#I love p5 I swear but I didn’t for a long time for a reason

[god-of-a-thousand-demons]

Replaying first p4 dungeon like god I miss the Fox I need to HEAL

[soyouthinkucanwrite]

What did he say? - Daniel Ricciardo one shot

Update: I just realized it's Carlos' birthday TODAY! I'm so so sorry hahaha I feel like a jerk, but it's just play pretend ok?

Guys, this is based on a dream I had but listen, it’s so weird cause I KNOW this is not like Carlos AT ALL. He’s kind of the vilan in this one... Please don’t be mad if you’re a Carlos fan, it’s just for fun, I swear. I’ll even try to write something with him later to make it up to you guys! Also, I clearly don't know how vacuum works in racing, so again, just humor me and pretend I got it right, ok?

As always, please take the time to let me know what you think, means a lot to me (even if it’s constructive criticism)! And thank you so much to everyone that always does! 💕 Your lovely messages always motivate me to keep writing!

Warnings: angst, jealous Daniel, kind of a dick Carlos (again, sorry! I know he’d never)

.

I was in the “side stage” at the press room for the Austin GP, the first I ever went and of course, the first with Daniel, as his girlfriend. He was answering questions along with Pierre Gasly on stage. There were a few people besides me, including some of the drivers, waiting for their turn to face the press.

"Coco, ¿quién es?" I heard Carlos Sainz whispering to his cousin, nodding his head in my direction.

"No conozco. ¿Creo que es periodista?" his cousin answered looking at me. I just acted like I wasn't listening, or understanding, not sure why though.

"No, si fuera periodista estaría allá fuera, haciendo preguntas" Carlos continued.

"Sí, pero no me parece estar perdida" his cousin commented, they kept whispering but I could hear them very clearly.

"Qué pena, no me importaría darte direcciones" Carlos said with a smirk and I felt really uncomfortable at that, which only made me stay even more frozen in place and wish Daniel came back sooner.

"Si no te conociera, diría que acabas de romper una relación. Ni siquiera puedes ver a una chica alrededor" his cousin said hitting him playfully in the head.

"¿Y te parece esta una chica cualquier? Siempre debes andar con supermodelos, ¿no?" Carlos joked back.

"Vale, tienes razón" his cousin answered him and I was counting the seconds for Daniel to come back now.

"Pero sin duda es nueva aquí. Me recordaría de algo como eso. Tampoco pienso ser americana, ellas no tienen esta-" Just then someone called him.

"Sainz, you're up next" Daniel walked out, coming by my side. "Hey" he said to me and I smiled. "They just asked to wait 5 minutes, something about changing the batteries of the mics" he said looking back at Carlos, his cousin, and Kimi, who was going to be pairing with Carlos in the press conference and was just hanging in the corner by himself this whole time.

"Alright, thanks mate" Carlos answered.

"Hey, have you guys met (y/n)? Carlos, Carlos, (y/n)... (y/n), Carlos, Carlos" Daniel made the introductions grinning like a teenager, probably finding it super funny that they had the same first name.

"¡Hola! Mucho gusto en conocerlos, soy (y/n). ¿Como están?" I extended my hand to greet them, feeling much more confident now that I had a 5' 9" Australian by my side. They looked startled at me and then at each other.

“¿Hablas español?” Carlos asked me.

“Sí, y compreendo muy bien también” I told him and my tone made it clear I knew exactly what they were talking about earlier and didn’t like it a bit.

"Carlos, Kimi, they're ready for you" an assistant called.

"Good one kid" Kimi said to me when he walked past us, winking at Daniel. Carlos followed him to the stage and since I didn't want to just stand there in the remains of the awkward situation with Dan and Carlos’ cousin, I just walked in the opposite direction, outside the press room. Not too long after, Daniel walked after me.

"Hey, what was that about?" he asked, still smiling. Boy, he wouldn't be smiling for too long after I told him what that was about.

"What?" I asked, trying not to make a big deal. He reached for my hand, taking it in his.

"You know what. Come on, what happened back there? Did you guys know each other?"

"No!" I have to tell him now, or he'll think I have something to hide. I took a deep breath. "They were talking between themselves before you come out, in Spanish. And I don't think they thought I could understand" he looked at me confused but then it hit him and his expression changed from confusion to rage.

"What did they said?"

"Nothing, it's not a big deal ok? I just wanted to let them know I could understand, so I just said 'hello' in Spanish, that's all" I said, walking away from the place where we were standing and pulling his hand. God knows I didn't want to be there when Carlos walked out, or better, for Daniel to be there.

"I figured that much. But what did he said? Just tell me" Daniel looked at me.

"Let's just go? Please? It's not worth it. What are you going to do? Sucker punch him?"

"Do I need to sucker punch him? Is it that bad?"

"No! Dan, please, let's just go. This is not going to lead us anywhere"

"(y/n)"

"I'll tell you. Promise. Back at the trailer, okay?" I tried to negotiate.

"Fine"

When we stepped back inside his driver's room, Daniel closed the door and looked at me.

"Alright. Spill it"

"Promise me you won't do anything to him"

"Absolutely not. The longer you stall me, the more pissed off I get"

"Okay” I knew I had no choice and honestly, why should I protect him really? I’m just worried about how this might make Daniel feel. “They were wondering who I was, his cousin was teasing him saying he was only interested because he just ended a relationship"

"That's not all" he said and I didn't answer, just looked away, shaking my head. "Alright. I'm sorry you had to hear that. But you can tell me these things ok? I want to protect you baby" He said stepping closer to me and hugging me.

"I don't want you to cause trouble for something stupid"

"Hey!" he said pulling away a bit to look at me. "This is not stupid. Nothing about you is stupid. It's a big deal baby, that’s plain disrespectful. I want you here with me, always. And I want you to feel comfortable here, okay?"

"I feel comfortable now" I said hugging him closer. He smiled and kissed the top of my head.

"Fuckers" he whispered to himself.

"Promise me you won't confront him. He'll deny, or start a fight. Or both. And besides, it’s not so much what he said, it’s more like how they were eyeing me. And I don't want you to get involved in a scandal" I said pulling away and sitting down in a chair. Daniel leaned against the table, looking at me.

"A scandal?" he laughed.

"You do know gossip is the major product of motorsports, right?" I smirked at him.

"Fair enough" he agreed. "Fuck baby, the things I have to deal with for having a goddess as a girlfriend" he was joking now, so the mood seemed lighter, but knowing Daniel, I knew he hadn't completely let that go yet. I just rolled my eyes at him. Hopefully, the events of the weekend would be enough to get his mind out of it.

.

.

Friday and Saturday kept us busy enough so that we didn’t touch the subject anymore, but I could still catch Daniel staring at Carlos here and there. And I could definitely see Carlos staring at me too, which I tried to avoid at all costs, staying out of his visual field. If Daniel saw that, I don’t know if I’d be able to hold him back again.

On Sunday I’d be watching from the garage with Michael and Blake, which was super exciting, to see all the action from the front row. But I didn’t want to disturb Daniel’s routine, so I tried to stay back a little. Yet, he kept coming to steal kisses and joke around. He seemed really relaxed and confident. He was P5 and I took the care to see that Carlos was P8, so I knew they might race each other eventually but I also knew that Dan would be much more preoccupied doing what he does best and overtaking the 4 in front of him to even think about whoever was behind. Everything was going to be fine, no harm done.

“Alright. Time to go” he announced to me. “Kiss for good luck?”

“Good luck. Just go and do what you do best, okay? And try to come back in one piece” I smiled through the kiss and then watched him take his helmet from the table, wink at me, and turn to walk towards his Mclaren. My chest was tight but I could only pray and hope now.

The cars were already outside the garage for some reason, so Dan was walking out when Carlos passed in front of the orange crew. He stopped to greet some of them and that would be fine, except he was not paying any attention to the people he was talking to. He was looking inside the garage like he was looking for something, or rather someone, cause when he saw me he nodded like he was greeting me and checked me out, head to toes. Dan saw it and looked back inside just in time to see me step aside, behind Michael, clearly uncomfortable with the whole thing.

“Hey... man” Carlos greeted Daniel. And his tone made me sure that it wasn’t even about me anymore. Carlos knew how much it must be bothering Daniel and was clearly using it to try and get him pissed off and unfocused. The thing is, very few things were capable of getting Daniel out of his “all good all ways” vibe, but when they did, you definitely don’t want to be on his way. I’m actually a bit worried about the other drivers now, Carlos included, because Dan just turned back to his machine, like he knew exactly what he was going to do and nothing would stop him, getting inside the car a mere formality. He didn’t even bother to take a second look at Carlos.

“Oh boy” I commented.

“Yeah, I saw it” Michael said to me. “What was that about anyway? I thought they got along fine”. I don’t say anything else, and from that moment on my eyes are glued to the screen in front of us, following any micro movement Daniel makes.

They go for the warm-up lap, which feels like it takes forever, and then, finally, Grid formation. That sign must be broken cause the lights also took hours to change.

3, 2, 1... there they go. Thank god we’re wearing masks, otherwise, my nails and fingertips would be long gone.

The first turn is a sharp one and Daniel had an opening to overtake Perez, the first driver in front of him, we could see it clearly from the drone view, but he didn’t take it. What is he doing?

“What is he doing?” Somebody in the garage voiced my thoughts.

“You had an opening Daniel” the engineer said on the radio.

“All under control. I know what I’m doing. How far are the others behind me?” Daniel answered.

I hoped he wasn’t doing what I thought he was doing but I already knew he was. Being the risk-it-all-idiot he was, Dan was waiting for Carlos to catch up to him. Knowing him, I knew he wanted to race and beat him personally, which was crazy stupid, but wouldn’t take long since Carlos had already overtaken Gasly and Alonso, and was now only a few nanoseconds behind Daniel.

“Come on Dan” I said to myself.

“Come on Daniel” Blake practically yelled at the screen.

I feel like throwing up. He’s gonna get hurt and jeopardize all the work the team put into the weekend just to... to what? I don’t even know. If he gets out of this race alive, I’ll personally kill him.

The race’s still going, no major changes after the first turn. Then suddenly Daniel seems to remember he had a gas pedal, finally getting speed in the big straight and leaving Perez behind. Carlos followed him, seeming to use the vacuum in his favor. Everybody in the garage celebrates, but I’m too focused to cheer along. He’s so close to the podium now. Just keep it up, baby. Carlos is still on his tail.

“Good job mate” the engineer says on the radio. “Watch for Sainz on your right. Bottas’ next”

“Keep me posted on Sainz’s time” it’s all Daniel says.

A couple more laps go and he’s really trying to overtake Bottas, not playing games anymore. Carlos doesn’t seem to try to overtake him even once though, he’s too far behind still.

More laps go by and I can’t standstill. When they’re in the 19th lap, with Max and Hamilton battling each other and taking turns in the lead, Daniel’s voice comes on the radio.

“Let’s be the first to box” I’m not sure what he’s playing at, as it’s still too soon to box, but the team seems to agree.

“Copy that. I’ll let you know when. Let’s get a couple more laps in. Keep this up for now” his engineer answers.

“Understood” Daniel’s voice come through the radio. “How’s Sainz time?”

“At least 1.5 seconds behind you” the engineer informs him.

“Understood” Daniel says.

He’s planning something. Not sure what, and I don’t know if I even could, not knowing much about racing strategies, but it definitely has something to do with Carlos and what happened earlier.

“Ouch!” I hear Michael say and nod towards the screen, making me focus on the race again, and not only on Daniel. Max and Hamilton had touched tires. “They're really going at it, definitely using way more tires than necessary"

"If Dan box before them..." I begin to ask.

"He needs a fast box, gaining speed later and for their box to be slower, but yeah, that's his best shot at them" Michael explains to me.

"Come on baby" I whisper to myself.

Daniel seems to finally get close enough to Bottas, but the Finnish guy won't make it easy for him. Turn 11 on sector 2 will be his best shot now and it's getting closer.

The garage and the radio go silent. Feels like the whole world is holding their breaths while Daniel smoothly overtakes Bottas from his left. And then I almost go deaf with all the cheering around me, it's a podium for Daniel, for now.

Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to last too long, cause once he comes to the box all the other drivers will pass him. It's just so frustrating.

"Good job mate. Spectacular time. Box now" the engineer informs on the radio.

"Box confirmed. We need to ace this, boys" Daniels says.

