“Um well see there’s lots of silent animals with feelings, also dragons, mermaids? demonic summonings will sometimes occur, everyone has cute outfits..one time a giant squid turned up, also old ladies who love each other very much… How do you feel about bear astral projection? w-wait come back, I’m not finished-”
“What have you DONE!?” Darkiplier demanded, rising to his feet. His voice broke with fury and his shell buckled under the weight of a demons rage, unintentional yelling occurring in close spurts that was quickly drowned out by the others yelling, just as enraged.
Googles body jerked back and forth and his voice glitched more rapidly than it did on average, his anger feeding off of Darks. Ed was yelling inappropriate slurs and Bim’s anger was mostly related to getting no spotlight in the, as he described, ‘Show as shitty as the pink rat on his lip’.
Silver, too, was primarily angry about the sun not shining on him in the show, while Dr. Iplier and the Host sat silent, a satisfied smirk on Dr. Ipliers face as he kept his back to Dark and stared at Warfstache.
The Host was facing towards his folded arms, and murmuring to himself the events unfolding before him. He had nothing valuable to add to the conversation since he knew this would happen and knows how this will end. He dreaded the conversations climax.
“You’re not the only one controlling this herd, Dark!” Wilford said, standing as well and locking eyes with the gray spectrum man opposite of him, their brown eyes locking and tension crackling between the two. “We’ve agreed this is a shared burden and we must make decisions together, you deciding that this was a bad idea without input from me is not what we’ve agreed on for the years we’ve been working as partners!”
“You’re acting like a selfish toddler in the midst of a tantrum and you are in no condition to make such high staking decisions without further consulting me,” Dark retaliated, his eyes narrowed to slits and his brow furrowed, his lip drawn upwards into a growl.
“You’VE led-led-led us evEn FARther FROM Our p-pri-priiimary oBjecTIVe,” Google said, his fingernails digging into the wooden table and leaving indents, the constant jerking back and forth as he glitched leaving long swooping scratches that looked like cat claws raking at something that had run across the furniture. “You-You’re a FOOl if yOu B-B-Beliiiieve thiis wo-won’t have DIre ConsssIqueNCEs.”
“Sit your broken ass down, Google. I won’t hesitate to factory reset you,” Warfstache threatened, his brown eyes flicking towards the software who met his gaze for a second before turning away and looking at his hands.
“Everybody, please, settle down!” Dr. Iplier said, standing up and looking around the room, all eyes on him except for the four that were arguably the most powerful of the nine egos. “I know this may seem bad but please, take into consideration the benefits! After all, I am a doctor and I know best, so if I say that this is good then this must be good.”
Dark glared towards Dr. Iplier and his chair quickly scooted into the table, buckling the alleged doctors legs and forcing him to sit back down, and the man in the white coat looked to the furious demon and felt his blood run cold, adverting eye contact and going silent.
The Host mumbling was beginning to be heard as the intimidation of Dark and Warfstache caused the last three to sit down if they were standing and slowly quiet down as well, the room filled with an uncomfortable silence and the tension was thick enough you could cut it.
“Wilford began to speak,” The Host whispered, immediately followed by Warfstache hitting the table with his fist, drawing all attention to him.
“Wilford’s had enough of this shit,” he said, not breaking eye contact with Dark despite addressing everyone in the room. “You’re all blaming me and you don’t even know what for! We have no idea what stir the video will cause so crawl off your high horse as if you’re above me because at least I had the gonads to stand up against Dark when none of you dare look him in the eye. If this backfires, then you have every right to sit here and ridicule me, but until then don’t act like you can predict the future. You’ll have to be patient like everyone else and just wait.”
Silence carried on again, the tension and expectations still high and The Host had resorted to mouthing the story unraveling in front of him.
“Ok, Wilford,” Darkiplier said, slowly sitting down again and readjusting his tie and brushing a lock of hair from his face. “We’ll wait and see what kind of reaction your project gets. But I’m warning you now,” Dark continued still locking eyes with Wilford. “If this sets back our plan for even five seconds, your consequences will be devastating.”
