good,” she said, placing fingers under your chin. Her touch was somehow both cooling and blazing, comforting and so very distracting. You made an indeterminate sound, and her eyes flicked to yours, a brief touch, before flicking over your face. “That should kick in soon,” she said, dropping her hand. “Is it — gonna cure me,” you asked, and the breathless quality to your voice was due to the lingering affects of drunkenness, surely, and not the Doctor’s touch. She snorted, pushing hair out of her eyes.“It’ll speed up the process, burn the chemicals out of your system faster,” she said. “And it’ll make for a quicker hangover.” She fixed you with an amused look. “Quicker, but not easier. You’re in for a fun night, I think.” You groaned, throwing yourself down on the couch. You regretted it at once, as your head spun and your stomach roiled, but the drama of the moment had dictated.“I didn’t mean to,” you complained, shutting your eyes as the lights spun around you. The spinning didn’t stop, in the darkness behind your eyelids, but it was a little bit better. Maybe. A cool hand brushed your forehead, and that definitely was better. “I know,” she said, and you could hear the gentleness in her voice. “Am I going to die?” you asked, not because you thought that you were — you’d been sick before, though admittedly not from alien alcohol — but it had the right flair of drama to it. It also made the Doctor snort again, and regrettably, her hand slid from your brow. “You’re drunk, not dying,” she said, and her voice was receding as she moved around the room.  “Humans and their substances, honestly.” Something was placed on your brow, cool and damp and soothing. The Doctor tucked the cloth against your head with deft, gentle fingers even as she continued to explain her thoughts on humans and all of their myriad of flaws. “You’ve never been drink — you don’t drunk —” You stumbled over the words, and felt her fingers still, then fall away from the cloth. You opened your eyes and with the room spinning and the dim light and the serious, difficult to read expression on her face, she looked as remote and otherworldly as she actually was for all that she was your friend. “Time Lords are an advanced race, we certainly don’t have the same genetic predispositions towards inebriation or the desire to attempt so,” she said finally, still looking down at you. You grunted, considering her words as they slid in and out of your head.“Didn’t answer the question,” you observed, and were rewarded with a scowl. “Hm,” was all she said, but she was smiling slightly. “Try to rest now, and if you need to be sick —” she kicked something on the floor that gave a hollow thud. “Try to aim in here, yeah?” “I am not going to be sick,” you said firmly, and the Doctor’s smile flashed in the dim light. “I hope not, the pill’s supposed to help with that but,” she shrugged expansively, and even through the spinning room you were able to focus in shocking clarity on the pull of her shirt across her frame she did so, “I don’t really know what combination of ingredients you drank, and how they’ll react to the other things you drank or your own biology. So. Bin.” She nudged it with a boot again. “I’m going to check on the others, and you’re going to stay here. I’ll be right back.” You didn’t want her to go, but you were feeling worse by the moment as the alcohol was burned out of your system and, as far as you could tell, migrated to your head. You could feel each heartbeat rattling in your skull like knives, and your roiling stomach kept speed with it. You moaned something that the Doctor took for agreement. Time passed, although you weren’t in any way able to keep track of it. You suspected it had been a century based on the pounding in your head, but it could have only been a few heartbeats. Either way, you were still alone when you realized that what you really needed was some water. Nobody was around to hear you, but you still complained and groaned and generally made a spectacle as you swung your legs off the couch, sitting upright. Your stomach made a solid pass at leaping out of your throat, but you steadied yourself with a snarl; you were not going to need the bin, you were not going to be sick. And you were right; all thoughts of nausea fled as you pushed yourself to your feet, because your skull might as well have shattered. Your headache pounded so violently that you thought it might be slamming you through the floor; it felt too heavy, too thick, too white-hot with blinding pain. Death was infinitely preferable to this miserable thing called life. “Never — drinking — again —” you vowed, swaying, hoping the floor might just swallow you whole and end your suffering. “A noble sentiment,” the Doctor said from behind you. “But one rarely adhered to, I suspect. What are you doing off the sofa?” She appeared at your side, a steadying hand on your elbow. “You didn’t sick up somewhere did you,” she added with sudden trepidation, looking around your feet apprehensively. “I just wanted something to drink,” you told her, wretched. Your head was still pounding, and even the dimmed lights were still too bright. They stabbed your eyes with sharp, splintering shards of pain. You groaned, and leaned your head instinctively against the Doctor’s shoulder. “I think you’ve had quite enough to drink,” she said, with a touch of asperity, but her hand was gentle as ever as she smoothed hair back from your forehead. “Water,” you clarified, your voice muffled from the folds of her coat. It was soft, and cool, and smelled like home. “Ah,” the Doctor said, steering you back to the couch. She eased you down again. “Stay, I’ll get you some water and a new cloth.” “Where are the others? Are they coming?” you asked miserably as she reappeared, setting a glass of water in your hands. It had a truly spectacular bendy, swirly straw that was almost as long as the glass itself, a vibrant purple and orange that hurt your eyes to look at, but you appreciated the gesture as you lifted it to your mouth with weak hands. “They’ll be here soon, they’re trying to find Ryan,” the Doctor said. The cushions dipped as she settled on the other end of the sofa. “They might have to expand the search,” you said, thinking of that alien he had been speaking with. You groaned as your head gave another spike of pain, and slid down the couch as sitting became too much effort. “Just rest,” the Doctor said. “It’ll pass.” “Promise?” “I promise,” she said, and your eyes were closed, but you could hear the slight smile in her voice. “I am the best alien, after all.” You could definitely hear the smile, now, and something niggled at your memory; you suspected that the Doctor was poking fun at something you had said while in the bar, but the memory was sliding in and out with tremendous spikes of pain and you let it go. You suspected that you had said many unfortunate things, and you could only hope that the Doctor hadn’t heard or remembered most of them. You drifted for a time, after that, surfacing to occasional bursts of pain or nausea or, more welcome, cool hands on your brow as they took your temperature or readjusted the the damp cloth. Clarity — and more importantly, an absence of that all-encompassing pain — arrived abruptly. You sat up gingerly, feeling weak and shaky and not even remotely good, but it was a normal not-good, not I’m going to die and if not I wish it would hurry up about it not-good. “Ah, here we are,” the Doctor said, and you looked over to see her curled up at her end of the couch, a book in her hand.  