Not even a full minute later, I hear his car and see it on the screen. I look outside to see the orange machine with the big 3 in front of it, but I don't even have time to try and take a look at him, cause 2.3 seconds later (or at least that's what the TV tells me) there he goes again. The good news is, only Bottas passed him. The bad news is he almost crashes into Carlos when he comes out of the Pit Lane.

Some of the crew were still celebrating the fast pit stop when they realized what happened. I let out a gasp. They touched tires but Carlos seemed to have managed to get away from Daniel, quickly returning to his side a moment later but struggling to keep it up. Dan, on the other side, seems unbothered. He keeps gaining speed, even though the pit exit is right on the first turn.

"Take it easy now mate, even if Sainz passes you, his time is not enough to stay in front" the engineer informs Daniel, clearly worried that the risk doesn't justify the ends.

"Understood" Daniel responds.

We're on lap 30 now and just as the engineer said, Carlos is a full 2 seconds behind Daniel. Bottas still in front of him (which is frustrating for me because he had just overtaken him before the pit stop), then Hamilton, and finally Max.

"Daniel" the engineer calls him. "How're the tires?"

"All good"

"Good. Ready to race, mate? Hamilton's going to box now"

"Before Bottas?"

"Yes, that's confirmed"

"Understood"

I listen to the conversation between Daniel and the engineer closely, but I can't say I know exactly what the implications are.

"Bottas' going to second, Daniel to third again. Let's hope for a slow pitstop for Hamilton, so when he comes out, he comes in third and races Daniel. That's the best-case scenario, so he needs to gain speed now" Blake explains to me.

"Got it" I confirm to him. "What about Bottas? He should box on the next lap right?"

"Yeah. If Daniel overtakes him still on this lap, the difference will be too big for him to recover after his pit stop. Hopefully" He tells me.

There's a lot of 'hopefullys' and 'best-case scenarios' in this conversation, but I'll take it. I start to silently pray right away, eyes glued to the screen to see exactly what Blake predicted unfold: Hamilton pit stops, Bottas and Daniel are the firsts to go up on the positions, then Carlos, Alonso, and Gasly. The first turn comes again and Dan seises the opportunity to overtake Bottas, who, to his credit, is fighting real hard, but Dan isn't letting him take back his position.

Dan is P2 now. Max is almost 3 seconds in front of him. Hamilton comes out of the pit lane behind Gasly, it should take him long to again his positions.

"Bottas to box on this lap mate" the engineer announces.

"Not worried about Bottas. What about Max?" Daniel answers. A few moments of silence follow.

"Box confirmed for Max on this lap as well. Just get closer to him" the engineer instructs.

"Understood" Daniel answers.

"Come on, baby" I cheer silently again.

"Fuck! He's gonna make it" Michael yells. "Come on Daniel!"

Bottas is 2 seconds behind Daniel, and on the big straight Daniel manages to shorten his time difference to Max to 1.8 seconds. The next thing I know, Max is coming down the pit lane, quickly followed by Bottas. Daniel is P1. I can't believe this. Carlos is P2, but he hasn't boxed yet. Surprisingly enough, Alonso is P3 and, not so surprisingly, Hamilton is already P4 and gaining speed.

"Alonso hasn't boxed yet" Blake comments. That's bad news if we were hoping for him to defend his position against Hamilton. I take a look on the TV and they're showing the conditions of his tires, which to me doesn't mean anything.

"Will he be able to hold him?" I ask Blake.

"Not sure, he's tough though and doesn't want Hamilton to win, that's for sure" Blake answers me.

Then we hear Max passing outside, had almost forgotten about him.

"That took him longer than normal" Michael comments and we look at the screen, his pit stop was 3.6 seconds long. An eternity for the Redbull team. But awesome news for us. Bottas had already left the pit lane, his pit stop was 2.4 seconds long.

The grid is now Daniel, Carlos, Alonso, Hamilton, Bottas, and then Max. Alonso is still holding Hamilton back. Normally, I'd guess Carlos would box soon and maybe even Alonso, but since I know Carlos has some personal motivation against Daniel, I feel like he's going to hold on the longer he can and the same goes for Alonso regarding Hamilton.

We're at the final 10 laps now and nothing has changed, except Carlos is dangerously closer to Daniel now. Alonso still hasn't let Hamilton go by him, repeating the Hungaroring events. I hear the signal of the radio, indicating we're about to hear some communication between Daniel and his engineer, and my chest tightens. It's Daniel's voice that comes on then.

"Something wrong. I'm losing power" Fuck. No.

"Sainz is at your tail. Can you hold on?" the engineer asks.

"I don't know. Fuck. It's just not working. How much's the difference?"

"Less than 1 second"

"Fuck. Why hasn't he boxed yet?"

"His tires are in real bad condition. But I don't think he's going to do it now"

"I'll put some pressure on him"

"Negative. Negative. Stay away"

"Not going to touch him. Pinky promise" Bastard. I can hear the smirk in his voice, even though this is extremely dangerous and insane pressure, Daniel's still having the time of his life.

9 laps to go.

8 laps to go.

Carlos almost overtakes Daniel.

"Engine's not good. Can you do something?" Daniel asks.

"Negative. 7 laps to go mate, just hold it"

"Understood"

On the big straight of the 51st lap, Carlos overtakes Daniel, but then on the next turn, Daniel takes back his position. The sequel of turns that follows is the most nerve-wracking thing I've ever seen in my life, they're so close to each other, and at such a high speed that if they simply touch tires they would fly off the track and everything would be lost to both of them, maybe even their lives.

"Hamilton passed Alonso, mate. Watch out" the engineer informs him, and I look at the screen. Fuck.

"Fuuuuck" Daniel says on the radio.

It's the 52nd lap now, only 4 more to go and Carlos doesn't even signal a pit stop. He's going to try to make the whole race without it.

"Ferrari is not happy with him" Michael laughs a dark laugh. I knew he had a history of being stubborn but this is too much.

"His tires are at less than 10% integrity. How is he still going?" I ask.

There's the big straight again and Carlos falls a bit behind Daniel, but I've watched enough to know that that doesn't necessarily mean a good thing. Just as I predicted, he tries to use Daniel's vacuum to gain more speed and overtake him, Daniel doesn't let him through and get in front of him, making him almost go off track. That would be a "normal" movement, except Hamilton was using Carlos' vacuum in his favor and, when Carlos is forced to change directions, Hamilton hits his back left tire, which makes it blows off and it's a mess from then on.

Daniel is far from the whole ordeal by now, safe and sound, thankfully. But Carlos spins in the track, taking Hamilton with him. They both go off track and Max flies by, followed by Bottas, Charles (where did he come from?), and then Alonso.

"Are they alright?" It's the first thing that comes up to me to ask.

"Fuck! That was crazy. Is everyone ok?" Daniel asks on the radio.

"Positive. Everyone's ok. Keep going, mate. 3 more laps to go" the engineer informs him.

"Who's behind me now? Bottas?" Daniel asks.

"Max. But he's at least 2 seconds behind, we should be fine" I hear the engineer say and it's like I can almost breathe again. Daniel's going to win this thing. He's so close now.

"It wasn't Daniel's fault, was it? Can they punish him in some way for the accident?" I ask Michael.

"Don't know. He was defending his position, but he's been closing in Carlos ever since the begging of the race. Depends on how Ferrari and Mercedes spin this, they'll try anything that favors them" Michael explains to me in a worried tone.

They're in the final lap and Daniel's been clearly losing speed. Something's wrong with the engine. But it's the final lap, just a few more moments, come on baby, you can do it. Max is so close to him though, I wouldn't be surprised if the winner was declared based on the replay of the finishing line. The big straight comes up and Dan has to stay out of Max's front, so as to not give him any advantages.

I can barely see it, but at the same time, I can't take my eyes off the screen.

"Full force now mate, final sector. You can win this" the engineer says on the radio but Daniel doesn't respond. Max is right by his side, he's going to pass him.

There's smoke coming out of his car, the whole thing is going to blow off any second now. Oh my god, please just a few more seconds.

5 turns to go.

4 turns to go.

3 turns to go. Max overtakes him. Shit.

2 turns to go. Daniel wins his place on the podium back.

Final turn. Daniel's in the front, barely. They cross the finish line and the whole garage explores with cheering. There are people running outside to wave at him. I can only smile and hold my own head like it would fall off otherwise. He did it. He fucking did it.

"Woo-hoo! Yes! Yes! Fuck yes!" I can hear Daniel on the radio, screaming his lungs out.

"Good job mate. Spectacular work. First-class, really! Well done!" the engineer cheers on.

The next thing I know, Michael is hugging me and lifting me from the ground just to puck me back down and Blake lift me up again. I can only laugh at their excitement. I'm so happy for Daniel I can barely grasp it!

"Let's go!" Blake puts me down and runs outside the garage. I follow him out, to the place where Daniel is stopping the car, a bunch of smoke coming out and some people with fire extinguishers around it.

He's got his fists up, celebrating. But is still inside the car. Then he takes off the steering wheel and handles it to one of the mechanics waiting outside. He gets out of the car and stands on top of it, smokes still coming out from behind. It's a nice picture. I just hoped he got away from that thing before it explodes, but it's a nice picture, can't deny it.

Then he jumps down and run towards the crew, jumping over them, helmet still on. Everybody is celebrating and cheering, I can only laugh and clap at the scene before me. So much joy and happiness going on, the energy is amazing! Then I can see Daniel looking around, but since his helmet is still on, I have no idea what he's doing. Somebody seems to understand though and they wave at me, calling me to come closer. I approach, but I'm still unsure, don't want to get in the middle of the team's celebration. But Daniel grabs me, pulling me closer and hugging me. I just laugh, can't barely see him with the suit and helmet still on. He's saying something, but I can't understand a thing.

"What?" I laugh at his attempts to communicating with me. He opens his helmet visor and repeats.

"I fucking won baby!" He yells laughing.

"I know! I know! You won Dan! I'm so proud! You're the best baby!"

"I need to get this thing off" he says struggling to get the helmet and the balaclava off, when he finally manages to do it, he jumps over the fence that was separating us and hugs me again, lifting me in the air and kissing me deeply, making everyone around us cheer even louder and I smile against his lips. I wrap my legs around him and he keeps kissing me, only after a few seconds do I pull away to breathe and he touches our foreheads. I laugh again, just enjoying the feeling of pure happiness for him.

"I'm so proud of you. You were so good. This is crazy" I whisper to him.

"Get used to it, cause there's more where it came from" he answers kissing me again.

[chrismerle]

what’s up i spent way too long typing up a post about my thoughts on P5S, and it isn’t even all encompassing. i guess if you’re curious about anything i didn’t mention in this trainwreck just ask.

my spoiler-heavy thoughts/pseudo-review below the cut

THINGS I LIKED:

The characterization, broadly speaking. If you, like me, loved the Thieves in P5/P5R then you’ll be pretty happy with them here. There are a couple moments that made me roll my eyes (lookin’ at you, hot springs) but on the whole, the main cast are unchanged.

The new characters. Sophia and Zenkichi are great. Sophia is precious and Zenkichi straddles a very fine line of ‘realistically out of the loop, but gives as good as he gets.’ I don’t even care how silly their costumes were. Sophie looked like the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man, though I did like her little emoticon visor, but also she had no pants. Wolf’s mask was badass but the fact that his stupid pointy hat was riveted to the top of his stupid disco high collar killed it and I wanted to see someone grab his hat and pull it back to see it fling back into place like a drinky-drinky bird. Even so, the characters were great, and when I noticed that all the attacks for Sophie’s initial pseudo-Persona had question marks after them (Kouga? Dia?), it made me laugh, and Wolf’s a good all-purpose party member because he hits like a fucking truck and nothing is immune to Almighty. Plus in some of his post-battle dialogue he calls them all ‘kiddos’ and they consistently call him Gramps.

The gameplay. I mean, yeah, it’s VERY different than P5, but you all know that. And hey! The game no longer immediately ends if Joker gets knocked out (unless he’s the only one left in the party, obviously). It ran pretty smoothly, there’s something weirdly charming about the other Thieves showing up perched on cover points, and the only consistent issue I ran into is that in segments where the camera gets forced into a certain angle, it can switch back so abruptly at the end that you accidentally go walking right off a ledge.

I’ve never really played a Dynasty Warriors-type game before, so it took me a Jail or so to get used to it, but then I was just cackling as I mowed down swarms of Jack Frosts like a weed-whacker in a flower field with a knife the size of Joker’s torso. Honestly, it took me the longest to get used to the fact that the circle button became the all-purpose ‘interact’ button than anything else.