“Alright, fine,” Wilford sighed, combing some hair to the side with his fingers and brushing off his shirt.
“Good. If that’s all that there is to discuss, then meeting is adjourned,” Dark announced, and in immediate response practically everyone in the room gathered anything they might have brought with them and piled out of the office, eager to escape the room still heavy with anger and discomfort. The only two that stayed were The Host and Darkiplier.
“You should’ve told me,” Dark said, his narrowed eyes casting a glare towards the Host who didn’t turn away from his arms.
“…It wouldn’t have changed anything,” The Host responded in a hushed voice. “All paths pointed to the disobedience of Wilford no matter how many words you, I, or anyone shared. If every reality is certain of a single action then that action will be performed in every reality. I’m sorry, Dark, but warning you would’ve done nothing but waste both of our time.”
“That’s for me to decide, not you,” Dark said, his voice hissing with anger. “I’ve kept you by my side and I’ve put you first countless of times. Who saved you and healed you after you were shot and left for dead in a shed out in the middle of nowhere?”
The Host was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke he was as quiet as a terrified child answering obediently to a furious parent. “You,” he said, his voice cracking slightly as he strained to make himself heard.
“Yes, and now you are repaying my generosity with unjustified disobedience?” Dark demanded, his hand clenched into a fist. “All I’ve asked you to do was tell me of any future events that will negatively or positively affect me, is that really too much? Tell me now before it’s too late because I can remove you very quickly if need be.”
“…That won’t be necessary,” The Host said, his fingers scratching his arms anxiously. “This won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”
“You’re better than this, Author,” Dark said, standing up as well. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you do this again.”
Dark once again readjusted his hair and the gray around him flickered as he disappeared, leaving the Host alone in the conference room once again, where he faced the wall for a long moment before putting his face against the table and hiding himself, wrapping his arms around his head and letting out a short, shaky breath.
The biggest critique I’ve seen for Ava’s Demon’s story is that it’s too convenient for all four hosts to meet together under these circumstances.
To that I want to pose an argument. If the whole premise of Ava’s Demon is rigidity in science and structure vs magic and fantasia, then doesn’t it make sense that the rebellion against TiTAN begins due to an anomaly so great that I doubt even Titan could predict or fear ?
There is a story, from when I was five or
six, about the first time I saw a Stephen King series. I believe it was Storm of The Century, where a small town
in Maine is blocked off by a huge snowstorm and subsequently terrorized by what
turns out to be a demon. Suicides occur, children are taken to become evil
protégé, all while the villain continuously sings “I’m a Little Teapot.”
I remember this vividly, you might notice-
because it scared the hell out of me. As did The Tower of Terror, that skeleton army scene in The Black Cauldron, the entire Fantasia sequence of “Night on Bald
Mountain.” The one time I watched sections of The Wall when my parents didn’t see me come in (a bad idea, in
hindsight). I suffered from one fired-up imagination and had a habit of taking
frightening imagery, allowing my brain to
fill in the story’s blanks. This resulted in a lot of sleeplessness and nightmares.
“They’re only stories,” my father told me once.
“Like Little Red Riding Hood and The Big Bad Wolf. Remember, that wolf always
Something in those words settled into my
soul, and I revisit them sometimes. While I scared very easily as a child, I grew
to like and write gothic fiction overtime- a lot of writers do that. A close
cousin to historical and horror, and a little like neither. More in common with
cabaret music and steampunk culture these days too. Tim Burton was always fun, and
I loved the ghost stories book that my mother had passed along to me- the kind
with The Monkey’s Paw and ghostly
women that haunted roadside hotel. When I was eleven, I sunk my teeth into
Edger Allen Poe’s The Black Cat and
Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate
Events. The wolves were there, and they came in the form of human
condition, negligence, and impossible odds. There is complexity and nuance to
each monster, and I saw hope and cleverness there. I found that through fear-
something these stories often used, there was also glints of compassion and
heroics. I fell in love. I dove into the genre and all it had to offer.