She closed it and tucked it in the cushion. “Feeling better?” “Yeah,” you said, peeling off the now warm and dry cloth from your head. You looked down at it, then the mercifully empty bin at your feet. Something else rolled in your stomach, almost worse than the earlier nausea: shame, with a side of guilt. “Ah. Sorry, about all that,” you mumbled, darting another look at the Doctor. She was watching you, a slight smile curving her lips, but her eyes were sharp as they flicked over you, still assessing. “Accepted,” she said, scooting over to you and fishing her stethoscope out of her pocket. “Deep breath,” she said, resting it against your chest. “You don’t have anything to apologize for anyways,” she added.  “It’s not your fault you got served a red, or that someone tried to take advantage of you for it.” You had forgotten about that, had forgotten about that other alien and his heavy, unwelcome hands, and his sharp, hungry smile. You shuddered, and the Doctor’s eyes touched your own, a welcome distraction. “I’m okay, you don’t need to waste time on me,” you muttered, but she was pushing a fresh glass of water into your hand. “Drink. And yes I do, or do you not remember bolting up and trying to climb the  TARDIS console?” You goggled at her. “Apparently not,” she said with a wicked grin. “No, don’t apologize again, it’s okay. You got me out of that bar anyways, I really wasn’t vibing with it. ”You had been awash in horror at your actions, but the Doctor’s last words snapped you out of it. “Vibing with it?” you repeated, incredulous.   She shot you a look, tongue poking slightly between her lips.“Yeah, am I using that right? Ryan taught me.”  You were still goggling at her, but the sound of a door opening and a rush of voices distracted you both. “Ah, finally,” the Doctor said, brushing off her legs and standing up. “I wonder what kept them. We’re in here,” she added, pitching her voice to carry to the others and making no effort to define where “here” was; it was obvious to her, and that apparently was to be enough for everyone else. It was very her. Everything she did was very her, you mused. Not just because it was her doing them, but because she did everything with such one-hundred percent commitment, energy, and enthusiasm. You smiled slightly, watching her as she stood with her hands on her hips. She’d taken off her coat at some point, and she looked smaller without it, more wild and fleeting, something ephemeral. She glanced over her shoulder at you and smiled when she met your eyes. That smile was also wild, fleeting and ephemeral, but it grounded her, a little bit, in the here and now. And you, too. “Hello,” Yaz said, stepping into the room. She looked tired, her hair coming out of its braids, her jacket mussed, but it was a happy sort of tired. “Have fun?” The Doctor asked as Yaz threw herself down on the couch next to you. “Yes,” Yaz said, leaning her head back on the cushions. “Not as much fun as some other people, though,” she added, and turned her head to fix you with her dark, glittering eyes. “How are you doing?” “I feel like death,” you told her, and stuck out your tongue when she grinned. “That’s what you two get for going off-book,” she said smugly, wiggling her shoulders deeper into the couch and kicking off her shoes before lifting her legs and curling them up on the couch. “Oi, I didn’t drink a red,” the Doctor said, indignantly. “Not that I would have been affected, if I had. You humans are so — ” “She been going on like this the whole time?” Yaz asked you, and the Doctor gave her a dark look. You giggled, and it only made your head split down the middle a little bit. It was worth it, for the expression on the Doctor’s face. “Definitely,” you confirmed, wincing as you lifted a hand to rub your temples. “This is the thanks I get, for spending my night chasing after red-drunk humans? Mockery and false accusations?” “Not you,” Yaz said, rolling her eyes. “I was talking about — “ “Hellooooooo TARDIS!” “That,” Yaz finished, turning to watch as Ryan crashed into the room, with an aggrieved Graham in his wake. The Doctor groaned, throwing her hands up. “Ryan! Not you too!” “Guilty your honor,” Ryan crooned, spinning a wild circle and narrowly avoiding the couch with his flailing feet. You hastily copied Yaz, drawing your feet up onto the cushions and settling in to watch the show. “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love! Congratulate me.” “You’re not in love, son, you’re drunk,” Graham said wearily, trying to grab Ryan, but he spun out of reach. And fell over. The room shuddered. You gasped, Yaz clapped a hand over her mouth, Graham cursed. The Doctor closed her eyes. “Ow,” Ryan said, but he was smiling beatifically up at the ceiling. “What happened?” The Doctor asked resignedly, crouching by Ryan and taking his pulse, then pulling out her sonic. He ignored her, still smiling happily up at the ceiling, his toes clicking together as he hummed. He was still firmly in the “fun” stage of the Red inebriation, it seemed. “What do you think, Doc?” Graham answered tiredly, moving to stand by them. “He wanted to impress a pretty girl.” “Did he?” you asked, interestedly. The situation was a lot funnier when it wasn’t happening to you, it turned out. “Well, he chugged a red and challenged some bloke to a dance contest,” Yaz said. She was grinning, and it was the grin of a sober woman witnessing the carnage wreaked by foolish friends. “We almost didn’t get him out of there.” The Doctor stood up, pinching her nose. She came to a decision.“Right. I’ll get him a pill, but I’ve done my babysitting duty for the night. He’s your problem after that.” She stode from the room, and you heard her mutter something about never going to a bar again. Yaz heard her too, and you shared a grin. Ryan, it turned out, had very little interest in taking the hangover-speed-up pill from the Doctor. It also turned out that red-inebriation or no, he could still move very quickly, and it took the combined efforts of Yaz, Graham and the Doctor to get the pill in his mouth. You filmed most of on your phone you'd fumbled quickly out of a pocket, which as far as you were concerned did just as much to help the situation as any of them. The Doctor threw herself down on the sofa next to you with an explosive sigh. “I am never,” she said, tipping back her head, “taking humans to a bar. Ever again.” Ryan moaned from the floor, punctuating the statement with eloquence. Yaz sat down on the Doctor’s other side, then scooted over to make room for Graham who was looking silent and shell-shocked. You found your shoulders rubbing the Doctor’s, and you curled your feet up under you to make more room while leaning your head against her shoulder. You could hear her twin heartbeats, and after a moment she rolled her head so that her chin was resting in your hair.“You’re all on probation,” she said, firmly. You hummed skeptically, and Yaz snorted. Graham was still grimly silent, but you knew he’d come around. Silence, for a moment, interrupted only by Ryan’s increasingly pathetic moans.“Shall I pop in a movie?” Yaz asked finally. “Go on then,” the Doctor said, resigned, but you could hear the smile in her voice. “We’re going to be here for a while.” “‘’m never drinking again,” Ryan groaned from the floor.  He clapped his hands over his ears as you all began to laugh, which did exactly nothing to help. “Humans,” the Doctor said to the TARDIS ceiling, but she was still smiling. “You love us,” Yaz said, standing up and moving to put on a movie. “Yeah,” the Doctor said after a moment, so softly that you thought you might be the only one who heard it. “I do.”