Actually, that’s a lie. It took me the longest to get used to the fact that if I left a Jail, I wouldn’t be losing any time. I’m very used to Persona games having the calendar constantly counting down, which wasn’t the case here.

The story, broadly speaking. It had some hiccups and some issues, which I’ll get into, but for the most part, it was fun. I’m...not going to outline every detail of the story here, but it felt very P5-y and I enjoyed it.

THINGS I LIKED BUT THAT NEEDED WORK:

The writing. It was a little inconsistent, beyond just the usual weirdness that I have accepted comes along with Persona games. (//patiently clicks through numerous conversations of the gang going ‘did this super obvious thing that this memory threw in our faces happen? Let’s debate about whether the most likely answer by a huge margin is the answer’ and several conversations of ‘are we sure this person is bad? We saw them playing nice, like literally every other villain we’ve faced’) A lot was great! Like, the bit with the Okinawa locals breaking into the RV while the kids hide in the bushes? Genuinely unsettling! Akane’s Jail and the fake Thieves was fun, and seeing Zenkichi scuttle from hiding place to hiding place without Thief powers was funny, and his Shadow’s glowing eyes watching him before becoming his Persona was both badass and unsettling. The realization that EMMA was actively lying to Konoe was nice. Character interactions were great and I loved that Sophia went with Ichinose at the end. There was a lot that was good. But there were also a lot of missteps.

Like, it kind of felt like the direction for the writing changed partway through. It started out as if each member of the Phantom Thieves was going to get their own time to shine, identifying and empathizing with a Monarch. Ann realized she could have been Alice. Yusuke realized he could have been Ango and also saw redeeming him as sort of like redeeming Madarame by proxy. Mariko was a link to Haru’s childhood and her father. The ghost Jail on Okinawa lured Sophie in and by the end she realized how much she meant to her friends ryuji said fuck. Akane was Zenkichi’s literal daughter. And then it went to Konoe and then EMMA, so Ryuji, Futaba, Morgana, Makoto, and Joker didn’t get a chance to shine in that regard. The switch from ‘a Jail for everyone to identify with’ to ‘whelp here’s the decoy and the end boss’ felt like they came from two separate drafts of the script, and it’s not like they had to watch the time; I got through P5S in about a third the time it took me to get through P5R. It took me about 35 hours. Considering the game kind of relies on you having played P5, they already knew their target audience has a longer attention span than that.

Owada was talked up as kind of a big deal, but he had like two scenes on-screen and otherwise was an entirely off-screen character. There’s a lot of mid-combat dialogue that is very difficult to focus on, which was sort of annoying when some of it was actually relevant. Ichinose’s reveal as a villain is very info-dump-y.

Plus, Joker wasn’t utilized particularly well as a silent protagonist. He’s got more implied personality than basically any other Persona protag. Which means he’s actually pretty expressive throughout the game, but I can probably count his lines of dialogue outside of combat with fingers left over. No one expects Yu Narukami to actually react to anything, so it doesn’t feel odd when he doesn’t. But the combination of Joker being reasonably expressive and having a demonstrated personality means you’re perpetually EXPECTING and WANTING him to say something about the shit going on, and when he doesn’t it feels like mentally missing a stair.

THINGS THAT I DIDN’T LIKE:

The cut corners. Like, a lot of things just seem lazy. There were scenes that really should have been included that weren’t, like how the Thieves escaped from the hotel after the police showed up; it cut from Zenkichi warning them and getting arrested to them arriving at the temporary hideout, so we never even got to see how the Thieves reacted to realizing the cops were outside. Requests to bond with the other Thieves only got a couple of text boxes, when they could have shown a tiny scene of them hanging out like they had all over P5. Rather than having Sae actually on-screen for her brief scene, the camera instead very unnaturally switched to an angle as if it was from her point of view, which was literally the only time the camera did that in the entire game. All of the Sentries look the same from Jail to Jail, instead of being unique to each Jail. Igor is completely absent for the entire game, and other than a throwaway ‘my master can’t be here’ from Lavenza it’s just not really acknowledged.

The missed opportunities. Like, there is no way to look at this except to assume that Joker was a horrible friend to literally everyone in this world state. Like, I can pass off the fact that everyone has their baseline Personae as being because they haven’t had access to their powers for a while, but when you combine it with the fact that NONE of Joker’s other confidants show up or even know he’s back in Tokyo, it leaves little to assume except that in this world, no confidants got maxed out. On top of that, the Personae are all basically pointless. They could be Pokemon or Stands or Digimon or fucking YuGiOh cards, and it wouldn’t make a difference; NOTHING about the game says ‘these entities are integral to this world and important to these characters.’ Also they could have had Akane actually realize who the Thieves were and it would have been hysterical, but that’s just my personal sulk.

The Requests. I liked the Mementos missions in P5/P5R. They felt like they had a point. Requests in P5S are all basically just fetch quests. ‘Go to Location A, fight so many of Enemy B to get so many of Item C. Turn in Request.’ Hell, one of them bugged out on me, I swear. There’s a Request to teach Zenkichi how to cook a simple meal, and Haru gives you a recipe including beef. I had no beef on me at the time, because if you want SP restoratives you gotta cook a fair amount and I used it, and I could find literally no beef in the city I was in at the time so I had to abandon the Request. On top of that, outside of getting food or a few moments where another character specifically asks for Joker’s attention, character-specific Requests mostly replace the ability to bond with the other characters individually.

The restoratives. Or, more specifically, the disparity between HP restoratives and SP restoratives. There’s essentially one cookable recipe to restore SP for every four recipes to restore HP. Even if I stopped at every store and vending machine, I’m pretty sure there were a couple cities where I could find NO SP restoratives for sale, while most stores and vending machines had at least two or three HP restoratives. And while it is true that you can go in and out of a Jail whenever you please to restore SP, that doesn’t help you if you run out during a boss fight you weren’t expecting (mini-boss encounters are virtually identical to regular monster encounters) or during one of the times where you CAN’T leave the Jail for reasons XYZ.

The final boss, and not just because I died and had to start over a few times. As a concept, EMMA could be cool, but in reality she just seemed like the writers threw Yaldabaoth and Maruki in a blender and poured the results into the game. Like Yaldabaoth, she is a false god who seeks to control humanity, claiming it’s what they want. Like Maruki, she seems genuinely deluded into thinking it’s for the best and that she’s not doing anything wrong. Her Jail looked like a slightly sci-fi reskin of the Depths of Mementos. The shtick with the multiple platforms and getting to actually SEE an all-out attack at the end were nice, but for the most part the fight itself was nothing special. Ultimately, EMMA had nothing unique going for her except her name.

Plus, EMMA’s entire rationale was that the majority of humans want someone else to control their lives for them, essentially out of convenience. And she’s presented as being more or less right, but that just being one of the hurdles of being human. It seemed a little dour and far-fetched. Like, the Thieves repeatedly point out that struggling allows people to grow, and they’re right, but in my experience, I’ve never actually met anyone who, upon hitting a roadblock, decided ‘Jesus take the wheel.’ Considering the greed with which her weird tentacle arms snatched up the solidified Desires, the pettiness of the complaints she used as a “gotcha,” and the fact that she just kind of reiterates her ‘people want to be controlled’ point over and over, I think it would have felt a bit more true to life and given her more agency if, instead of presenting her as largely correct, it instead acknowledged that everyone at some time or another hits a wall and wants someone to tell them what to do and had her capitalizing on those individual brief moments to hook people in, despite her having reams of data that for most people, those moments are temporary.

[the-fangirl-lorax]

Our House Of Cards.

P1//P2//P3//P4//P5//P6

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of cheating and domestic agruments. 

“Excuse me? I’m really sorry to disturb you two lovebirds but we’re actually closing in a few minutes,” the owner of the cafe said apologetically, giving you and Jungkook a bright smile. 

Lovebirds. 

Despite having been parted for so long, clearly, it was all too easy for the pair of you to fall back into your old ways. You couldn’t suppress the spark of hope this thought gave you. Maybe there was still a chance for you. 

The older woman turned to walk away but stopped herself to turn back and say, “I’m so happy to see the two of you here together again.” Jungkook glanced at you, the look speaking volumes. You had a lot of explaining to do and it was clear that Jungkook was not letting you get away without getting his answers first. 

“Thank you,” you said, returning the smile of the older woman. Standing, you took your jacket from the back of the chair and pulled it on, Jungkook quickly following suit. You both bid goodbye to the older woman as the pair of you stepped out into the evening air. 

The second you stepped outside, the mood noticeably shifted. Jungkook turned to face you, his once warm eyes were now sad and serious. 

“We need to talk Y/N, I need answers. I need closure.” 

Closure. Shit.  

That small ray of hope that had appeared earlier was quickly diminished as soon as he said that. You weren’t getting back together. Not now, and most likely never. You took a deep breath, mulling over these past few years. You were wrong to leave him the way you did, leave him questioning everything for so long. There had been so many chances for you to make this right before and you’ve let them all pass you by. But not this time. This time you needed to do right by him. 

“You’re right,” you sighed. Jungkook’s eyes widened when he heard you agree but he quickly collected himself before nodding solemnly. 

“We can go to mine if that’s okay with you?” You gave a curt nod and he continued; “I’m back at the dorm now, my ex has the apartment since it was hers in the first place. I’m sure the guys will be happy to see you again.” 

“Yeah, I’d like to see them too.” 

With that, you followed a step behind Jungkook as he leads the way. To try and ease the tension between the two of you, he fell back into step with you and rambled on about his latest tour. It worked. Soon, the tension that built up the second you left the cafe slowly melted away. 

You walked shoulder to shoulder, reminiscing as you passed places you used to frequent as a couple. It surprised you when Jungkook confessed it was still hard for him to go to most of them. 

“I know we broke up years ago but they just hold so many memories of all the good times we had,” he shrugged, glancing at you to gauge your reaction.

“Yeah, I get that. Even looking at them makes me kind of sad too.” 

“I did try to go. Multiple times actually but....” 

“But?” 

“Being at all those restaurants and cafes and shops just made me miss you. So, so badly that it hurt,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushed and his mouth spread with a bashful grin. This sight made your heartache. Good God, you missed making him like this. Complimenting and teasing him endlessly until he turned beet-red and had to kiss you just to get you to shut up. Jungkook glanced down at you, his heart quickening when he saw the adoration in your eyes. 

You still cared for him. 

Possibly even still loved him. Jungkook sighed as he looked away, he couldn’t let himself get carried away. Of course, you didn’t love him, you left him. Yet, he allowed just a small part of himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, he’s the reason you’re here. 

Jungkook mentally braced himself for rejection as he reached down and slipped his hand into yours. You started, having been so lost in thought. The perplexed look on your face made Jungkook immediately let go. 

“S-sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to over-step.” You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand, pulling him closer. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you didn’t. You just surprised me, that’s all.” The look on his face was priceless. His eyes lit up, the corners of his mouth pulled up into a blinding smile. He looked happy, just as happy as the day this all fell apart. You smiled back and turned away to start walking again. Jungkook slotted his fingers between yours, the rings on his right making small sounds as they bumped against the ones on your left. Your head came to rest on his shoulder as you wrapped your right hand around his bicep. Jungkook absentmindedly traced patterns on the back your hand as you walked.  

                                                               ***

Before long you reached the building of the dorm and were in the elevator. The AC was blasting, making in freezing in the lift. You shivered, moving closer to Jungkook. Suddenly, he dropped your hand and turned towards you. You glanced up ad he smirked at you before pulling you impossibly closer to him and into his awaiting arms. He wrapped you in a warm hug and your arms made their way around his waist to hug him back. He kissed your head, then your forehead and was about to plant one on your nose when the doors opened. He sighed and moved away, leaving you speechless.

“This is my floor,” he said softly before grabbing your hand again and pulling you out of the elevator. Once you reached his door, you moved to let go of him as Jungkook started looking for his key. 

“No,” he quickly stopped you, “Don’t let go.” Shocked, all you could do was give a nod in reply. He was acting like you were a flight risk. As if any minute now, you were going to turn and run away as fast as you can. 

He was afraid you’d leave him again.  

                                                               *** 

“Y/N, it’s so great to see you again,” Jimin said, pulling you in for what must be the hundredth hug he’d given you since you’d gotten here. 

“You too Jimin-ssi. It’s great to see all of you,” you waved as you let Jungkook drag away from the group. The remaining six watched anxiously as you walked away. 

“I don’t like this,” Yoongi muttered as he turned to face the rest of the group, his tone and expression deadly serious. 