As a reader, a writer, and I suppose, as a
person, I’ve always related heavily to that one Doctor Who quote from the
Weeping Angels episode with Sally Sparrow. “I love old things. They make me
feel sad. It’s happy for deep people.” While a bit on the “emo teenager” side
of statements, I’ve far more in common with old ghosts and antique books than I
really should. There is an otherness there that I understand.
There is a rather interesting phenomenon in
horror and gothic fiction that taps into Otherness. These stories exist in
several ways: the heroes verses The Other (Dracula,
The Phantom of The Opera), the village verses The Other
(The Masque of The Red Death), and
The Other verses himself (The Picture of
Dorian Gray, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and one could
argue Frankenstein). Scholars like Jarlath
Killeen have discussed the connotations of this in early gothic fiction, and
their often racially or culturally charged supernatural entities. There is a
mirror effect that occurs in these stories as well, a self-reflection not only
of the author themselves, but of the cultural state they occupy, particularly
in female authors. Female horror authors love Otherness.
Mary Shelley reflects her times with subjects
of responsibility and parentage, and with a monster so brilliant and devastating
powerful- yet so physically abhorrent. Shirley Jackson, who died too young to
see how her books have lasted, loved the subject of dysfunctional family and
tragedy. Anne Rice’s vampires are as depraved as they are empathetic. And this
does not go without critique, films like The
Woman in Black, Corpse Bride, and Crimson
Peak, more feminine in focus and nuanced in their villains, were dragged
for being “too sad” and “not scary enough.”
(Interview With The Vampire, 1994)
This comes in clear contrast to Stoker, or
Wilde, or much of King; monsters are enemies to be defeated. Otherness is
something separate from the hero, or even something that consumes the hero to
his demise (see Dorian Grey). There is no space for nuance- we’re back to Little
Red Riding Hood and The Big Bad Wolf. Wolves always lose.
But what if your wolves are not so literal?
What if our enemies are not the ghosts we face, but the beasts that created
them? Or what’s more- what if your wolves are too literal? Women spend most of their lives facing what the Big
Bad Wolf represents, making this threat more reality than fiction. Perhaps women
understand their monsters better, or see them differently.
One of the most
striking statements I’ve encountered about gothic horror is that men write
monsters based on their enemy (take “enemy” to mean whatever you like
sociologically); women write monsters based on how they view themselves. They
aren’t just fighting the monster, they are the monster. Society certainly seems
to think so, given its track record with women: witch trials, poor mental
health, suppression, claims of hysteria… Is it any wonder we feel for the
I write my own sad ghosts and empathetic
monsters now, not near as scared of horror movies these days. If anything, I’ve
come to understand them a bit better. Rather than fearing the wolves, society
sometimes acts as though women might just become one of them. And maybe they’re
Yeah, it was always obvious that Ava’s feelings for Maggie went a lot further than just friends. The plot twist was I never knew that Maggie was aware of these emotions; I had assumed that Maggie and Ava ended their friendship before Maggie found out.
I love Forest Fire, but right now it’s just not doing it for me. I love enemies to friends to lovers and I also love the reconciling friends trope (Vrisrezi is my heart). I think what doesn’t jive with me is the one sidedness of it. Also, it sorta fundamentally confirms that Ava at the time had something that just didn’t blend with Maggie. Maggie likewise didn’t fit in Ava’s life. Maggie’s pact is to find someone who loves her, but it must also be someone she loves. (also, I know that Michelle once stated that Maggie is straight…..)
The only way I can see Forest Fire being romantically canon is if some MAJOR changes occur.
Imagine an akuma hit ladybug and chat noir with a personality swapping ray. So during the attack, ladybug keeps on flirting with chat and chat not amused with it. (Imagine the aftermath)
Well since Ladybug and Chat Noir seem to be immune to the whole forget-about-whatever-it-was-that-the-akuma-managed-to-do thing that comes with the Miraculous Ladybug move, the aftermath would be quite hilarious.