* sofia carson, cis female + she/her | you know raquel morales, right? they’re twenty-five, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, most of her life? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to go your own way by fleetwood mac like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole leather jacket and stiletto boots, red painted lips, alphabetized record collection thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is september 20, so they’re a virgo, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

trigger warning: death, drugs, alcohol

basic info

full name: raquel morales giraldo

birth date: september 20, 1995

pronouns: she/her

hometown: irving, north carolina

sexuality: bisexual

height: 5′5″

eye color: hazel

hair color: dark brown

build: slim

tattoos: the letters “crel” along the inside of her middle finger (the initials of each morales sister, including herself), an eighth note behind her ear, blooming flowers going up her left thigh

piercings: many, many ear piercings, formerly pierced nose but the hole has closed up

style: if you see her around and she’s not wearing a leather jacket, that’s not her

favorite color: black

favorite food: torta negra

zodiac: virgo sun, leo moon, scorpio rising

mbti: istj

hogwarts house: slytherin

enneagram: type 3 wing 4

temperament: choleric-melancholy

alignment: true neutral

rocky was born the second oldest out of four sisters, though her younger sisters weren’t that much younger. one of a set of identical triplets, rocky always felt herself taking on the “big sister” role when it came to ellie and lisa, even if they were only a couple hours younger than her. their oldest sister, cassidy, was already ten when the triplets were born, so by the time they were able to remember, cassidy was already off living her own life. there was a distinct separation between the triplets and cassidy, but the triplets were so close knit that none of them really minded.

each triplet seemed to be a prodigy in their own way. ellie moved her way through the ranks of her ballet company faster than any other kid in the studio’s history, lisa could charm just about anyone and was a natural actress, and rocky gravitated towards music. she could pick up just about any instrument and play it, and music became her escape. she shared a face and so much else with two other girls, but music was the thing that was solely hers. but, being the most logical out of the three, she saw music as more of a hobby than a career. when the time came for university, she planned on majoring in business. but - as a nod to her true passion - her concentration was on the music industry.

during undergrad, she met her boys. the four were music majors with different concentrations who’d decided to form a band, but unfortunately were short a guitarist. they held auditions, rocky showed up on a whim, and was promptly welcomed into the band. it was odd, at first, being the only girl when she’d grown up in a household of mainly girls, but she acclimated quickly. it was the first time she’d felt at home since she’d left her sisters back in irving. they became popular on and around campus, and eventually a few other local universities started booking them. after graduation, they got a record deal - rocky led the negotiations, of course - and after that, syndicate took off.

syndicate’s fanbase consisted of people mostly interested in her bandmates, and it didn’t bother her until the fans started targeting her on social media. there were rumors going around that she and the lead singer were “more than friends” (which at the time was not true), and his most extreme fangirls bullied her until she had no choice but to delete her social media accounts. after that she focused on the music and nothing else, until one night at an afterparty, the lead singer made a move. sure, they’d had a weird, jealous flirtationship for most of the time they’d known each other, but nothing had ever happened. they started dating in secret, nobody knowing except the other guys in the band. after a while, rocky reactivated her social media accounts, and hoped the lead singer would have her back now that they were actually together.

long story short, he didn’t.

DRUGS, ALCOHOL, DEATH TW. they started fighting. a lot. and the more they fought, the harder rocky partied. she fell deep into the underground music party scene and started mixing progressively harder drugs with alcohol, until one day she overdosed. she wasn’t supposed to survive, but someone was looking out for her that night. she found out too late that her youngest sister, lisa, had died that same night. she flew home just for the funeral before discreetly checking herself into rehab, though nothing could fix the fact that one whole third of herself was now missing.

after rehab, she made the decision to leave not only syndicate, but the music industry altogether. music had become a gateway drug instead of an escape, and she couldn’t let all of her hard work in rehab go to waste, not to mention it felt like a slap to the face to her dead sister. instead she enrolled in grad school back home, and ultimately syndicate broke up without her. nobody outside of the band and her family know about her rehab stint, nor do they realize that she was the instigator behind the band’s breakup. she carries the guilt around with her still, though.

added bc i c/ped the intro from when i played her before: rocky dated isaac hensely in high school for a couple years, and she started thinking that maybe he was it for her. she’d planned on going to the same school as him instead of her dream school, and when she told him, he broke up with her (right before prom, too). she wasn’t going to go after that, but ellie and lisa convinced her to. she stayed until she saw isaac there with another girl, and promptly left. she didn’t even stay for long enough to see him and his date crowned prom king and queen.

wanted connections (yes these are also c/ped from when i played her before lol)

anybody wanna apply to be one of the band members????

someone who went to rehab with her and knows

a confidant for when she doesn’t have her sisters to talk to

friends i guess??

flirty frenemies?????? that’s clearly her type lol

a fwb thing that’s not serious but just when they both need to blow off some steam

someone who tempts her back into music (slowburn lol)

i am so bad at wanted connections i’m so sorry

Analyzing P5R Theories as provided by Reddit

There is evidence to theoretically disprove the majority of running theories for the new girl shown in the P5R announcement announcement, as well as narrow down the potential roles said character may serve. In this essay, I will argue--

in other news, PERSONA 5 THE ROYAL IS ANNOUNCED BOIS

I did some digging bc I’m desperate for more information on our qt new girland found The Basic Theories™

1. new girl is basically female akechi/a new antagonist

2. new girl is basically Marie

3. new girl is a new party member

4. p5r will ultimately be like p3FES and new girl is the protagonist of p5r’s version of The Answer

5. new girl is absolutely not femc

6. new girl is a femc

along with two subsets of all these theories

a. p5r is deconfirmed for switch bc the website only lists playstation 4 as a platform

b. no fuck that a switch reveal comes in a later announcement

I’m going with a solid “no” for 1-5, and here’s why:

1. Frankly, I feel like a new antagonist would be much more vehemently outspoken against the Phantom Thieves. Translations of the trailer are pretty much in agreement with her saying essentially “I don’t fully trust them or like their methods, but helping people in general isn’t a bad thing. I just think that change has to come from the person.” which... doesn’t sound like an antagonist to me at all. A true antagonist does not yield. This sounds like one of two things: a bystander with her own ideals, or a party member in the making.