“Neither do I hyung. It's taken him so long to get back to himself, I don’t want to see him hurt again,” Jimin pouted. They all nodded in agreement. 

“But what can we do? He needs this. He needs to finally be able to move on. But so help me if that girl hurts our Jungkookie again,” Jin spat, making the others smile fondly at their protective hyung. 

“I really hope this goes well though,” Taehyung mused, “How great would it be to see him actually happy again? If they do get back together, and they might, we’ll have to set our feelings aside. For Jungkook’s sake.” The members all agreed. 

Meanwhile, you were sat on Jungkook’s bed, watching him as he nervously paced. 

“Jungkook sit down. Let’s just get this over with.” He nodded, pulled over his desk chair and sat directly in front of you, his knees grazing yours. Carefully, he takes your hands in his, his thumbs tracing soothing patterns as he shifts with a sigh. 

“I’m going to say my piece and I really need to get this all out in one go, so please don’t interrupt me. Okay?” You agree and Jungkook takes a slow, deep breath. 

“You left me Y/N, you left when I needed you the most. The second you walked out that door I wanted to run after you, beg and plead with you to stay with me. I’ve never- I had never felt what I felt for you, for anyone else. A-and I haven’t since,” he paused briefly, looking up at you cautiously through his lashes. You stare back, eyes wide and earnest, expression open to show him that you were drinking in every word he said, and he continued. 

“I’ve never felt pain and loneliness like what I went through that first night. Hell, that whole year. I’d planned on just giving you some time, hoping that being apart from me would make you realise that you were wrong to leave me. I was convinced you’d come back to me, love, I got in so many arguments with the members, my friends and family when they tried to make me realise that you weren’t coming back. I only really got the message I found out that you had left for America. Only then was I made to see that we were over. You don’t understand what that did to me Y/N, how I felt knowing I’d lost the love of my life.” 

That stung, hit you hard and knocked all the air from your lungs. You didn’t want to hear this but you had to. Jungkook was clearly still carrying all of this with him and needed to get it off his chest, to finally tell you everything. So you said nothing, you owed him that much at least. 

“The members did their best to try and pick up the pieces, to get me to focus on work and move on. By the time the end of the second year rolled around, I was getting really close to doing just that. But then I checked your Instagram for the first time since the break-up, and I saw all your pictures with....” Jungkook trailed off, his eyes closed and his brows knitted together in anger as he thought of that cheating scumbag. 

Jungkook opened his eyes suddenly and looked at you. 

“Did..did you love them?” he asked quietly. This threw you and the time you were taking to reply gave him his answer. 

“Wow, I-” he started but you cut him off.

“No. I didn’t Kookie. There was even a time when I thought I could never move on and I’d wished I’d never left you. I remember we’d had a really bad fight one night and they said some really horrible things. It was early in the relationship and after how well you treated me, I wasn’t about to let myself be treated like shit. So we broke up for a bit. But I soon went crawling back,” you whispered as you thought back to the early days of your relationship with your ex. Jungkook looked like you’d just punched him in the gut. He looked so distraught, so much so that you couldn’t hold his gaze for long. 

“Why? Why did you go back?” he asked, his voice low. 

“Because I was lonely. I missed you, what we had. I wanted that again but I knew I couldn’t have you. I settled for what I could get because I knew I didn’t deserve you after I left you. I never wanted to hurt you Jeon Jungkook, never. Just like I promised you that first night. It just... It just happened. For a time, I believed that I’d fallen out of love with you. I never stopped caring about you though, just know that I was always thinking of you. Wondering how you were, what you were doing, if you’d found someone else but I never checked up on you. I felt I didn’t have the right too and it was also a painful reminder.” 

“A reminder of us?” Jungkook was completely absorbed in your speech, taking in every word. You hadn’t forgotten him when he’d thought he meant nothing to you. 

“No,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You moved closer to him, your legs either side of his waist and both hands resting on his pink cheeks. You were nose to nose before you finally filled the silence. 

“It was a reminder of the biggest mistake I had ever made.” 

It was completely silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Jungkook held his breath as what you said slowly sunk in. You regretted it. You regretted leaving him. A wide grin made its way across Jungkook’s stupidly handsome face as his arms snaked around your waist. 

“Can I finish now?” he asked quietly, his warm breath fanning across your face due to your close proximity. You gulped before whispering an okay. 

“When I found out that you’d moved on, I was crushed. I was angry too. At you mostly. So I went out and found someone myself. We were never right for each other, we both knew that but I just couldn’t let her go. I grew to like her a lot, but I was never in love with her. As soon as she realised that, she broke off the engagement and left me. She was great but she wasn’t you. I was never able to get over you Y/N and I never will.” 

You couldn’t stop the happy smile that made its way across your face.  

“I still want you Y/N, despite everything. Despite my better judgement, you’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I love you. Always have and always will,” Jungkook whispered. He pulled you closer, your chests touching and he held you there tightly. 

“I love you too Jeon Jungkook. So, so very much.” Jungkooks adorable bunny smile adorned his face as his hand came up to cup your cheek. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, chuckling when you immediately nodded eagerly. He finally closed the small gap between your lips with a kiss the conveyed the love he had for you. 

See that’s the thing about building a house of cards. When one card tilts, the whole thing can collapse. But, it can always be rebuilt with a stronger foundation, one that will finally withstand any test. Be it the text of time or distance, nothing will cause it to fall. Just like your very own, house of cards. 

A/N: So, I’m back with a long one kids. I know it’s been forever since I’ve posted anything on here but life kinda got in the way. School was a lot and I’m dealing with some other things too but I really want to start writing again so here you go! The epilogue will be posted (hopefully) sometime next week and that’ll be the end of this series. Any feedback is appreciated as always. I’m also opening requests for everything and clearing out my inbox so feel free to request anything you want (except smut, this is a family-friendly Jesus loving blog). 

~the-fangirl-lorax x. 

Masterlist //FAQ //Request

[panda-noosh]

Bad At Love{P1} {Photographer!Keith x Prodigy!Reader}{AU}

Words: 5344

  Summary: Keith Kogane was known for being the good-boy-gone-bad. You were known for being the emotionless prodigy that only ever showed up to school to stop her foster parents from getting arrested. Whenever you two are put together on a school project after briefly meeting during detention, you find your world tipping upside down as you realise that there’s more to life than science and logic.

  Pairing: Photographer!Keith x Prodigy!Reader

  Warning: Keith swears a lil bit.

  Notes: p2 - p3 - p4 - p5 - p6 - FINAL; CHAPTER 1 OF MY NEW KEITH FIC! PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK! 

  Chapter 1

    “Did your massive IQ get you in trouble again?”

   The words at the first thing you hear as you step through the door of the foster home you had been cooped up in for nearly two months now, occupied by the all-so-friendly Ann Marie Park who insisted on asking the exact same question every time you walked into the kitchen.

    It was exhausting. Sitting down at the kitchen counter and reminiscing on the most-likely-awful day you had just charged through. You never lied about it – the only reason you were in the foster system, from the loose papers you had stolen and memorised from the offices when you were 5, was because your mother and father couldn’t handle a child genius.

  That was the label they had put on you in black and white ink, on official papers. Even at the age of five the words hurt. Reading about how you had crafted an entire doll house when you were three year olds, how you were speaking in full sentences by seven months, how your intelligence had scared off the people who were meant to be with you at all times.

   Today was no different.

   School was the same old, pointless array of regurgitated information that you saw as common sense. Your notebooks were filled with the same old, stupid doodles that were the only thing that kept you from collapsing from both boredom and the exhaustion that waking up at 6am brought upon you.

   You slump down against the counter after tossing your bag carelessly against the sofa that was littered with your foster-siblings own school work which he was clearly struggling to get through. Patrick hissed at you as your bag barely whizzed past his head, nearly knocking him out cold.

    “Teachers get so butthurt,” you find yourself mumbling, a loose reply to the question Ann-Marie had asked you. “I corrected Mr Blanchard on his spelling today and got deemed disrespectful. An absolute joke.”

   Ann-Marie sighs, placing a steaming cup of tea in front of you. You instinctively push it away, your brain already going through every single thing that the second-hand kettle would be pouring into your cup.

   “What did he say to you?” Ann-Marie asks.

   “He said I had no right to shout out in class and that my input was unnecessary. He then proceeded to give me a detention.”

   Ann-Marie sighs, letting go of the breath she was holding in. She was clearly expecting the final piece of your story – the detention. The detention which you seemed to be assigned every other day all because of the fact that you didn’t feel things in the way others did. Your sky-high IQ, your label of genius wasn’t all it was cut out to be – your emotional effort was way too low, meaning you very rarely knew when to bite your tongue and keep quiet. The idea of being scolded didn’t scare you like how it scared other kids, meaning you said whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted and would only react whenever the punishment was given to you.

    “What time do I have to pick you up at?” Ann-Marie asks.

   “I don’t plan on going, Ann-Marie. It’s was unfairly given to me by-“

   “I’m telling Mr Blanchard you said that!” Patrick wails from behind you. You turn in your chair, eyebrow raised as you look at the boy behind you – half your age yet he still managed to be the only one who could grind your gears in the way he did.

   “You can tell Mr Blanchard all you want – I won’t be there to see his facial expression.”

   Ann-Marie grumbles, grabbing your arm to snap your attention back to her. You turn back around in your stool, take a handful of grapes from the fruit bowl and proceed to pop them in your mouth one by one.

   “You’re going whether you like it or not. The only way we’re gonna break the surface with you is if you see what the punishments are really like.”

   You raise your brow, speaking through a mouthful of grapes. “Break the surface? Ann-Marie, my own parents couldn’t handle me whenever I was an infant. There’s no way a detention is going to suddenly boost my EQ levels.”

   “What are EQ levels?”

   “Be quiet, Patrick.”

   Ann-Marie shakes her head at you, her beady blue eyes glaring directly into yours in the way they always did whenever she was giving you a warning. You simply shrug, leaning back against the stool, wanting nothing more than to just get up and leave. Being around people brought up your lack of emotions. It exposed you against your own will, and the only way to soothe it was by being on your own.

   You wanted to be on your own.

    “You’re going,” Ann-Marie repeats, more stern this time. “I’ll call up the school and find out what I need to find out, and then you’re going to sit through that entire detention whether I have to handcuff you to that chair.”

    “That’s actually a form of hostage capture and-“

    “Y/N!” Ann-Marie hisses. “Enough. Now, go upstairs and get out of those clothes. Dinner will be in an hour.”

     If I break out of her grip in exactly five seconds, and run by lunging, I could be out the exit door in no time.

    Ann-Marie yanks your arm, silencing your overactive thoughts as she drags you through the hallways of the high school you were sure you had escaped for at least another two days whenever you had left on Friday.

   And yet here you were – trapped in the confines of your foster-mothers arms, wading through the empty halls whilst the teachers smile at you as they pass, pretending they didn’t make your life a living hell. They had Ann-Marie fooled. You could tell by the way she chirped up every now and then, commenting on how, “Polite these people are!”

   It made you sick, quite frankly.

   “You know they’re only smiling because you’re the one keeping their bills paid, right?” you comment, not bothering to lower your voice.

   Ann-Marie groans, tugging on your arm again. “This is what I mean, Y/N. You have absolutely no filter.”

    “I didn’t tell you that you yanking on my arm is only making me stumble even more, so I think I’m improving. Can we go home now?”

   Ann-Marie doesn’t even reply as she turns the corner, coming face-to-face with Mr Blanchards ICT room. The computers line the wall, none of them on bar the big monitor that sits high and proud on Mr Blanchards desk.

   You scowl upon seeing his small head popping above it, him immediately flashing a large grin at Ann-Marie who gives it right back. He even has the nerve to smile at you – you simply roll your eyes, folding your arms and leaning against the door.

    You would never understand people who did that. Could change personalities completely within the space of two seconds, all depending on who they were talking to. Perhaps it was your low emotional levels, but you treated everybody the same. It was just how you worked.

    Ann-Marie and Mr Blanchard spoke for a good few minutes before Mr Blanchard finally turns to you and asks you to take a seat. You grumble out a, “Thank you, good sir,” before stowing off to one of the desks in the centre of the room. You set your bag down, pull out your notebook and get to doodling – just like you did every lesson.

    You had been caught most times. The teachers always noticed the way your pen moved back and forth at a fast pace, a clear indication that you were colouring rather than actually writing. You took great pleasure in showing them the notes you had already jotted down from nothing but memory. Their faces would turn blank and they would hand to you their favourite comment they used on every smart kid:

   “Your notes can’t be correct if you jotted them down so fast.”