Marinette would be screaming at herself. So much. She flirted with Chat why would she do that she loves Adrien. And then probably would go into this mini existential crisis over her feelings.
Adrien on the other hand, would also be screaming at himself, because his Lady was flirting with him and he just brushed her off oh my god how could he do that and probably just scream into his pillow a lot. (He can still remember the purr in her voice and that is something that he won’t be forgetting for a long time.
Disclaimer: This is not a fanfiction of any sort. If you are unfamiliar with the term Fictionkin, I highly recommend that you research it before reading this post. I am not writing a story, I am simply telling my perspective of what my experience was like.
I have just very recently been able to recall a memory from my past life, a memory that is particularly dear to me because it is one of my happiest. I am hoping that (Despite the chances being extremely slim.) my Sebastian may stumble upon this post and contact me, but everyone is welcome to read it as long as you remain respectful. This memory does contain Sebaciel, though, so if you are uncomfortable with this ship then I would suggest that you please continue scrolling past.
I had been aware that my feelings for Sebastian had not just been the result of a mutual respect between butler and master for a while before the incident occurred. This demon that I had initially viewed as someone who was merely an acquaintance that I kept around purely for my own advantage had evolved into something much greater than I had ever anticipated. The idea of falling for someone who had been nothing but a pawn to me, let alone my butler, was something that I found to be absolutely despicable. And so, I suppressed my feelings for him. I convinced myself that I was wrong, that there was no way I could have any sort of attraction to this demon. I did this for quite some time, in fact, but I could only conceal my emotions for so long before it became too much.
When it happened, we were in my bedroom. It was late and I was preparing to go to bed, allowing for Sebastian to dress me in my sleepwear as he always did. When he had finished, he turned and began to head for the door to exit the room. That was when I got out of bed, hurrying after him and stopping him simply by speaking his name. He froze in place, and that’s when I finally told him. After what felt like decades of hiding my emotions from him, I finally said what I had needed to say for so long.
“I love you.”
He turned, a knowing smirk on his face, before crouching down ever so slightly so that he was now level with me. “My lord…”
That’s when he placed his gloved hand on my cheek and kissed me. My heart stopped in my chest, my world froze, and everything seemed to finally fall into place.
Unfortunately, I do not remember anything from directly after these events had unfolded, but I do know that Sebastian and I were in fact romantically involved with each other and our relationship became much more serious in that aspect. More information regarding my memories can be found on my profile, so please feel free to check that out if you’d like.
Located in Gloucestershire UK, this inn is believed to be the most haunted house in the entire British Isles or maybe even the world.
Since it was built in 1145 on a pagan burial ground. Child sacrifices, devil worshiping and other demonic events have all occurred.
People who’ve stayed here have been known to flee in the middle of the night due to seeing full body apparitions in their rooms, whilst others reported being touched and even pulled/pushed by these forces.
One of my favourite haunted house stories since watching Ghost Adventures I will be visiting this Inn some time later this year hopefully to find something of my own.
Request: Could you write an imagine where influenced by the Mark of Cain, Dean treats you really badly, and you become terrified of him. When the Mark is gone and he does something and you flinch away, and he is silently crying because he hurt the woman he loved
Summary: ^ Read Above
Triggers: Dean is a dick, lil bit of blood, angst, After effects of abuse, pain, heartbreak, lots of tears.
A.N. - Enjoy!