2. Nothing we’ve seen about New Girl, who will be referred to as “Ponytail” for the rest of this, matches up with... anything about Marie. Marie basically lived in the Velvet Room, and she had indications in her design that showed as much--she had a unique style to separate her from non-story-relevant NPCs, and the hat seems like a dead giveaway that she has something to do with the velvet room and its residents. Ponytail has... none of that. She looks fairly normal and has no details pointing to a character tied to the Velvet Room.

3. Ponytail is too normal-looking to be a regular party member, which sounds like bullshit, until you look at our main cast.

Not the best picture, but it was the best official art I could find that included all our intrepid friends. Out of all of this, there are two characters wearing their uniforms properly: Yusuke, who attends a different school from the rest of the Phantom Thieves and still stands out for wearing his uniform, and Akira, who’s obviously not a regular party member. Makoto has a vest, Ann wears her uniform jacket over something stylish, Ryuji wears a graphic tee, and Haru is in the background wearing a pink sweater with her uniform. Morgana’s a cat and Futaba doesn’t go to school, so they have excuses, but still look unique for it.

Ponytail, however, wears a regular Shujin uniform. She doesn’t especially stand out, and doesn’t do much to dress up her uniform, except for the big red bow in her ponytail. Kind of like Akira, she has an accessory and looks distinct from a normal NPC, but not so distinct that she makes sense as a regular party member.

4. [MAJOR SPOILER DO NOT READ IF YOU WANT TO AVOID SPOILERS] Unless I’m mistaken, the voice in the very beginning asking Ponytail about the Phantom Thieves is Akechi. An epilogue-type story such as The Answer wouldn’t work with the dialogue we have, because as you know if you’ve played through p5, Akechi is dead by the end of the story, so this conversation (and Ponytail’s relevance) has to happen before that point. The dialogue implies that Ponytail has plot relevance during the main story itself, rather than appearing and becoming relevant after the events of the main story a la FES and The Answer. This also rules out a prequel-type story for the same reasons.

5. Literally none of the reasonings for Ponytail not being a FeMC hold water. The primary three reasons I’ve seen are “her pin says she’s a first year and Akira is a second year,” “her dialogue is saying she doesn’t like the Phantom Thieves,” and “she looks nothing like Akira”. Firstly, a FeMC doesn’t have to be just a gender-swap of the protagonist with no other changes to the story. It’s perfectly reasonable for a FeMC route to also change the protagonist’s age, maybe alter her backstory, and also change certain plot points in the main story as well, and in fact, I’d argue that doing so would be much better than the alternative.

As for using her saying she dislikes the Phantom Thieves’s methods as a way to disprove that Ponytail is FeMC, people lie. In fact, Ponytail being the leader of the Phantom Thieves would absolutely necessitate lying, especially if the person asking is Akechi as we’re assuming.

And as for the third point... I’m just going to show you a picture of Minako and Minato from P3 and P3P for you to understand why that’s stupid.

Which leads us to major theory 6: Ponytail is a FeMC. Frankly, I don’t think there’s any other option here. Akira and Ponytail both look like normal students in a very deliberate way--they wear their uniforms, accessorize subtly (Akira’s glasses, which iirc the game implies are meant for style only, vs. Ponytail’s bow), and just look normal.

There’s also a specific parallel I want to point out, although I can’t find the more exact scene in canon that I’m thinking of here:

(I really wish I could find the actual scene I’m thinking of)

Ponytail mirrors Akira, not just in style, but in the way the trailer treats her. And for that reason, I am firmly in the boat of “Ponytail is the main character of a FeMC route through Persona 5.” Additionally, datamines of Smash Ultimate imply that Joker has an alt that is female and is referred to in files as “ponytail”, much like a certain mysterious new friend of ours.

AND NOW for the two subset theories: namely, whether P5/P5R could possibly come to switch. Truthfully, I really just want to believe it will, but also, the primary people saying it won’t are those who are also just being really bitchy about people who want a switch port. The one support I’ve seen is someone linking the official post about P5R, which lists P5R as being PS4-exclusive--but the language used does not explicitly exclude the possibility of any form of port. I can absolutely see why Atlus wouldn’t list it as being available for switch at this time: why would a company essentially make their switch port announcement in the footnote of a different announcement? They’d wait until the other official announcement has been made to add that information in, and given the Joker Smash DLC, the idea that P5 would be coming to a nintendo console does hold water.

TL;DR predictions: Ponytail is a new protagonist option, and P5, if not P5R, will be coming to switch eventually. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

I was scrolling through your "my writing" tag and I was wondering why exactly did Az and Riph have a "rivals" phase? Also is it okay if we can get there appearances

ngl i’m kinda shook someone looked through my writing tag, so thank you for taking the time! 😍

so your questions! the main reason they went through a rivals phase is thanks to a cousin of miscommunication: omitting information. in this case, about how they felt about each other. they started out as friends and then best friends/roommates (the furthest they went was holding hands, but really only in moments of high stress, such as when Az had a magical plague or after Riph was cured of brainwashing–they haven’t had an easy life, but that is pretty much why they were created in the first place) until Az began to fear that he didn’t mean as much to Riph as Riph did to him (which was emphatically not true, but, again, omitting information) so he began to withdraw until they lived completely separate lives and were no longer friends. eventually, Az also explains to Riph that Az’s creator doesn’t like Riph or Riph’s creator, so Az withdrew to protect Riph without telling Riph why. as i hate that particular trope, i don’t dwell on that part of the story, but it was necessary to get the relationship arc down the way i wanted it. the rivals part really begins when Az and Riph begin to work for rival afterlife-crafting companies (basically, they craft afterlives to order), but that began after they were no longer friends. 

does that make any sense at all? 😂 i deleted it twice to retry explaining it in a more linear fashion so i have no clue. 

as for their descriptions, i’m happy to share! i think i’ll copy/paste from a few different places in the WIP, to see if that’s easier, since i don’t write out everything about them all in one go but sprinkled throughout 😊 (and i’ll just throw it out there that neither Az nor Riph are human, as Aterni are literally created from the United States’ soul, but they both have human-shaped bodies that look to be in their mid-thirties bar a few differences detailed below) 

Azrian sighed and left the alley behind, glad, not for the first time, that he and Riph were the same height, though Riph easily had thirty pounds of muscle on him.