   You didn’t mind. You got even more pleasure as you watched them read over your notes to see that they were even more detailed than the ones they had written on the board. You had even gone as far as to provide detailed examples, and continue on with the topic long before the teacher had a chance to teach you the criteria.

    Clearly, though, not all teachers appreciated having somebody smarter than them in their class. It belittled them.

    The clock ticks by with you subconsciously counting the milliseconds, just like you always did. An hour of silence between you and the teacher was enough to make you feel like you were going mad –

   But that silence was abruptly cut off at exactly 3:27pm. You had counted.

   The door to the room swings open, and even Mr Blanchard shoots upright in shock at the sudden disturbance. You had noticed a shift in his demeanour at around 3:20pm, with him continuously looking at the clock, pouting to himself before looking back down at the paper work on his desk.

   Apparently the boy in red who was currently wading into the classroom was the reason behind Mr Blanchard’s confusion.

   “Keith,” Mr Blanchard exclaims, standing up almost immediately. “You’re late once again.”

   Keith.

  You nearly gape as you look at the student in front of you – in your year, you knew. He had been the end of rumours for months now. Keith Kogane, photography student, good boy gone bad for a reason unknown.

   You had avoided him at all costs, not seeing the point in wasting time on a friendship with somebody who would clearly do nothing but drag you down this school year. You had even gone as far as dropping photography club – a class and a profession which Keith Kogane was known for.

   Taking pictures was his specialty, and he didn’t hide that fact. His camera hangs limply around his neck even now, even though it’s off and there’s hardly anything to capture in this dimly-lit room with simply computer monitors around the place. His black hair is ruffled messily in the back and slicked neatly in the front, his red jacket stained with a yellow sauce you can tell is mustard.

   Had he stopped at the cafeteria before he got here?

  “Sorry,” Keith utters in response, and you’re surprised at the lack of hostility in the apology. He almost sounds genuine.

  Mr Blanchard’s eyes soften as Keith ducks his head down, kicking the door shut behind him and stepping into the room. You watch him closely as he takes a seat at the desk opposite you, immediately putting his head back down, his nimble fingers delicately holding his camera.

   Mr Blanchard opens and closes his mouth for a moment, clearly wandering what to say to this boy who was so well-known amongst the school and yet he walked alone through most of the day. You had only ever seen him with people during lunch hours. After that, he disappears into whatever corner of the school he finds most aesthetic to lose himself amongst pointless pixels.

   Eventually, the teacher gives up, shakes his head and exits the room completely. Not before giving you a stern look of warning which you give back just as sternly – and then the door has shut behind him and the only two people in the room are you and Keith, alone.

   In silence.

   Your eyes never leave him. You sit, leaned back against your chair with your eyes focused on him, unable to focus on anything else. He just seems to strange. So far from what you expected him to be. You expected him to be like a rabid bull walking into detention – kicking chairs over and yelling about how Mr Blanchard isn’t his father and he can’t tell him what to do and spraying every curse word under the sun like profanity was his second language.

    But here he was in front of you now, eyes never leaving the small screen on his camera. The only noise in the room is the consistent beeping noise which comes from the device as he flicks through the photos he’s looking at. He seems so intrigued by them, and you find yourself half tempted to ask him what he’s doing.

   But that wasn’t you, was it? You didn’t care about what Keith Kogane was doing. Just because he surprised you this one time doesn’t mean you should jeopardize your school career by getting involved with him and whatever bad luggage he brought with him.

    You slide down further in your chair, pulling your hood on up over your head and deciding to lose yourself counting the tick of the clock again.

   Twenty minutes. Thirty seven seconds. Ten milliseconds.

  The time would pass by easily. It had to. You had your doodles here with you, an overactive brain to keep you company. Science and maths was a lot better company than the man sitting across from you.

    Nineteen minutes. Fifty five seconds. Fifteen milliseconds.

  You could ignore him just fine. The fact that he was currently breathing extremely heavily was nothing for you to care about. You had never spoken two words to him before. He was nothing to you.

   Nineteen minutes. Fourty six seconds.

  There was no reason for you to want to know more about him. No reason for you to ask him about the rumours that went around, inquiry him about how he had gone from a straight A student to somebody who very rarely even showed up to class.

    Eighteen seconds. Fifty seven seconds. 12-

  “Son of a bitch!”

   You nearly yelp, your eyes darting up from your lap to click onto the pair of brown ones which are currently flying around the room in a frantic search for whatever the boy had just dropped.

    You had heard the clatter but it hadn’t startled you as much as Keith’s voice had.

   You straighten up in your chair, letting your hood slip off of your head as you do. Keith barely acknowledges your existence as he roughly pushes a chair out of his way so he can duck under the table.

   “What are you doing?” you find yourself asking.

   Keith doesn’t look up. He doesn’t even reply to you. He simply keeps cursing lowly under his breath, his hands feeling up the floor.

    You stand up slowly, looking over the top of the round table you’re sat at. “Did you drop something?”

    “No, I’m just crouching on the floor because my arse got tired sitting down,” Keith shoots back. He looks up at you, rolls his eyes as if you were the stupidest human being on the planet. “What are you even doing here anyway?”

    You raise a brow, shocked and intriguied by this sudden change of attitude. You couldn’t help but chuckle at yourself – how you had thought for one minute that maybe the rumours were all false was beyond you. With an IQ of 160, you thought you’d have caught on by now that high school rumours held a lot more tact that TV gave them credit for.

    “I’m in detention too, smart ass,” you reply. “That’s usually the reason why students look miserable whenever they’re forced into school on weekends.”

   Keith rolls his eyes, letting out a small scoff at the corner of his mouth before he goes back to searching for the mysterious object he had dropped.

    You aren’t entirely sure what to do or say afterwards. Do you help him look? It seems, morally, like the correct thing to do, but your lack of said morals was hard to fight against. He had treated you like shit for no reason, so you would do the exact same thing to him and not regret it.

    You fall back against your chair, fold your arms over your chest and quietly hum to yourself, letting your head swing back to look up at the ceiling. You can feel Keith’s eyes glaring at you as you hum, clearly getting irked by the small noise you’re making – that was your plan. You knew how the human brain worked. You had known how the human brain worked since you were 7 years old. Little noises that you had to strain to hear were what your brain was attracted to. Your brain wants to pick up on the small noises, even if you aren’t entirely keen on trying to listen to them.

    You had lowered your voice to just that perfect level, knowing full well it would drive Keith mad.

    And it had, apparently.

    Keith slams his hand against the floor, shooting out from under the table with tired and annoyed looking eyes. You smile at him, stopping your humming for a moment.

    “Can you be quiet? This hour is already gonna drag for me, and you’re really not making it any better.”

   You shrug loosely. His comments did nothing to you. “I’m not here to make your hour any better. In fact, I think detention is the only place where it’s acceptable to make a persons life hell.”

    Keith’s eye twitches. “Are you serious?”

   You smile, nodding.

   Keith shakes his head, hollowing out his cheeks. “You don’t happen to be the child genius chick everybody goes on about, are you?”

    Your smile fades, a twisting feeling pinching the inside of your gut at the two words which shouldn’t have gone together. They crossed his lips so easily – he didn’t even seem shocked, and yet the two words brought back memories that you had forced down over the past few years.

   You cough and look away, suddenly feeling uneasy. “I don’t-“

   “IQ of 160 or something like that,” Keith continues. “God, you must feel some sense of superiority in this hell hole, don’t you? Smarter even than good ol’ Mr Blanchard.

   “His IQ isn’t difficult to challenge.”

    Keith scoffs. “I can tell. The old bastard caught me taking pictures of the tree outside his room and put me in detention for it. What a stupid reason, huh?”

    “I’d rather not talk about my intelligence, thank you. It’s quite a – uh – personal thing.”  

   Keith raises a brow as he lifts himself up off the floor. He wipes the dirt off of his black jeans, never taking his eyes off of you and suddenly it feels like the tables have turned. All because he had brought up the one thing you wanted people to forget about you – you were a certified genius. You had an IQ that was higher than anybodies this school had ever seen, and you couldn’t help it. Your brain had been overstimulated from a very, very young age and now you were forced to deal with the repercussions – trust issues, questions, teachers who despised you for the soul reason of you being smarter than them.

    You hated talking about it when you didn’t need to. Talking to people in general was a hard enough task for somebody who had zero emotional quota. Talking to them about the one thing that was enough to trigger something inside of you was even harder.

    “I go to school with you,” Keith says once he has stood up fully. You notice how he holds his camera protectively against his stomach as he speaks to you – a mark of denial. Perhaps he had some anxiety hidden beneath the tough-boy surface. “Surely knowing about your intelligence comes with the package of being a student with you.”

    “We don’t have classes together,” you point out. “Nothing but ICT and biology, and it’s very rare you even show up to those.”

    There goes that filter again, Y/N.

    You try to cover it up as quickly as you can. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be the one to talk. I’m not usually very vocal during lessons.”

   “Bullshit!” Keith nearly yells, startling you. “You’re constantly putting teachers in their place, aren’t you? I heard from my friend Pidge that you corrected Mrs Leech during one of her maths lessons once and you basically took over the class. That’s not something somebody with social issues does.”

    “I don’t have social issues as much as I have a low emotional quota.”

    “Please translate.”

   You can already feel the conversation gnawing away at your brain, an urge to put a stop to it taking over all over again.

     “It’s medical, so it’s none of your business.”

    Keith frowns, his fingers twitching against the buttons on his camera. Another marker of shock – was he surprised at your defiance?

    “Medical? Surely if it was medical, the teachers would have to let it slide. Yet here you are – in detention.”

   He made a good point. You lower your head to the desk again, tossing your hood on over your bed-head which you had arrived with this afternoon.

    “If you don’t tell me what all of that means, I’ll just look it up for myself and figure it out on my own. Do you want me to be misinformed?” Keith questions.

    You groan. “I don’t even know you.”

    “That’s why we’re talking. We’re getting to know each other.” You hear the screech of a chair against the floor – all too close for your liking. You look up from the confines your arms had made for your head to rest upon, eyes meeting with Keith’s almost immediately.

   He had pulled a chair out to sit next to you – next to you. Usually, such an action wouldn’t bother you. You were always too lost in your own brain or too monotone that day to even care if somebody wanted to sit next to you. But there was something about Keith and the way he looked at you and the rumours that spiralled around his very existence that had you feeling even mildly uncomfortable.

    “I don’t usually talk to people, you know,” he continues. “You’d have noticed that when I walked in. People – they aren’t my strong suit – but I love a good interesting person. A person who can keep me entertained with whatever shit they want to talk about.”

     “My intelligence is mine, Keith. I don’t need to talk to you about it if I don’t want to.”

    “That’s right. But as I said, I do plan on just searching this all up and figuring you out for myself. You’ve been a mystery in this school for years.”

    Your eyebrow twitches in confusion. “What do you mean?”

    “People wanna know about you. The infamous child genius-“

   “Stop calling me that. I’m 17 years old.”

   “The infamous teenage genius, then-“

   You can’t help yourself. Before you can think rationally, you’ve slammed your hand against the table, silencing Keith. His mouth immediately zooms to a thin line, flinching back in his own chair as his social personality suddenly seems to melt off of him, replaced by the angsty kid who had walked in this room in the first place.

    But you were far from calm anymore. You were angry, the words that Keith spoke zooming around in your head at one hundred miles an hour, because they were the words you had grown up hearing in whispered voices down the hall of the foster home, people talking about how your parents couldn’t cope with the genius. Nobody could cope with the genius. Ego’s were being hurt left right and centre and the human race was far too stuck up to let that happen.

   Children aren’t meant to develop this quickly. Maybe she’s sick.

  Maybe she has a photographic memory. I heard that can ruin lives.

  They were right. But what ruined lives even more was whenever people diagnosed you with every illness under the sun instead of taking into consideration that maybe, just maybe, you were more than your god damn intelligence. You were more than your grades, or your above average test score, or your early acceptance to Harvard.

    You were sick and tired of hearing people label you genius like you were some animal in the zoo.

   Oh look! There’s the genius!

  Oh, hey! There’s the genius!

  The word made you sick, and hearing Keith say it over and over again without knowing just what it did to you was enough to make even you, an emotionless human being, snap.

    “Can you just be quiet?” you nearly yell. “This hour has been long enough without you nagging in my ear. I don’t even know who you are! So if you could please shut your mouth, it would be very much appreciated. Go take pictures of the scenery or something – just leave me out of it.”