It was hard to look at him. His eyes were cold, his body often tense and rigid, as if ready for a fight. He enjoyed violence, enjoyed blood, enjoyed breaking skin, watching the blood flow. He wasn’t my Dean anymore. This was a darker, unforgiving Dean that terrified me. I wasn’t oblivious to the things he was doing. I knew he was sleeping around. I knew that I wasn’t the only woman he laid with. I tried to be there for him, really I did, but it came to the point I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t pretend to be supportive when all he did was break my resolve a little more each day. At first it was just as easy as noticing how he didn’t touch me as often. Then he stopped all together. Then he avoided me, staying as far away as possible, as if I was diseased. After that he was staying out for all hours of the night, worrying Sam and I sick, only to see him strut through the door in the early morning, a cocky smirk on his face. Then I noticed the perfume that clung to his clothes, the lipstick stains on his collar. But still, I stayed. I slept with him at night, pretended it was all okay when he would wrap his arms around me. It wasn’t okay. I wasn’t okay. Then the anger hit, furious and rapid. Nothing could calm him down, and often times he went into a violent outrage. That was the first time he hit me. It had been a rough hunt. We’d lost a few kids and Dean was, well, furious for lack of a better word. His hands white knuckled the steering wheel as we drove, his mouth pressed in a tight line. He let loose once we got home. He went to our room and started throwing things around. I made the mistake of following him. I had tried to calm him down, ease his tension, but he wanted a fight. So that’s what we did, we fought until I said something about his father, only to receive a slap in the face in return. He stormed out, and I didn’t see him again until morning. I had convinced myself it was my fault, and for the first time, when Dean came home he was apologetic, and I convinced myself he was getting better. I was a fool. Our fights became more and more often, and his violent outbreaks became more frequent. I knew I had to leave. I knew I wasn’t safe with him no matter how much I loved him. The day I left was full of tears. Sam didn’t want me to go, and Deans apparent indifference left me more wounded then ever. He didn’t care at all. So, with a heavy heart, I left, and honestly, I wasn’t sure if I would ever be back.
-6 months later-
I settled down in Lawrence. Sam knew where I was, but when Dean finally became a Demon, he cut all ties. He claimed his brother would come looking unless he did, and I knew he was right. He called though, when he had Dean in the dungeon, and still, I didn’t go back. I didn’t, couldn’t, see him like that. Angry, a monster, the thing he hated the most. Sam understood, well, he pretended too, and once again, we cut contact. I didn’t expect a knock on my door a few weeks after that. I’d been in the kitchen, sliding a tin of brownies into the oven when a knock sounded on my front door. I furrowed my brows in confusion, setting the timer before walking to my front door and easing it open. The sight in front of me stopped me cold, made my muscles scream from tension. I was aware of my body shaking, the raw fear in my veins. I saw his eyes then, his human eyes, green and full of sadness, hurt, and agony. It was so different from the anger and hostility I was so accustomed to. There was feeling in those eyes again, warmth.
“Dean” he smiled, a real, genuine, albeit sad, smile.
“Hey. Can, uh, can I come in?” I stood there for a moment, watching him, gauging his reactions before I nodded, moving aside to let him in. He walked closer and I flinched, automatically shying away from his body. Looking away from him, I closed the door so I didn’t have to see the hurt look in his eyes. He moved to my living room, taking a seat on the couch while I sat in a chair across from him.
“How’ve you been?” He asked, breaking me from my thoughts. How have I been? Oh, you know, just trying my damnedest to stop loving you.
“Fine.” I said instead.
“You?” He laughed uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck, a nervous habit of his.
“Oh you know, just got back from being a demon. Not something that occurs everyday.”
I nodded mutely, biting at my lower lip. Awkward silence filled the air, and I continued feeling uncomfortable, not knowing if he was going to snap. I saw him move from the corner of my eye and snapped my gaze towards him, seeing him burry his head in his hands.
“I’m so sorry, god I’m so damn sorry” he looked back at me, and I saw the tears falling from his lashes. He was crying.
“What?” He laughed, unamused, and shook his head.
“I hurt you. I hurt you so bad and I don’t know how to apologize. It wasn’t me. I’d never, ever, do that to you. I’m so sorry for hurting you. I swore when we got together I’d never do anything to hurt you. I loved you too much. I broke that promise, to you, to myself. I’m such a piece of shit and I’m so fuckin sorry.” I was crying along with him when he finished, and I managed to move next to him, taking his hand.
“Dean, I forgive you.” His gaze snapped to meet mine, surprise and a glimmer of hope in those green eyes I loved so much.
“I forgive you, but I can’t trust you again, not right now.” I internally winced as the hope died in his eyes.