Az is chubby and, should i be lucky enough to publish this and, even luckier, to get fanart, i will fight everyone who makes him thin

“How long have you known my alphabet?” Azrian finally asked, casting a glance at Riph, whose diamond-shaped pupils were blown wide. Given their size, it was probably like walking around at midday to him. The black fur tufts on the tips of Azrian’s pointed ears that marked him as the firstmade by his creator enhanced his hearing, but that was hardly useful at present. If anything, it made tinnitus reminiscent of someone badly playing the cymbals. 

as a quick aside, Riph can control what size his pupils are in, though they tend to be unintentionally dilated when he’s looking at Az, bc i saw my opportunity and took it. 

“Why do I know what his shampoo smells like?” Azrian grimaced and shut the closet, then froze when he saw a life-size poster of himself on the front door: the artist had made him look like he should be on stage in skin-tight jeans and eyeliner, a guitar in hand while he crooned to an audience. His face was angular, yes, and shoulders broad, but he ate when he was stressed and it showed beneath his clothes because his factory setting was stress topped with stress and served with a side of stress. The artist, however, had overlooked that, though they’d made sure the black tufts of fur on his ears appeared shampooed, conditioned, and styled. Sometimes he despised being firstmade; it was like walking around with neon-bright arrows pointing directly at his face: Hail to firstmades, they’re firstmades and they need hailing. 

Pocketing his hands in his coat, Azrian glanced at himself in the mirrors, taking in the sallow tint to his light brown skin, wondering when he’d be able to sleep next.

i couldn’t find any good bits to copy/paste where i state it, but Riph is white

And at least his brown eyes appeared human, which was more than could be said for Riph’s silver sclera, lack of an iris, and distinct diamond-shaped pupil.

Azrian shoved a hand through his hair, grimacing at the sheer amount of dust and grit stuck to his scalp. Well, at least his hair couldn’t be called a “beautiful hellfire quiff” again.

also bc i couldn’t find a good bit, Riph has white hair that’s typically in a state of perpetual bedhead

Aterni also don’t really subscribe to human stuff like gender, as Aterni build their own bodies and decide which gender they want to identify and present as, if any, but they also don’t really care if someone refers to them as “they/them” or “she/her” etc. gendered clothing, therefore, doesn’t exist for Aterni (it shouldn’t for humans either but i digress), but Riph is more partial to things like makeup than Az is. 

this answer is probably more than you bargained for, but i like talking about this WIP and i am prone to rambling, so. heh. 

HoC Onion !

[TW mention of sexual abuse/violence]

I’m foregoing the pros/cons format here but generally-speaking my negative points are still gathered at the top w the highlights near the end.

Obviously, between letting a sex offender have a platform in mass media and potholes, I’d choose the latter. My below crits absolutely are not a demand for Spacey to be brought back and he can die in a fire for all i care. I just wish his character’s absence was not the nº1 reason for this season not making any sense

as far as i can gather, this season’s primary arc is as much about Frank’s death (in lieu of Doug’s) as it is Claire’s emotional and political divorce from Frank while she undergoes your traditional postbreakup analysis of who she was pre Frank and post Frank and were Frank actually there this idea might have legs

...but instead we have Doug ://

the level of intensity that the plot demands cannot be carried by forcing Doug into being a deeper character than he was intended, all the way until the end, he truly just reads as either a pitiful sadist or a henchman. It’s disharmonious and dangerously close to bad. 

Frances Underwood makes more sense if Frank dies in episode 8!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! She’s literally going to be his reincarnation!!!!!!!

literally...who cares if Doug gets stabbed by Frank’s letter opener? whomst?

Doug can’t be Frank’s proxy, but sans a certain pedoph*le, the plot will just have to suffer. 

Other side effects of Doug’s undeserved promotion include but are not limited to: 

forcing Doug to share the role of antagonist with the Shepards, yet another New Villain © that feels totally unnecessary and confusing (the Conways at least got two seasons)

Frank’s diary feels forced and out of character for someone decidedly so unsentimental  

How does Claire have a bun in the oven when she clearly didnt sleep with Frank for all of season 5 and locked herself in her room while he was being assassinated? How is a Dramatic paternity test not going to be insisted upon in the show’s universe?

fixation on Frank’s will as a McGuffin is really... I don't know boring considering no one cares for the guy? What property of his does claire stand to lose? I’m sure the rich people fandom can speculate but i honestly needed this manifested in the show via some examples instead of the grand abstraction that is The Will bc losing Frank’s assets would set Claire back but it would not directly threaten her presidency. Not to mention that i’m not entirely sure Frank’d have Doug of all people as his sole heir if it didn't serve as revenge against Claire, which just lowers Doug’s importantance even more

Frank never cared for Doug, a largely unlikeable character, which we already knew from the beginning, so Doug’s entire arc is pathetic at best as well as his tangential inclusion in the Cliare v Frank arc

My major problems with Doug’s character began as early as season 4. 

Did not understand why they didn't actually have Doug switch sides by joining the Dunbar campaign in earnest in season 4. Like... it’s such an obvious opportunity to Thicken The Plot © that it’s reached this gif levels of dropping the ball:

P much everything about Doug’s character since then is just so.... lacking, while for the last few seasons they give him depth when he magically has empathy for one (1) woman before she dies (possibly as a direct result of his actions). This entire plot about him evaluating why he was so loyal to Frank could've been unpacked whilst he avoids Dunbar finding out about the murders he did commit. I’d rather him having agency than be a flat, troubled underling.

Aright I'm going to stop complaining about Doug. In season 3 and 4, his insecurity over being replaced and his sacrifices for Frank (and subsequent guilt) came close to giving us a real Moment with him as we delve more into how colourless his life outside of work really is. But beyond that, when his character started getting repetitive, there’s very little to compensate for his alternating acts of extreme narcissism/violence versus his childish confusion / self pity when he doesn’t get what he wants.