   You gather up your school bag, slinging it over your shoulder before walking over to the far table, slumping down against the desk and ducking your head in your hands. This certainly wasn’t normal for you – you had a hard enough job of hacking into your emotions, let alone having somebody else do it for you.

    But that word brought up memories. It made you remember all those years that that was all you were to people – smart. Too smart for your age, they often said. They belittled you because you were too smart, and they would do the exact same thing if you were stupid. You had to find a good balance, and the rules annoyed you.

    Keith annoyed you.

   The world annoyed you.

   You just weren’t very good at processing that emotion.

     Never before had you been so aware in a class before.

   Usually, you only pulled yourself out of bed and to the classroom for the attendance record. If you’re attendance dropped below 65%, Ann-Marie would be getting a phone call home asking where I was. Which was why you even bothered.

    You put very little effort into the classes you attended – you didn’t need to. Sure, some were better than others. You were incredible at the sciences and maths, and needed a little brushing up when it came to technology and practical subjects, but you were good enough to keep up fairly good grades in all the classes you took.

    Biology was usually a breeze. You simply sat back and let the teacher ramble on and on about things you already knew – things you had known since you were 3 – and you jotted down any useful information every now and then. But most of the lesson was spent counting the ticking clock and doodling on the front of your notebooks at the back of the classroom.

    Today was different, though, because suddenly you were hyperaware of the man sitting two rows in front of you – black hair, red jacket, camera set at his side amongst his other assortment of class belongings.

     Keith had never sat so close to you before. He either didn’t show up to class, or he sat at the very front in the corner, by the window, where he would spend the lesson gazing out at the scenery. You often saw him after class, sprinting his way down the hallway because he had spent the biology lesson so inspired by the plants outside.

   You would never understand that side of things. Biology was a lot more important than photography, and yet he insisted on throwing the subject away for something that would only get him so far in life.

    But today he had showed up to class earlier than usual – still late, but earlier – and had taken the seat two rows in front of you. His eyes hadn’t drifted to the outside world once, and he instead was focusing firmly on the board in front of him.

   There had to be a bigger motive towards his actions. If six years of high school with Keith Kogane taught you anything, it was that he didn’t just change seats. You had seen him get in multiple fights with people just because he had walked in to see them sitting in his preferred seat.

    This was so unlike him, and you could only link up his strange behaviour to the conversation the two of you had had in detention the previous day.

     “Has anybody got any questions before I get into explaining the project?” the teacher, Miss Shaw, asks from the front of the classroom.

    Your jaw slackens whenever Keith’s hand goes up almost immediately.

   He never spoke out in class. Even a few of the students around you stare at him in mild shock, clearly bewildered as to what he has to say.

    “Yes, Mr Kogane?” Miss Shaw calls forward.

   Keith shuffles upwards in his seat, messing with his camera – an anxiety marker. The man clearly had some social anxiety within him.

    “Miss, I know this really has nothing to do with what we’re learning about, but I just want to know more about something I was researching yesterday,” Keith begins, and your entire stomach falls. “What does it mean if someone has a low emotional quota?”

   Miss Shaw raises her brow, pulling her glasses off of the bridge of her nose to look at Keith properly. She leans one hand against her wooden desk, veins popping out of her wrinkled arms as a small smile finds its way onto her cheeks.

    “Well, that is definitely more a question for your psychology teacher, but the basics around a low emotional quota means that the person struggles to feel emotions correctly. They often speak out of turn because they don’t care about consequences, or they struggle to form bonds with people because they don’t care about social life or other people.” Miss Shaw nods. Keith shuffles in his seat. You want to scream. “It’s certainly not the type of life you’d want to be living, Mr Kogane.”

   Keith nods. “And what are the characteristics of a person with a low EQ?”

    “Well, somebody who’s been abandoned in their life, somebody with trust issues, somebody who feels a little less than everybody else.”

    “Somebody with a high IQ?” Keith suggests, and that’s when Miss Shaw’s eyes spark up to meet yours, her suddenly catching on to what Keith is saying.

   But her smile doesn’t fade. In fact, it seems to only get brighter. She knows full well about your high IQ. Every teacher in the school knows about it. You were the student they didn’t know what to do with.

    “Correct,” Miss Shaw finalises, before shaking her head. She’s still smiling. She must think your public embarrassment is a joke – or maybe she thinks you don’t care. You certainly hadn’t given her any reason to care about your well being over the past few years she had been teaching you. Her lack of emotion towards you was equal to your lack of emotion towards life.

    She drops the subject, even if she is still smiling to herself. You let your eyes burn holes in the back of Keith’s head, hands clenching at your sides in an attempt to calm yourself down.

    Deep breaths.

  “Anyway, now that that is out of the way,” Miss Shaw continues. “I’m gonna read out the partners for the research project you guys will be doing for me this week and going on until the deadline. Please listen for your name.”

    You can’t listen. You’re trying to grab onto any and every way possible to calm yourself down, but you were so unused to this feeling of overwhelming anger that you had never needed to calm yourself down. You were so used to feeling absolutely numb that this need to grasp onto reality was rare for you, and you didn’t quite know how to do it.

    You zoned in on the ticking of the clock. Attempted to. Miss Shaw’s voice rang out over the top of it, making it incredible difficult for you to even catch a glimpse of the noise. The patterns were gone. Your brain was running haywire.

    And then-

   “Keith Kogane and Y/N L/N. You two will be doing a research project together on the animal kingdom.”

   Keith spins around in his seat, a large smile pulling at his lips that he attempts to hide from the view of the other students by pulling his hood around his head.

    You suddenly wish you hadn’t shown up to class that day.

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

I was wondering Thoughts on Sakamoto and Kitagawa?

Under the cut cause it got a bit long

Ryuji: Really good in the first dungeon and CoOp. A bit of a loudmouth but has great values imo (kinda gets screwed in his CoOp, why is the MC letting him get beat up???? Why do his stupid teammates still feel the need to beat him up???Like what the hell????).

After that.....I get really sour (also I hate his anime adaptation, really fudged up his characterization in the 1st dungeon, he is NOT lecherous towards Anne or any girl during that dungeon, in fact he is downright HORRIFIED of everything in that dungeon). I really love his dedication to the MC (like as a friend he’s just such a great bro), but...well....I like how he was willing to almost get hit by a car to save Makoto (he was annoyed but considering the stupid stuff she was doing it was understandable).....and I’d say I liked how he was willing to help Anne with her “stalker” problem but....he just seemed like he almost didn’t want to be bothered in that scene despite her fears (and knowing what she just went through).....his carefree attitude in that scene left a bad taste in my mouth, esp when he even questions her after looking at Yusuke (who cares what he looks like, he’s been following her for like what? a week? of course only the MC knows this if you talk to her but like she has every right to be worried and he just is so ‘whatever’ with the situation, like he still has her back but his attitude felt like such a 180 slap in the fact just following the first dungeon, and nothing Anne did warranted that annoyance). 

He gets screwed by the writing a lot, like he’s the butt of a joke he doesn’t deserve, or gets beat up for no reason and that’s just.....bad. But he also does some not so great things with the girls, which makes it extra worse considering this is post-dungeon 1..... I like the guy but....I really do question some of Atlus’ writing with him. ;w; Ryuji’s writing deserved better

Yusuke: I hate him. Probably my 3rd most hated (Goro’s right behind him), probably cause, unlike Goro, Yusuke provides absolutely nothing with his skill. Plus I hate his super blunt attitude, just cause “he’s just blunt” doesn’t mean he can be an asshole. I especially hate it when he uses it with his friends. But back to Yusuke being useless (and tbh I actually kinda feel bad Atlus just....forgot about him it feels like). He’s one of the worst tiers in terms of gameplay (he might be better than Goro), and I mean not endgame gameplay (cause by that point everyone is OP and a team structure shouldn’t matter). He’s out damaged by Anne and Ryuji (or even Haru), he has no buff for Ice, Ice isn’t as common as Frei/Fire/Thunder, just cause he has a strength stat doesn’t cover Ryu’s power charge+swift strike/bad beat/other abilities (this is stuff that’s been tested by the gameplay meta scene I’m just the messenger). His agility boost isn’t nearly as good as a defense/attack boost or defense/attack debuff (because att/def is ALWAYS 50% increase/decrease, while the agility it’s only a 50% CHANCE of helping with crits....so it’s not even guaranteed). Plus Mona is a better crit player than Yusuke and he also has healing. Anne/Makoto synergize well with Makoto’s defense buff and Anne’s attack debuff, and Anne/Ryuji(or Haru) just deal more damage. 

That’s just gameplay, what about Yusuke’s actually artist skills? How does that help the PT (I know skill cards, but that’s gameplay, I mean story, and it’s not like they couldn’t do something else with the skill cards I mean P3P/4G didn’t have an artist and they did just fine)? That’s right, it doesn’t. The only time it helps is that one specific puzzle with telling which is the real Sayuri, which is just process of elimination and you have to fight if you get it wrong so it doesn’t matter. He did the thief logo? Well thanks I hate it, sure it’s stylish but Ryuji’s matched better with the cheesy PT genre more (and gdi what do you hate what makes the PT genre good Atlus? ;w; Ryuji’s logo is really the only thing PT in this game I swear). But despite how I feel about the design, it doesn’t do anything useful. Oh but the Shido ship thing right? His big moment? Yeah no still doesn’t do anything, actually he opens his big fat dumb mouth and says another assholery thing, and they get mad at us and fight iirc. His art didn’t stop us from having to fight the mini boss, he just prolonged us getting to that fight (actually on Anne and Haru got their letters from their mini bosses without having to fight them, I mean we were still forced to fight cause P5 sucks like that, but they are the only ones on the team who got their letters using their special skills aka femme fatal and business relations/financial back person (even tho she didn’t back them financially missed opportunity) whatever thing. basically that ‘shining moment’ of his isn’t so shining when he couldn’t even avoid a fight....and there’s really no reason to fight them....it leaves no impact! sorry I have an issue with that part of the dungeon).

I know some people will say he’s (one of) the “level headed” character of the group, but it wasn’t like Anne or Ryuji were going off the rails..... esp in dungeon 2 (I mean I do love how all of them worked together), and it’s not like Mona isn’t there. Tbh I think he could’ve been, I think if Makoto never came along he could’ve been that character, and I think he did a much better job esp since we actually were all utilizing our teammates in dungeon 2. But in the end that didn’t happen....and thus he doesn’t really provide that to the table. 

I also don’t like how he blackmailed the team. Well no, mostly the contents of his blackmail (btw I dislike all the characters who blackmailed the team inb4 someone says “what about” yes yes I dislike them too ok?) Like listen. MC/Ryu were not trespassing until he revoked his invitation to them (aka after he said to never come back there again and Ryuji said “nah we’re coming back” and Yusuke was about to call the police....Yusuke has every right under the law, at THAT moment those two boys were trespassing). The SECOND (ironically it look almost a second for him to switch too) he said he wouldn’t do it as long as Anne nude modeled for him....that’s when it blackmail/extortion and he lost the high ground (and while it led to the funniest scene in the game, it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth that Atlus has him 1) stalk Anne and then 2) rope her into his blackmail to get her to nude model for him after the events of dungeon 1). And I know, “Yusuke didn’t know about their record” blah blah, who cares? No one wants the police called on them to begin with. (sorry just a weird counter argument I’ve seen and that annoys me)

I also hate his CoOp, I know what they were going for at the end but like....he had the perfect deal.... “I don’t want to have my work be tainted by money but I need money to live.” and then the deal is like “we’ll give you money regardless, we just want you to live so you can make art but really no pressure it’s all in good faith” and it’s like/????? so perfect???? And he says no????? The boy is gonna starve to death I’m not joking (also I really hate those jokes, more than the Protein and meat ones from P3/4....they are worse imo). I also just don’t care about his relationship with Madarame, it might be because I blame Yusuke for derailing Madarame as a villain. I found Madarame more interesting when it was just about his ideology and exploiting people, but as soon as he was like “I let your mom die Yusuke” it felt like it became all about that and....yeah....

And ok, I know I just shit all over Yusuke for like 5 paragraphs (btw this is just my opinion/personal thoughts on the guy, I’m not the word of god and you can still like him, I’m just being honest with how I feel), but tbh...the game did him dirty too. Gameplay wise, screentime wise. Just everything. I’m sorry Yusuke fans the game did you and your boy dirty. Yusuke deserved better. 