“We can work on it though. I know it wasn’t you, but at the same time, it was, it was your lips that touched another woman, your voice, your hands that hurt me in so many ways. I love you Dean, I’ll always love you, but it’s going to take awhile before I trust you. I can’t go back to that right now.” He nodded in understanding, looking away from me.
“So what now?” I smiled.
“We start over. I’ll stay here, and you can come visit whenever, we go on a few dates, see where it goes.” He nodded, not looking happy, but knowing this is what I needed. He held his arms open then, waiting for me to make the move, and I sunk into him, holding him tightly as he wrapped his arms around me. His fingers threaded through my hair, lips touching the top of my head as we sat together.
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” I pulled back, looking up at him. He smiled widely, nodding.
“Yeah, I’d really like that.” I smiled back softly, standing up and holding my hand out to him. He took it hesitantly, and I pulled him up to drag him towards the kitchen. We weren’t okay. I wasn’t naive enough to think we’d be okay any time soon either. My trust in him was broken, shredded by the person he’d become. He was even more broken than before, his memories ripping apart his sanity and happiness. But we had each other, and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.
ppbbbtbtb i know everyone is writing an au about yaboykeiji and the-red-bowl‘s magician/dragon/demon au, but i couldn’t resist it either. this one is my take on the au, and it’s going to be a multichap monster that will (probably) reach around 100k by the end…
Pairing: Iwaizumi/Oikawa, Kageyama/Hinata, Bokuto/Akaashi, Kunimi/Kindaichi, other minor r/s
Rating: E (but not yet lmao)
Words: 3,591 / ???
Summary: Oikawa is halfway through typing the query ‘what to feed dragon demons’ when it occurs to him that no one on the planet
knows what a dragon should eat, or even knows that they exist, and all
he’s going to get are results for fantasy roleplay sites for
twelve-year-old boys who don’t have any friends.
He really needs better friends.
the story of how a skeptic becomes a believer, loners become a team,
and the fate of the world rests firmly on the efforts of a few scraggly
kids against their ridiculously photogenic enemies.)
Don't get me wrong, the games are pretty good, but the persona series does have a nasty habit of recycling ideas. Ryuji is a genderswapped Chie mixed with Mark and Kanji, Ann is Rise with the personality of Yukari and the body and problems of Lisa, Morgana is Teddie, Makoto recalls Mitsuru, Haru's "story" is much like Yukikio's and she's similar to Fuuka it seems, Yusuke is Jun, Mitsuba is a "good" Jin, and Goro is Naoto's successor. Even our first boss is Ginji and Kashiwagi's lovechild.
I feel you might be a bit too harsh here. While I agree that there’s a lot of reused character types, that doesn’t make them the same character. I like to teasingly call Rise “Lisa 2.0″, because I know that that’s pretty much the template the character was built on, yet I don’t think this means Rise was “lazily written” or anything. The same goes for any other time the game has used similar character types. Junpei and Yosuke, for example, were built on the same character type to the point that Character Designer Soejima even stated that the dev team themselves had a habit of joking that Yosuke and Junpei were the same, yet in the finished games, if you put those two next to each other, they have entirely different motivations and intentions, and, in fact, in Persona Q they don’t even get along all that well, because the far more childish Junpei is just too much for the way more down-to-earth Yosuke.
Character Creation is not easy. As someone who’s worked on several original stories (and not fully released any of them because whoopsy-) I’ve experienced myself what a daunting task it can be to make a cast colorful, distinct, and, most of all, diverse. We joke about tropes and character types, but the truth is that these archetypes are what our mind latches onto for recognizable. Even if a character is not designed around any sort of “character type”, the human mind will end up assigning them one. Name me one fictional character who is absolutely “unique” without falling into any common tropes or types, and I’ll show you an incoherent mess of a character. Characters resemble each other because they are supposed to be humans, and humans are as similar to each other as they’re different.
Being original isn’t easy. Fun fact, I actually ended up rewriting several characters in my current passion project, UnEnding, from the ground up once the first Persona 5 trailers came in, since I realized that a couple of them were eerily similar to characters from P5. Note that I had written these characters BEFORE the first P5 trailers came out. I had NO way of knowing what was gonna happen. It was a coincidence.