Anyways I'm basically at a point where I’d be okay if Frank’s long-lost cousin replaced Doug replacing Frank 

I’m appreciating the writers’ distinct refrain from plot formats and that the seasons progressively move towards the Underwoods but what if just for circularity and added balance we return to having a full-on reporter B plot in s6? More emphasis on Janine and Tom’s sleuthing, culminating in Tom’s assassination and Janine publishing the tell-all expose against Frank---including a reference to Zoe---that becomes the magnum opus of her career (and Claire using that against Frank). I just think the season needed more balance that Doug, the Shepards and Tom were not offering 

The Shepards and Tom, meanwhile, are decidedly banal. First of all, I had a hard time even telling Bill and Tom apart esp given that they were introduced one after the other. All white guys are the same.

Bill just kind of sits around until he has a platform to reference his favourite action movies doesn't he?

Moreover what does Tom do!? he doesn't want power, he doesnt seem to want anything. He’s just kind of there?

Unlike the Conways, the Shepards don’t have a clear goal and are not often in direct conflict with Claire the way Frank and Conway were. They want to control the presidency for money and Claire is always bouncing back from reliving her girlhood to political rivalry w Anette, yes, but what does that mean? What are the consequences? The logistics are so indirect and complicated, what precisely does Anette want? And why does anyone care? The Shepards are extremely boring.

Frank’s asides were purple and long af so I appreciate Claire’s succinct style not to mention her fantastic screen presence. I’m left to wonder, though, if maybe hers and every other aside in HoC is a little too on the nose. Like, they didn't hafta spell it out that the bird in the wall was a representation of Frank’s shadow trapping her, I think we got that 

The artistic intercuts to Claire’s troubled childhood wherein a group of bullies coerce her into stripping naked through the forest, while visually stunning and clever for its self-explanatory nature, feel really passive. They don't visually show us any reason for her not to resist, the bullies even let her keep her clothes after cutting them off her so we’re left to wonder why she does nothing....

Claire was raised to be ~proper~ so her resistance (likely) comes in the form of biting, passive-aggressive poise which is hard to get across in a silent montage but it just feels.. weird

Frances Underwood is going to have a very sad childhood

nearly all the Claire flashbacks are cinematic masterpieces and as much i think Claire’s backstory deserves more attention, i also appreciate the minimalism and the choice humanising moments of her adolescence 

listen I'm sure we all agree Robin Wright is peak acting but the actor for young Claire, who has the arguably harder task of copying Wright is fantastic 

Of all the characters who crop up every season seemingly out of nowhere only to disappear once more once when the plot the Underwoods are done with them, Jane is one of my favourites and possibly one of the greyest characters alive. Smart, mysterious, worldly, a bit of a hippie despite her job, severe despite her sense of humour. Really loves her extremely pedestrian surname. We stan.

Secondary characters rarely get anything close to a backstory on this show, esp ones that were introduced so late. Still, her motivations seem more complicated then others (i.e. betraying Cathy, one of two people she cares about) and I wonder if they deserve a bit more of an explanation. Especially seeing as she has a relationship with every major character.

If anyone deserves a spin-off it might be Jane and her name-dropping career/social life

Cathy faking her own death with a terrible french accent? On stan !!!

Seth teasing Doug even while he’s completely undervalued by everyone around him is a power move

Impressed that they managed three characters named Tom, their distinctly different appearances and the fact that they're almost never in the same POV shots works to separate them.

Claire using the word “female” even facetiously is cringe

Whenever they use the cinema room, the movie they watch is always symbolic. Before the 2017 election, Frank and Claire imitate the characters in Double Indemnity, and this season a pregnant claire watches Rosemary’s Baby. Clever.

i liked the whitehouse tour guide’s inclusion and the cameo from _____ though this season was especially white without their usual token secondary character

So overall i liked season 6 as an exploration of Claire’s character even while it did v little justice to most of the other characters and unfortunately spacey’s absence did affect the storyline

and finally: that cinnamontography !

Not that the series should be pushed past its prime, but wouldn’t it be interesting to see Claire as a mother?

Phoenix Enchantment AU: Redux

@nour386, when I answered your ask yesterday, I said I had a writing in the works.  Well, I wrote it.  And here it is.  The Phoenix Enchantment AU, but with Ford and Fiddleford as the ones to be turned into phoenixes.  I have some additional ideas (bc I cannot control myself), but this is what I’ve got so far.  Hope ya like it.

              Crash!  The distinct sound of breaking glass startled Ford and Fiddleford out of their slumber.

              “What the hell was that?” Ford muttered.

              “Burglars, maybe?” Fiddleford said. “I mean, the house does look uninhabited.”  He sighed.  “Should we go handle it?”

              “I think-” Ford started.  He stopped.  Voices were carrying to the bedroom.  

              “Good Lord,” a distinct, southern female voice said.

              “Angie!” Fiddleford chirped excitedly.  He stood upright, suddenly full of energy.  “She’s here!”

              “What happened?” a second familiar voice asked.  Ford’s eyes widened.

              “Stan!” he squawked.

              “This place is a sty,” Stan continued.  “There’s no way Fidds has been here recently.  He wouldn’t let it get this messy.”

              “Agreed,” Angie said.  She took a shuddering breath.  “Where- where should we start lookin’ fer clues?”

              “I dunno.  The bedroom? I can smell whatever’s in the fridge from here, so the further you get from the kitchen, the better,” Stan answered. Angie sighed.

              “Don’t treat me like I’m made of glass, Stanley.”

            �� “Just bein’ careful,” Stan muttered.  Ford and Fiddleford could hear their siblings in the hallway now.  The door, which was slightly ajar, opened the rest of the way, revealing Stan and Angie.  Fiddleford let out a hum of greeting.  “What the- why are there two big-ass birds here?” Stan demanded.  He stormed towards the nest on the bed. “Get outta here!  Go on, shoo!”  Stan gestured wildly at Ford and Fiddleford.  Ford hissed instinctively.

              “Stanley, don’t be rude!” Fiddleford squawked.  Stan frowned.

              “Angie, I don’t want ya in here, there’s bird shit all over.”