[panda-noosh]

Action!{P4}{Lance x YouTuber!Reader}

    Words: 5709

   Summary: Being a YouTube guru is hard enough without the added stress of living with Lance McClain, the man who insists on bombarding into every YouTube video you try to film. His viewers love him, and so do you.

  Pairing: Lance McClain x Youtuber!Reader

   Notes: p1 - p2 - p3 - p5 - p6 - p7; EVEN MORE ANGST AND SHIRO YAY

  You wanted to be alone.

    It was strange. You had been sobbing over the fact that you were alone for the past four days straight, tucked up under the loose covers that Samuel had kindly laid out on his sofa for you to crash on, and yet you still didn't want to see anybody.

   It was like your brain was playing tricks on you. Cruel, lethal tricks that were making your anger and sadness turn into a gut-wrenching self hatred that left you clawing for something, anything, to whisk you away into a world where maybe, just maybe, this hadn't happened.

    Maybe not meeting Lance at all would have been the best option, but not even in your destroyed, bruised and fragile state could you lead yourself to believe that.

    After reading about the article online, you couldn't bring yourself to step foot back in the apartment you once shared with the man in question. Samuel and Austin had come and picked you up from the coffee shop, Austin basically having to haul you out of the petite place as your knees felt too weak to carry you anywhere, and since then, you had made shelter on their sofa, wearing the same pair of oversized pyjamas that you had slipped into whenever you stepped foot in their house on the first day.

   You were beginning to stink. Your hair was beginning to get heavy and even in your state, you wanted a shower and a good change of clothes. Wearing your friends oversized pyjamas was comfortable until around the third day hit – then they just became another reason for you to feel self conscious.

    And yet the idea of walking back into your apartment was enough to keep you still on the sofa, unmoving.

   Samuel sighed as he hauled himself up onto the sofa beside you, pulling his legs up out of his chair using his hands. You didn't even flick him a second glance, instead opting to keep your eyes tight on the screen in front of you which was playing old re-runs of A League of Their Own that you had bought from the Sky Box Set options.

    Samuel stayed silent for a few minutes, simply letting you bask in his presence, as if he was worried you would jump at the sound of his voice. The thing was, though, you were very aware of his presence. You had heard him sighing from the kitchen for the past four hours, shooting you worried glances every now and then, acting as if you were some kind of painting on display for him to look at.

    “I'm fine,” you grunt out, finally.

   Samuel barely moves, the sound of your groggy voice not taking him by surprise. What more could he have expected whenever you had done nothing but sit around for the past four days?

   “I can see that,” he replies, sarcastically. “But I think we need to talk about your living conditions, babe.”

   You raise a brow, flicking your eyes over to look at him.

   “That came out wrong,” he insists though there is no panic in his voice, no worry that he offended you. “You know you can stay here for as long as you like, but eventually you've got to pay rent on your own apartment, and maybe - I dunno – get yourself some of your own clothes? There's no way you can do that moping around here all day.”

    You turn back to the television. “That's honestly the last thing I want to hear.”

   Samuel groans, shoving your shoulder with his own. “Oh, come on, Y/N! You know I'd go and get your stuff for you, but I think you need the time out of the house, and I haven't exactly got the best stamina at the moment with surgery prep coming up. You need to forget about Lance. You're life is better off without him anyway.”

   You swallow thickly, not wanting to hear him say another thing about Lance but at the same time wanting nothing more than to talk about him, detail every feeling he had left for you the moment he decided to take that interview.

    It was another weird mix of feelings. Whilst you wanted to be alone, but not lonely, you also wanted to stay quiet, but scream all at the same time. Let your voice echo off the walls and let the pain in your chest out somehow.

    “Please, Y/N,” Samuel says. “For me and Emma. Just – Just let us know you're okay by going and getting your stuff – if you're serious about moving out, that is.”

   “I never said I was moving out,” you grumble. “I just don't want to be there right now. I wanna give Lance some time to move his stuff out before I go in.”

   “And have you and Lance actually spoke about him moving out or are you just assuming things again?”

   You pull your lips into a thin line, hands messing with the thin fabric of your blanket. You knew Samuel was right – he was a smart man, somebody you needed to trust with this kind of thing. You wanted to believe that you could work on your own emotions alone, but that was very clearly not the case. Judging by the stink coming off of you at the moment, you were actually very bad with dealing with this kind of thing.

   Hollowing out your cheeks, you decide to give in. It would take less than an hour. Just go inside of your apartment, grab your stuff and then leave – nothing else needs to go down, and if Lance is there, so what? It should be him too afraid to face you, not the other way around. He was the one who had caused the damage – you had nothing to be embarrassed of.

   “Fine,” you mumble, pulling yourself off of the sofa and heading towards the bathroom to shower.

    The anxiety burned.

   It had welled up in your chest almost as soon as you saw the front doors of your run-down apartment complex, but only grew worse and worse the closer you got to your actual apartment.

   You had walked up these steps thousands of times in the past. You had juggled with these keys thousands of times. You had opened the door to your apartment and stepped inside thousands of times, and yet this time felt like it was the first time all over again. The feeling of not knowing what to expect – it was as if you had never even been inside the place.

    You try to pry a smile on your face as you pass the lady at the front desk, who gives you a raised brow due to your lack of presence the last four days. You're half-tempted to ask her if Lance has been, but decide against it. Showing just how paranoid you were wasn't going to be the best idea – you wanted to make it out like you were the strong one in this mess. You wanted people to think that YouTube had toughened you up enough that this kind of thing came and went easily for you.

    “Oh, you're home!” Slav, the guy from next door, calls out to you as you finally reach the red door of your apartment room. You turn to him and smile slightly, giving him a small wave in affirmative. “Where have you been, neighbour?”

   “Staying with a friend, Slav,” you reply lazily. “Nothing to worry about.”

   “And do you plan on staying long?” he asks, stepping out of his own home fully. “I've just bought tea cakes and there's always too much for me. You can take a couple if you want?”

   You bite your lip, shaking your head. Just walk in, get my stuff and go.

   Slav frowns. “O-Oh. Okay. Well, if you need anything, don't hesitate to-”

   Slav's voice becomes background noise as your ears pick up on another voice. It's so faint – you should barely be able to hear it, especially not over Slav's babbling on about tea cakes, but you do. It's like your senses are drawn to it, zoning in on it almost immediately because it's what you want to hear.

   The voice comes from behind your apartment door – the voice of Lance McClain.

   Your chest tightens. Your palms become sweaty and you're half tempted to turn and sprint in the other direction, because that's the only thing you can do, right? You certainly can't face him. You certainly can't look him in the eye and pretend to be civil in this moment.

    But something keeps you rooted to the floor, and you find yourself waving for Slav to be quiet, pressing your ear to the red door in an attempt to hear better.

   “-shoes and clothes and make up everywhere. Dude, she clearly hasn't been home. I thought leaving the place to settle for a little while would eventually coax her back, but literally nothing has changed since I last came back. What if she's not alright?”

    Another voice springs into the mix – Takashi Shirogane, an old friend of yours who had befriended Lance through you.

   “Can you blame her? Christ, the shit she must be dealing with right now. Her YouTube comments and Twitter mentions are gonna be flooded. You kind of forgot that it isn't some normal, middle class girl you were dating, Lance. She's a YouTube star, and she has to clean up your mess.”

    “I haven't seen her active on Twitter since the night of the ceremony,” Lance grunts. “I'm worried, man. She's never been away from home for this long without giving me a reason.”

   “She doesn't owe you a reason,” Shiro scoffs. “You played her, whether you want to believe that or not. She probably doesn't wanna see you.”

   “Don't say that.”

   “It's the truth. She's a sensitive soul-”

   “Alright, you're no help,” Lance growls, and you swear you hear the noise of Shiro stumbling over something – perhaps Lance had pushed him.

     The mere thought makes you angry. Shiro was right – you didn't owe Lance anything. Not after what he did to you. Lance has no reason to be the angry one in this situation when it was him who caused it in the first place. He was the one who used you. He was the one who completely threw away everything you two had built together over the course of three years, so he should be the one to have to deal with it.

    You pull away from the door, ignoring your suddenly blurred vision that had fallen upon you due to the unshed tears balancing in your eyes in this moment. You ignore Slav as he calls your name, you instead turning on your heel and marching down the hallway.

    You didn't owe Lance anything. Not an explanation, a reason to stay. You would clear this all up eventually, prove to him that he had done nothing but make you stronger, wiser in your choice of friendships.

   You just had to get over the heartbreak first.

  Things had to go back to normal. If there was one thing you knew, it was that.

   You knew full well it wasn’t going to be easy. Migrating back into YouTube after drama had ensued was going to be nothing short of difficult, but there was no other option - you had to fight through it. You had to turn on the camera, show your face and pretend everything was okay, because this was your job, and these were your fans and you needed to be strong.

   The camera feels heavy in your hands as you attempt to set it up, ignoring the drumming in your ears or the way the make up suddenly feels caked on your features after not wearing it for so long. You done the best make-up look you could conjure up, filmed yourself doing it with a big smile on your face, laughing and grinning and enjoying life. That was what the fans wanted to see, you hoped. You happy.

   Perhaps the Lance drama wouldn’t even be that big of a deal at the end of the day. Perhaps people hadn’t even seen the interview. The tabloid it was written for was fairly small, clearly only just starting out and looking for any willing person to spill any information they could get for the reads they so desperately needed.

   Perhaps getting back in the swing of things wouldn’t be as difficult as you’d thought four days ago.

    You sigh as you finally finish up your intro, your cheeks hurting from the amount of smiling you had done in the past hour and a half. Despite still feeling utterly awful, the make up was helping you feel a little bit more confident in yourself. It was like returning to an old friend.

   A loyal old friend. Not somebody who was willing to spill details about your private life for some money that wouldn’t even-

    A knock sounds at the door, breaking you out of your half-angered trance that you were surely about to fall into if it hadn’t been for the distraction.

   Your eyes whip around, conjoining with Austin’s. You hadn’t realised he was home. Austin worked at the nearby diner down the road, having only recently been promoted to counter manager, which meant his schedule basically consisted of working none stop.

    “Oh, hey,” you say, turning in your seat and grinning at the dimpled boy who was peaking his head through the door of the store room Samuel had let you film in. “When did you get back?”

    “Couple of minutes ago,” he replies. “I heard about the apartment situation. I didn’t wanna bring it up, but-”

    You wave a hand through the air, dismissing the awkward tension that this conversation always brings up. There’s no point to it in your eyes. Absolutely no point.

    “It’s fine, Austin. Really. I’m fine. Look, I even filmed a video today!”

   Austin smiles, but it’s clearly forced. He can hear the strain in your voice as you attempt to pretend that you’re okay, when he can see right through you, knowing that you’re not.

    At least he’s kind enough not to bring up the tinge of fake in your voice. The subject of Lance drops in a matter of seconds, leaving the room feeling oddly spacious.

   “You should come down for dinner, then,” Austin finally says. “You haven’t been eating the best of foods and I let you off with it whenever you were moping around. Now that you’re back on your feet, you have to get back in shape, okay?”

    You roll your eyes. “Yes, mother.”

    He grins cheekily as he turns away from the door, giving you one last lopsided smile before he disappears into the hallway, leaving you to deflate against the hard-wood chair behind you.

    Pretending to be okay was exhausting, and you quite frankly didn’t see yourself as fit enough to do it.

    Walking around in the middle of the night was never your forte.

    The streets of California were dangerous whenever the sun wasn’t up to alert you of any suspicious behaviour, and most of the time you wouldn’t even dream of stepping out after dark. The risk was too high, the idea too scary.

    But you had stopped caring, and that was why you were currently patrolling through the streets of California, a hood shrugged on up over your head with your hands stuffed inside of the pockets of your oversized hoodie.

    The weird thing was, you were tired. You were downright exhausted. You wanted nothing more than to lay down and go to sleep, but at the same time, the idea of letting your head run adrift again was too much to bare. Today had been the start of it all - this healing process that you so desperately wanted to fling upon yourself. You had filmed a video, realised that life would be better without him. You would be better off without him in the long-run,and you needed to keep that positive attitude going for as long as you possibly could.

    It didn’t matter that it was forced. It would eventually all click into place with time.

    You knew that trying to fall asleep would only trigger the bad thoughts you had been pushing away all day, and the idea of doing such a thing was aching. So you ended up pulling on an oversized hoodie and your shoes and making your way out into the warm, night air of California.

    Anything to keep the thoughts at bay. The reminders. The memories.