You say Ryuuji is “Chie and Mark and Kanji”. That’s already 3 characters, and I’ll add you in a Yosuke for good measure. That makes 4 characters who have tangential similarities to Ryuji. That doesn’t sound like reused characters to me, and more like Teenagers just being teenagers and resembling each other. If anything, that description proves that Ryuuji already appears to be fairly unique, rather than based off any specific previous character, which is a feat.
As for Anne, I’ll give you Lisa and Rise, since she clearly falls into the “inherited” character type set by Lisa in P2, which Rise also fell into, but her personality being Yukari? Where do you get that from? We’ve heard 3 lines of dialogue from her so far at best. You can’t really judge a character’s personality of that. I am going to dismiss that and leave it at her being part of the obvious “Lisa Family”, which, OK, is getting old, but some patterns are fun if they are kept.
Your comment about Morgana I find hilarious, because everything I know about Morgana so far points towards her being the polar opposite of Teddie, which means they are deconstructing their own set character types, rather than retreating them.
Makoto “recalls” Mitsuru only in the way that both of them are student council presidents who happen to ride bikes. If you can have only one female character who’s allowed to be in a position of power and pilot a motorcycle, that’s kinda sad, don’t you think? In fact, the info we have about Makoto so far suggests that she is unpopular and has anger management issues which is *nothing* like Mitsuru.
I cannot see where you get the comparisons between Haru, Yukiko and Fuuka from at all. Haru has been characterized as a rich, spoiled brat by the articles so far, a character type that hasn’t been used as part of the Main Cast by the Persona Series before, ever. I’d go as far as to call her the most “original” out of the cast so far.
Yusuke looks very similar to Jun, yes, but again, we don’t know anything about his personality yet, and the couple of spoken lines we have from him so far, in fact, suggest a very different personality from Jun’s, since unlike Jun, he seems to be blunt and down to earth. Jun was a soft-spoken romantic.
Futaba and Jin are both hackers. That’s all. You’re allowed to have more than one character who’s a computer genius in your series. Fuuka is a computer genius too (she’s one of the few people capable of repairing Anti Shadow Suppression Weapons), so if anything, you should have complained that we have another navigator who’s a computer genius on board. You didn’t mention this, because Fuuka had a strong, defined personality outside of being good with computers. And Futaba will have that too.
Goro being another detective kid irks me, but, really, let’s be real, this game is of the Phantom Thief genre. There HAD to be a Genius Detective in there. It’s obligatory. Making a second detective kid is still marginally better than outright reusing Naoto. P4 and P5 both happen to be based on literary genres where Detective Characters are common. That’s a coincidence. And as much as the repeat angers me, I can also see it having a lot of potential for exploration, so I’m putting my faith in Atlus.
And I have no idea how you know anything about the first boss yet, if all we have is 2 lines of trailer dialogue and some screenshots.
Honestly,Archetypes will always exist. We’ll always see them. That doesn’t mean we should demonize them as they occur. I, for my part, will judge the character once I’ve actually gotten to meet them.
LETs take a trip down memory lane to where Ava wanders into Maggie’s mind while they are on the ship. Maggie has Tuls make her another magic flower, and when she pulls out Gil’s book from her chest–
We see this photo on the door, obviously from when they were still friends.
Later on as Maggie is leaving, Ava discovers Maggie’s mind and wanders in.
Maggie thinks that Ava is just another figment of her and Tuls’s shared mind, and goes to get rid of this ‘fake’ Ava.Our poor and very real Ava tries to convince Maggie that shes real, much to the other girl’s anger.
MAGGIE HAS SOME SORT OF FLASHBACK
Suddenly, both Ava and Maggie are wearing different clothes, and Ava has a bandage on her face– the same as the photo of the girls when they were friends.
My theory is that the picture was taken was the day that they stopped being friends– and that what is happening in panels 965-7 is similar to what happened when that day occurred.