              “Stan, cut it out!” Angie snapped.  “It’s fine!”  She joined Stan in front of the nest.  

              “Get away from the birds,” Stan said, putting an arm in front of her. She sighed.

              “If I have to tell ya one more time-”

              “Why is Stan bein’ so overprotective?” Fiddleford burbled curiously.  Angie froze.  She stared at Fiddleford.  Her eyes met his.  “…Angie?”

              “No way,” Angie breathed.  She pushed Stan’s arm away and sat on the edge of the bed, next to Fiddleford.  

              “Ang, I mean it, get away from ‘em,” Stan said.  “Who knows what sorta germs are-”

              “Stan.”

              “You’ve gotta be careful, the doctor said-”

              “Stan.”

              “You can’t even handle the lizards at work anymore-”

              “Stan!” Angie yelled.  Stan stopped. Angie gestured at Ford and Fiddleford. “I found our brothers.”

              “Do hormones make ya hallucinate?” Stan said.  “‘Cause those ‘re birds.”

              “Gravity Falls is weird, remember?  There’s magic ‘n mysterious forces what work here.  Is it really that difficult to think that this is Fiddleford ‘n that’s Stanford?”  There was a flash of light.  Angie yelped. Fiddleford rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision.  

              “Wait…” Fiddleford whispered.  He stared at his hands.  “I-”

              “No fuckin’ way,” Stan said in a low voice.  Fiddleford looked up.  Stan was carrying Angie, bridal-style, and both were staring at the bed slack-jawed.

              “We’re- we’re human again,” Ford croaked.  

              “And buck naked,” Stan added.  Angie turned red and immediately looked away.  

              “Stan, put me down,” Angie whispered.

              “Sorry, babe, instinct.”  Stan set Angie down.  “Uh, what happened?”

              “I’d like to revisit my earlier question,” Fiddleford said, covering himself with a thoroughly dirty sheet.  “Yer never this fussy over Angie.  Ya know full well she can handle herself.  Why are ya bein’ so careful with her?”

              “Maybe get dressed,” Angie suggested, still looking away determinedly. “We can have a nice long discussion after that.”

              “Great idea,” Stan said.  He turned around and ushered Angie out of the room.  “Meet us outside.  I don’t trust any surface in this house.”

              Angie was eating a banana and Stan was reading a book when Ford and Fiddleford joined them by the Stanleymobile.  Angie swallowed her mouthful of banana.

              “Ain’t ya a sight fer sore eyes?” she said with a smile.  Fiddleford beamed broadly at her.

              “I could say the same about you, sis.”  Fiddleford embraced her tightly.  Stan tossed his book inside the car and separated Fiddleford from Angie.

              “Okay, Fidds, it’s good to see you, but ya haven’t showered forever, and yer huggin’ too hard.  Take a step back.”

              “What?  Stanley, what has gotten into ya?” Fiddleford asked.  Angie sighed.

              “He’s been like this ever since we found out…” she trailed off.

              “Ever since ya found out…” Fiddleford prompted.  Angie waved a hand airily.

              “Never mind that, Fidds.  We’ll get to it.  First, what happened to the two of ya?” she asked.  She took another bite of her banana.

              “We fell victim to an enchantment,” Ford said.  Angie raised an eyebrow.

              “Oh?”

              “There’s an enchantment in place in Gravity Falls, that turns a couple into phoenixes, if there are not currently any phoenixes in the area,” Ford continued.  “I’m not sure why we specifically were targeted, however.”

              “Huh.  That sucks,” Stan said.  He grinned. “But at least now yer back to normal, eh?  Humans.”

              “That…ain’t quite right,” Fiddleford said quietly.  He looked at Ford.  “Go on, tell ‘em.”

              “While we were looking for clothes to put on,” Ford said, “I came across an ancient bestiary I had hidden in the back of the closet.  It detailed some of the specifics of this particular phoenix enchantment.”

              “That’s lucky,” Stan remarked.  Ford nodded.

              “It is.  Now we won’t be surprised when- when we revert back to phoenixes tomorrow.”  Stan and Angie’s jaws dropped.  “Apparently, the enchantment is sort of a riff on a classic were curse.  We can only take a human form during the full moon, but for the rest of the month, we are stuck as phoenixes.”

              “But you two were missin’ fer months,” Angie pointed out.  “Did ya really turn human durin’ that time?”

              “Not once.  The ability to turn human was effectively unlocked after you recognized us, Angie.” Ford smiled weakly at her.  “Thank you for that, by the way.”

              “No problem,” Angie mumbled.  Ford put his hands behind his back.

              “We actually would like to request a favor from the two of you,” Ford said.  “Clearly, we owe you for coming to check on us and allowing us to resume a human form. So we understand if you’re unwilling to do this for us.”               “Yer our brothers,” Stan said.  “If the two of ya need some help, we can handle it.”

              “Thank you,” Ford said.  “While we’re working on getting the house back in order and trying to set things up to accommodate for our…new lives, we would greatly appreciate it if you could stay here to help.”  Stan and Angie exchanged a concerned look.  “What?”

              “Stan should’ve known better ‘n to offer to do it ‘fore ya said what it was,” Angie mumbled.  “We- I’ve got a doctor’s appointment next week.”

              “That’s fine, you can come up after it.”

              “And then I have another one next month,” Angie continued.

              “We can’t just drop everything to move up here,” Stan said.  “We’ve got jobs, and our house and-”  He looked at Angie.  “Should we tell ‘em?”

              “Tell us what?” Fiddleford asked.  He frowned, worried.  “Is somethin’ wrong?”

              “No, not at all,” Angie said.  She squeezed Stan’s hand warmly and smiled at her boyfriend.  “Somethin’s very right.”

              “Did you crazy kids fin’ly get engaged?” Fiddleford said eagerly.

              “Yes, but that’s not what we’re referrin’ to,” Angie said.  

              “Then what could-” Fiddleford started.

              “Stanley, why are you reading a book called Baby Incoming?” Ford asked, peering into the Stanleymobile.

              “Take a wild guess,” Stan said snippily.  

              “Yer expectin’!” Fiddleford squealed.  Stan nodded.  “That explains the doctor’s visits, ‘n bein’ so careful with Angie, ‘n- Angie, ya shouldn’t approach wild animals in yer state!”  Angie threw her hands up in the air.