    Shops were still open. Small kiosks still lit up with Halloween decorations, despite Halloween having passed two weeks ago. Some teenagers on skateboards were yelling up ahead, scraping their boards against the concrete. One of them fell over. You stared at him as you walked past, pulling your lip into a thin line.

    You remembered when those activities used to be you and Lance. Skateboarding even though you didn’t know how to. Him falling down steps and scraping his knee and you bursting out into laughter at the squealing noise he made on his way down. He often ended up hopping up and pulling you down on top of him - it was weird how you two were friends for three years and hadn’t seen each other as anything more for a long time afterwards.

    You shake your head. There the thoughts go again, plaguing your brain whenever you didn’t want them to. Maybe you should have brought headphones. Perhaps that would have been better than simply listening to the thumping in the back of your head or the whizz of the cars as they sped past you.

    It must be around 10:00pm whenever you finally arrive at the park that was your unplanned final destination. You had planned to just walk. Walk and walk until every part of you was numb, but you had thought about the park and decided that was where you wanted to go. It was the place everybody went - kids in the day time, drug dealers at night, heartbroken girls who were trying to forget about assholes in the most unsafe way possible.

    You push open the gate and immediately head for the swing set on the far side of the park. It’s cramped between the oversized see-saw and the rusted slide, but it’s the perfect little cubby hole for you to wollow within without people seeing you. The shadows were much to dark at this time of night - even the street lamps wouldn’t illuminate the tears that were already trekking down your face by the time you finally sit down on the swing.

    They fall fast and without meaning. Fat tears which don’t make themselves subtle accompanied by the racking sobs in your chest that you try to muffle with the sleeve of your hoodie, but they escape through the confines of the fabric and get whisked away in the darkness that surrounds you. The darkness of the night, the darkness of life in general. Everything seems so - dark. Like Lance had turned the lights off on his way out of your life and left you stranded to deal with it all on your own.

    And you knew it was dumb of you to be crying now. You had done so well all day. You had told yourself that you were okay, that you were going to be okay, and you had maybe even believed it for a little bit, but being on your own now was strange and it gripped at your lungs and made you wheeze and double over and memories of Lance were flooding back to you and before you can stop yourself, you’ve tugged your phone out of your back pocket and pulled up the infamous interview that you had avoided reading all them days ago.

    It’s like you want to feel pain.

   You reread the headline and feel the tears build even more, blurring your vision but not enough that you can’t continue reading. You let your eyes fall onto the unbolded lettering - the beginning of it all.

   So, Lance, tell us about what it is like to live with YouTube personality, Y/N L/N?

    It’s easy enough. I’m not really home often due to my hectic job schedule, but whenever I am home, she tends to be alright. She doesn’t do anything to break the rules, she pays her half of the rent and she makes her videos. Nothing over the top.

    Is it true that she once had a mental breakdown because she had to edit a video in the space of an hour? We got this information off of some YouTube drama channels who all seem pretty legit.

   Haha! She does that most weeks!

    If there was one thing you had to change about living with her, what would it be and why?

    Probably the mood swings. I understand that editing and stuff is stressful, but her job is hardly anything over-the-top. She can get up in the middle of the day if she liked and pay no consequences, so sometimes it’s difficult for me to understand why she would ever complain, but I guess I don’t fully understand the whole YouTube stress like she does.

    What do you think about her recent confession at the Video Star event in LA?

    I saw it on the live-

    Your reading is cut off whenever the phone is yanked from between your fingers. For a moment, you’re almost positive you’re getting robbed, and fear brews in the pit of your stomach. You don’t know whether to fight back or let them have it - maybe letting them have it would save your emotions a little bit.

    Your eyes snap up at the last minute, tears slipping from your water line at the sudden jolt of your irises. You get ready to yell, but your words fall flat whenever your eyes meet with a familiar pair of brown, upturned eyes.

    “Shiro?”

    The tall, muscled man smiles down at you, chuckling as he hands you your phone back. You silently thank God that he didn’t look down to see what you were reading. You must have looked pityful enough with tears dripping down your face, rocking back and forth alone in a childrens park at 10:00pm.

    “What are you doing here?” you ask, wiping your tears with your sleeve quickly.

     “I could ask you the same thing.” Shiro sighs as he sits down on the swing next to you, taking you by mild surprise. Although you and Shiro had always been friends, you never really spoke to each other that often. He had been in your high school class, and you two were always friendly but you never went out of your way to speak to one another whenever you didn’t need to.

    He was definitely much more Lance’s friend than yours. The two had bonded quickly after you had introduced the two of them at your house-warming party a few years back.

    “It’s late, Y/N,” Shiro says. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

   You shrug loosely. “I’m fine.”

    “Plus, it’s getting cold.” Shiro looks at you but you don’t look at him. He’ll see the tears full-on then, and after hearing him speak to Lance today, there’s no doubt in your mind that he knows exactly why you’re crying, and it’s embarrassing to admit it.

    So you don’t.

    “I can walk you home if you want,” he continues. “Wherever - Wherever home is for you nowadays.”

    You bite back a sob. “I’m good, Shiro. You don’t have to sit here with me.”

    “I want to. You’re my friend.”

    “I’m also extremely emotional right now, in case you couldn’t tell.” Your voice comes out harsher than you expected it to, and you have to take three deep breaths to get yourself to calm down. “Just get yourself home, Shiro. Before it starts to rain.”

    Shiro is silent for a moment, and you think you may have won him over. Maybe your hostility had made him decide to actually get up and leave, and you wouldn’t want a better outcome. You had come out here to be on your own, and on your own was what you wanted.

    But Shiro doesn’t move from the swing. He simply sighs, stretches his long legs out in front of him and gently rocks back and forth in the dark, inhaling deeply through his nose.

     “You know, I read the interview,” he says. Your heart pulls. You don’t say anything. “It was a real dick move what he did, and I understand completely why you’d be angry at him. Hell, I was angry at him. What kind of douchebag can do that to their own girlfriend?”

    “Ex-girlfriend,” you correct. “I’m - I’m his ex-girlfriend now.”

   Shiro nods slowly. “Right. But it was a bit of a stupid move, wasn’t it?”

    “You can say that again.”

    “But I’m sure he had his reasons behind it.”

    You raise a brow, ducking your head to the floor. “I don’t see how there’s any logical excuse as to why somebody would do what he did.”

    “Well, that’s because it’s Lance. Nothing he does is particularly logical to the normal human brain, but it makes all the sense in the world to him. You know how he gets - he gets so worked up that anything makes sense to him. Maybe that was what happened when he got offered the interview.”

    You don’t believe him. You can’t. Not even Lance was that dense when he was worked up.

    Shiro sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m making excuses for him when I know I shouldn’t. It’s just - He hasn’t been in the best of shape since you left and-”

    “I wasn’t the first one to leave,” you bark. “Lance was. He left me at his fucking licence ceremony and didn’t come home that night. I had to read the interview on my own in a god damn coffee shop the next day, all because he was too afraid to tell me about it himself!”

    You were suddenly fuming. Suddenly, the tears stinging your eyes weren’t from sadness or pain or self-consciousness. They were from pure, red hot anger.

    You tighten your fists on the ropes of the swing set, trying your hardest not to lose your temper at Shiro. He was a good guy. He just wanted to help you, help Lance. He wanted to work for both sides, and you had to give him props for trying to make things right.

    “God, it’s just so confusing to me,” you continue, keeping your voice low in an attempt to disguise your anger. “He meant the fucking world to me and he knew that. He used that to his advantage, didn’t he? He wanted me to care a lot about him so that the fall would hurt ten times worse.”

    Shiro’s shaking his head now, leaning forward in shock. “Y/N, I know what he did was wrong, but Lance isn’t like that-”

    “What other explanation could there be?” you nearly yell. “He clearly didn’t care for me like I cared for him! If he did, he wouldn’t have even begun to think about doing what he did. The offer would have been a big joke to him if he cared for me, but it wasn’t. He took into consideration. He chose money over our damn relationship! He used my name to get his own out there, and I -” You wheeze, doubling over as the sobs attack you all over again. “I fell right into his hands, didn’t I? I didn’t even see the signs, Shiro! He was so good at it all, playing me the way he did, and it hurts so fucking much.”

    You cry out, pressing a hand to your mouth as Shiro stumbles off of his swing and wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest so tightly and so compactly that, just for a moment, you feel safe. You feel the world slide back into place as the arms of an old friend finally wrap around your body, but it all goes to shit again whenever the thoughts come racing back, not leaving you alone for a second.

    Because it isn’t Lance hugging you right now. It’s not Lance, and it won’t be Lance, and it should have never have been Lance. It’s Shiro. It’s the man who you barely even spoke to nowadays comforting you over the man who promised to be by your side for the rest of your life, and that thought alone is enough to make the tears fall at a new-found speed, a new found strength and a new found pain to erupt in your chest that has you clenching at the material of Shiro’s coat, looking for anything to grab onto.

     Shiro rocks you back and forth against the swing you’re still sitting on, his arms wrapped around your shoulders. “It’s okay, Y/N. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

    And with everything in you you want to believe him. You want to nod and thank him and tell him he’s right for thinking such a thing, but nothing seems right in this moment, and nothing seems like it’s going to be okay ever again. This will be your permanent state, won’t it? You will forever have to live with the knowledge that your first love - whether you wanted to admit it or not - had chosen money and fame over you.

    You were one of the unlucky few who had had their heart broken and shattered even when everything seemed to be going smoothly.

    “I don’t trust you walking home on your home,” Shiro mumbles against your hair as your sobs finally descend into whimpers that disappear amongst the fabric of his coat. “You can stay at mine tonight.”

    You feel too weak to protest.

      The sunlight nearly blinds you as you are pulled from your long, hysterics-induced sleep that you had fallen hostage to the night before.

    You sadly remembered everything when your eyes opened. It hadn’t all been forgotten like you thought it would have been - you remembered the way you had clutched onto Shiro’s coat pathetically, sobbing into his shirt and grabbing onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded in your time of absolute crisis, it seemed.

    As soon as the memories flood back to you, a blush creeps upon your cheeks at the horror of it all. You had lost yourself completely last night, in a way that even shocked you. You were never the type to cry like that. It was a strange feeling.

    You slowly get out of bed, not bothering to check the time, knowing full well it will only make you feel worse. You instead opt for slipping on the jacket Shiro had left out for you and walking down the stairs to greet the man who had potentially saved you from dying of hypothermia the night before.

    Oddly, facing him doesn’t seem as challenging as you thought it would. You woddle into the kitchen, give him a light smile as he sits at the kitchen table with a cup of tea in his hands, petting his tabby cat with his other hand. Glasses are resting on the edge of his nose that he quickly shakes off of his head upon your arrival.

    “You’re awake,” he points out and you nod grimly, heading towards the coffee machine. “How are you feeling?”

    “Better than ever,” you grunt. You don’t mean to sound so salty. You want to thank him for last night, make him feel like his efforts meant something - which they did - but the groggy feeling in your head and the dryness of your throat stops you from sounding anything more than bitchy.

    Shiro nods at your reply. “Well, I hope that sarcasm will wear off the next time I ask, because me, you, Emma and Samuel have plans for the day.”

    You raise your brow, turning around to look at him in confusion. “What kind of plans?”

    “The kind of plans that we all knew you would forget,” he sighs. “Emma invited me to tag along with you guys to go and see her opening up for the art exhibit in LA.”

    You nearly gawk, your jaw falling open at the reminder. That was tomorrow night. You would have to be in LA by tomorrow night!

    “Don’t worry,” Shiro says. “We’re all heading out in the pick-up trucks in a few hours. We should be in LA by tonight.”

     You sigh, turning back to the coffee machine. “You really are a life saver.”

    “So Emma told me,” Shiro chuckles. “I texted her last night to tell her where you were and she said I could come along to the exhibit as well if I was interested. I, of course, said yes.”

    You nod your head slowly. You know what Emma is up to, because it had been Lance she had invited only a few weeks prior. She wanted Shiro to go in place of Lance, meaning she wanted Shiro to be your plus one.

    The thought makes a blush creep up your neck for all the wrong reasons - embarrassment mostly, that maybe Shiro would figure out the truth behind Emma’s invitation. You really didn’t fancy losing another friend.

    “She cares about you a lot, you know,” Shiro continues. “She made me send her a picture of you tucked up in bed so she could make sure you were actually with me and I wasn’t just lying to get some friend points. It was cute.”

    “She’s always been the protective type.”

    “They’re the best type,” Shiro chuckles. “We should probably start packing for LA, though. I’ll drive you to your apartment, pick up some of your stuff, and then we can all head out.”