              “Great, now there’s two of ya to fuss over me like I don’t know how to take care of m’self.”

              “Fiddleford has a point,” Ford said.  “As I understand it, pregnancy reduces the function of the immune system. Wild animals can carry any number of diseases.  It’s irresponsible to risk-”

              “You too, Ford?” Angie said, aghast.  She shook her head.  “I expected better of ya.”

              “But, given the situation, I understand why you’re reluctant to move here,” Ford conceded.

              “What if you moved in with us?” Stan said.  “We can send Lute and Harper up here to clean up the house, get things in order, and in the meantime, you crash at our place.”

              “That’s a good idea,” Angie jumped in.  “I think Stan agrees that it ain’t wise fer ya to be on yer own, and it’d take a while fer Lute and Harper to get here.  Not to mention, they can fix things up faster without keepin’ an eye on you.”

              “Angie, if you ‘n Stan are expectin’, we don’t want to be a bother,” Fiddleford said.

              “Oh, please.  It’ll be no bother.  Maybe you’ll even be able to help around the house, once I start gettin’ big.”

              “They’ll be birds, babe,” Stan said.  Angie shrugged.

              “Birds can pick things up.  I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

nanoha vivid liveblog: episode 3

And we’re back, to see our leads finally fight meet

I guess this liveblog is just Subaru and tea being cute together now

Sorry, nove, you’re stuck with a large, supportive family

Also, I know I’ve been gushing about various character designs a fair amount, but just in general I would like to praise the costuming on this show (is it still costuming if its animated?) theres a lot of variety and it all looks very nice and character distinct

“romantic” 

“sensitive”

I appreciate all her sisters teaming up to annoy Nove

Asking the important questions here

Though I really do appreciate the commitment to showing young girls who are deeply interested in martial arts

Not pictured: the quiet piano that starts as einhart introduces herself

Gods this whole sequence is just beautiful

With them staring at each other as the music swells

and the focus on eyes continues, though its sadder here, since einhart is thinking about olivie rather than vivio

einhart flusters easily

They weren’t bickering? Is this about einharts earlier extracurricular activities? I do like the concept that this extended family just kind of assumes that everyone is going to fight each other at first. Or that nove is just really enthusiastic about her students punching each other

A study in contrasts

Oh, so there was actually a reason for this fight. For an extremely large definition of “reason”

Once again, it was only a hundred years ago. He is at most your great-grandfather

How is this the hegemon’s physique? she’s just an older version of herself, not transforming to look like claus

huh, so this says centuries, which makes a lot more sense

I guess the wiki was wrong? or nanoha’s internal timeline is wildly inconsistent, which I would buy

This is weird angst to have

In all seriousness though, einhart’s voice here is heartbreaking. She’s carrying so much guilt and loss and there’s just no way for her to find redemption, because it was all over centuries ago, and the girl she needs to save is long dead, and the world has changed and there isnt space anymore for the kind of heroism she needs

extremely nanoha

I appreciate vivio moving like an actual boxer here

subaru spends 90% of her screen time looking at tea

The sound effects for this fight are these sort of sonic claps everytime they hit each other, which is real cool

The translation used here is disposition, but the japanese word is kokoro, which gets translated more often as heart. 

anyways, all the dialogue in this section is a great fusion of fighting anime rival stuff and nanoha style friendship/romance

please do not pick up einhart’s strength bullshit

awww

good sisters. also, the family resemblance shows in the hair

asjkdafhljgfsl

so my joke earlier about vivio sending regular emails about being determined to work hard and fight better is actually (semi) canon

EXTREMELY NANOHA

ALSO EXTREMELY GAY

annnnd were back to the angst zone

is that jeremiah girl?

Does einhart just live in a gym

Actually im not surprised that’s entirely in character

Someone please help this child

nove appreciation

Okay, this is about like all the trauma and war memories and guilt and stuff, but im entertained by thought that einhart is plagued by memories of resolving tax disputes or something

This is really the heart of nanoha as a whole, wanting to understand others, even when opposing each other

Oh wait I lied this is actually the heart of nanoha

Vivio is very much her mothers daughter

just admit it nove, you’re a teacher

i guess “einhart stratos has arrived” is her catchphrase? its a weird mix of arrogant, polite, and weirdly formal that suits her a lot

is that a zip up tank top? but the zipper doesnt actually reach the top of the shirt... im confused but appreciative

okay, nanoha’s transformation sequences are also going to be weird about it, but that aside this is really cool and i appreciate how happy and fighty vivio is throughout it

and of course her version of adult mode is combat focused

EPIC MUSIC

weirdness aside, this is a great sequence

also, of course einhart has brass knuckles

The sound effects to indicate a hit landing are a lot loduer and deeper this time around, which is a neat touch

Remember back in season 1 where everyone just stood around and shot beam attacks?

this is a sick break-dance style ground spin kick thingy

awwwww

Nanoha is a big fan of contrasting a solitary antagonist figure with the protagonist’s circle of support. That’s something that can go sideways very quickly, bc you end up with a lot of unfortunate implications about people who don’t have that kind of love going evil, but the majority of antagonists in nanoha aren’t actually villains. So instead you get a lot of lonely children, often being abused or manipulated, who end up being offered a place to belong with the heroes. And a lot of times those heroes explicitly draw their courage and kindness and moral convictions from the love and connections they have been shown, which adds a lot of depth. And then the next season around the old antagonists are the ones who’ve found that support, and now can offer it to the next generation.

oof

this is the funniest possible way to end a fight of that scale

OOPS I GUESS. 

einhart, watch what level your head is at

she is the most polite of all possible fight children

the actual fighting and punching through walls is fine, but god forbid you should be rude about it 

okay, its really good that this is being said. bc as fun as the whole reincarnation aspect is, einhart needs to recognize vivio as her own person separate from the sankt kaiser. hopefully, this will also help einhart distinguish herself more from the hegemon

In general, Nanoha has done a lot with themes of self-identity when dealing with issues like cloning and transferred memories, and im glad to see that continue

and once again, extremely nanoha/gay

aww

awwwwwww

safhjkjdlkgh 

good point

einhart gets incredibly flustered at the thought of showing emotion

suspenders+tie+rolled up sleeves/pants is a very good look

a good place to end